Monday, August 24, 2009

Noose Training

There are no doubt some medical inaccuracies in here, as I am at best an amateur anatomist. I hope the Gentle Reader is willing to suspend a demand for strict accuracy in the interest of the story line.


Disclaimer... The following story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to any real person living or dead is coincidental. The narrative deals with the non-consensual torture of a human being, and is intended for mature readers who wish to view such material, and for whom it is legal to do so. The author in no way condones or promotes such acts in real life.


Copyright (c) 1998 by POW. For spam prevention, an animal name has been added to the author's e-mail address. Remove the animal name to get the actual address: POWauthor zebra at yahoo dot com. This story may be freely copied and distributed so long as it is copied in its entirety, unchanged, including the author credit information and disclaimer. The author welcomes feedback.


Noose Training



Chapter 1


At the one week point, Mike started to accept his confinement for what it would be: a permanent change in his lifestyle.


In his old life, Mike had been a college student who just finished his final exams for the year. I had met him on-line several weeks before, and he had agreed to come to my place after school let out for a weekend of fantasy fulfillment before he went home to his summer job.


As promised, I gave Mike the sexually charged, bondage-filled fantasy weekend he dreamed of. Actually, I enjoyed it, too. And I only had to lie about one small detail - the fact that it was going to last a lot longer than one weekend.


Either Mike was not too bright or I'm a better actor than I ever gave myself credit for. Perhaps his gullibility stemmed from the fact that he was still adjusting to being gay. Or maybe he was just a trusting soul. Whatever the reason, it worked out well for me. He was all too eager to accept my "privacy precautions" for his visit - he told no one where he was going, he let me buy him the plane ticket, he let me pick him up at the airport... and he waited in my basement as I called the airline and cancelled the return flight that he no longer needed.


On the first day of his new life, I informed Mike of the purpose I had in mind for him, although I left certain key details for a later talk. I told him basically that I would train him to be the perfect bondage victim, and that if he did well at his training, I would bring him out to show him off in a public forum.


He protested a bit, at first, but I ignored his whining. Most of his days that first week were spent walking on a treadmill. Mike had quite a good body, and I didn't want him to lose that physique - at least not through atrophy. So I set up a treadmill with walls placed on three sides. It was actually more like a very small room with a moving floor, open to the back. The walls were smooth, so there was nothing for him to grab on to, but just in case, his hands were cuffed behind him. He had a lock around the base of his balls, attached to a chain that was hooked to the wall in front of him. The treadmill was driven by a motor, and all Mike had to do was walk. If he didn't, he got a painful tug. Simple.


I usually ran the motor at a reasonable speed, making him walk briskly, but nothing too strenuous. For week one I had him doing 8 hours each day while I was off at work. No use having him lounge around all day.


Evenings were more of what he experienced over the weekend. Some bondage, either on a table or a St. Andrew's Cross, or perhaps just suspended from the ceiling. Some whipping, some ball-beating, some anal probes... It was all stuff he enjoyed, and in fact he had three orgasms in the week after hearing the news that he was never going home. Nights he spent locked in his small cage, arms and legs bound in a different uncomfortable position each night, making it difficult for him to get much sleep.


I liked the sleeplessness because it kept him a bit disoriented, which helped cut down on resistance. Sometimes I would tie his hands to his feet; other times I would fasten a rope down his back from neck to balls, forcing him to bend backwards all night. Or I would lock a hand or a foot to the cage's roof, letting it go numb from lack of circulation. My favorite, which I didn't do often, was to leave him unchained in the cage and set a timer to periodically deliver a jolt of electricity through the bars.


At all times he wore a cylindrical ball cuff, weighing about a pound. In addition to keeping him from moving around too quickly, it had a nice psychological side benefit, telling him unequivocally that I was the owner of his manhood, indeed his very self.


By the one week mark, it seemed he was beginning to get used to the idea that he'd be staying a while, and possibly even beginning to like it.


The next day, though, was Saturday, and it would be time to let Mike know what his real purpose here was.



Chapter 2


Mike was, not surprisingly, awake when I came downstairs. I released his arms and legs, cuffing his hands behind him again, then dragged him out of his cage and over to the center of the room, chaining his feet to the floor. I got a steel cable from one of the cabinets and proceeded to lock it snugly around his neck. The cable was short, ending in a small loop only a foot or so away from his neck. It was tight enough to hold against his skin, but not so tight as to hurt him. Yet.


I fastened the neck cable to a second cable hanging from a winch in the ceiling. Mike suddenly realized what was going on and began to struggle and shout. The struggles I ignored - he was helpless, - but loud noises have always bothered me, especially the mosquito-like whine Mike made when he was unhappy. I made a mental note to correct the problem sometime soon.


I bent down and unfastened his foot chains, leaving him free to kick - makes for a better show - then, with no fanfare, I went over to the control box and slowly lifted the helplessly struggling man into the air by the steel cable around his neck.



I'm always fascinated by the sight of a powerful male body struggling through the various stages of hanging. His face turned red, then purple. His legs kicked uselessly in the air, only six short inches from the safety of the ground. His arms and hands fought against their restraints, and he pivoted in random directions. The cable dug cruelly into his neck, but did not tighten, unlike rope. His eyes squeezed nearly shut from the pressure of blood pooling in his head. Breath came in agonized gasps from his mouth - mostly exhalations.


About thirty seconds in, that classic reaction kicked in - his cock started swelling. By this time, his purple tongue was sticking out from between his swollen lips, and his struggles had reached the peak of their frenzy. I watched, stroking myself, until he reached the minute mark. By then his kicks were considerably subdued, almost feeble, and it was obvious he was nearing the end of his endurance. The tiny pinpricks of his glazed eyes showed nothing but despair.


Another thirty seconds, and I let him down. He lacked the strength to support his own weight, so I had to let the cable all the way out, until he was prone on the floor. He had passed out, but he came to after a few minutes.


"Mike, let me explain to you what we will be doing over the next several months."


He started to protest immediately, as I thought he might, so I quickly rammed a large black cock-shaped rubber gag into his mouth and fastened it behind his head.


"Let me be clear on one point above all", I continued. "You are not to speak. You are not to make a sound. There is nothing you need to say. I would threaten you with pain to make you comply, but that would be pointless, since you are going to experience considerable pain anyway. I will permit you to scream, when you feel you must, but if you utter another word, I will take action to make sure it never happens again. Nod if this is clear to you." He nodded.


His eyes were wide now, and I was fairly certain I could remove the gag and not hear a peep. I left it in anyway.


"To continue. Mike, today I tested your endurance for hanging. You did fairly poorly, but that was to be expected. You lasted ninety seconds before I had to let you down. Ninety seconds is a ridiculously short time. My eventual goal is to hang you for eight hours at a time."


His eyes showed his shock. Apparently I was wrong about his commitment to silence, because he started to mutter something behind the gag. I slapped him hard across the cheek, and he shut up. I continued.


"Of course, it will take time and training to work you up to the point where you can take eight hours. For the next several months, then, I will be your coach. Your training will have two aspects: we will work on reducing your body weight, and on increasing the endurance of your neck muscles. Nod if this is clear."


"Now. Your current weight is 180 lbs. That is far too heavy. As of today, you will go on a reduced-calorie diet. You will exercise on the treadmill, as you have been, for eight hours each day. Each Saturday I will hang you again, as I did today, and measure your endurance. Frankly, I don't expect much in the way of improvement over the first several weeks, but it's worth recording the information, anyway."


"As for your neck muscles, we will begin training them tonight."


I led him over to the treadmill and hooked him up for another session. This time I set the motor to vary its speed, so that he would have twenty minutes of jogging followed by forty more at a slower pace. I watched from behand for a while as his locked balls bounced underneath his cuffed hands. The stub of cable hung from his reddened neck, flopping back and forth. He started to breathe heavily through his nose, thanks to the thick gag blocking his mouth. Sweat pooled on his shoulders and back. I gave him a couple slaps on the ass and headed upstairs.



Chapter 3


When his eight-hour stint was up, I returned to let him loose and feed him his meal. I briefly reminded him of my desire for his silence, then removed the gag. I could tell his mouth was sore, so I waited a few minutes before giving him his meal. Then I placed the plate of food on the floor and stepped back. Mike looked down at the plate, clearly hungry, clearly wanting to ask how he was to eat with his hands bound, and then, just as clearly, realizing the answer to the question that he knew to leave unspoken.



Setting the pattern for all future meals, he slowly got down on his knees and ate, licking the plate clean when he was finished. I had carefully counted out each calorie, and I knew he would be desperate for more.


"Mike, this is all you will eat today. If we're going to reduce your body weight, you're going to have to eat less and exercise. Now get up and come over here."


I led him over to the bondage table and had him lie down on it. The table was well-designed for its purpose - it had dozens of tie-down points and adjustable straps, and was even padded (just a bit) for the victim's comfort. I strapped him in securely, holding him down with three straps on each arm and leg, three more across his stomach and chest, and cross straps over his shoulders.


I took the loose end of the cable around his neck and attached it to the winch at the top of the table, over Mike's head. The winch had a device attached to measure the tension in the cable, so I could know exactly how much simulated weight Mike was feeling. I wound him up a bit. The straps on his shoulders prevented him from sliding his neck to relieve the pressure.


"You are now feeling a weight of twenty pounds. You should be easily able to handle this amount. As time goes on, I will gradually increase the tension, to enable you to handle more and more weight. For now, I will let you get accustomed to this much."


I went upstairs to let him adjust to his situation. After about an hour, I returned to add another five pounds to his total, then left again. I took him up to thirty-five that first night and held him there for ten minutes. All told, I spent four hours on his neck training before deciding he'd had enough. I returned him to his cage, tied his left foot to the top, and left him for the night.



Chapter 4


Mike's subsequent days progressed pretty much like that. He spent eight hours on the treadmill at various speeds, ate a light meal, then did four to six hours of weight training on his neck, then went to sleep in his cage. Though he was always exhausted at the end of a day, sleep was never easy because of the positions I would leave him in.


Occasionally, when I was in the mood, I would use him for my own sexual gratification. I would take him either orally or anally, usually tying him in some uncomfortable position first. Typically, I leaned him over an 8' x 4' table the long way, tying his ankles spread to the table legs. Then I fastened the noose stub to the other end of the table and cuffed his hands behind his neck, where the neck chain would hold them in place. Thus immobilized, his ass hole was an open and inviting target, which I took full advantage of. For kicks sometimes, I hooked additional weights to his dangling balls, which would sway painfully as I rammed his helpless form.


Every few days I allowed him to wash himself in the shower, until one time he tried to assault me and escape. After that he was never unchained. I cleaned him by chaining his wrists to the ceiling and hosing him down.


Each Saturday, I hooked him up to the winch and measured his hanging endurance. As I expected, the first few sessions were no different from his initial run. He could hang for a minute and a half, two minutes at the very most.


His weight dropped from the diet and exercise, from 180 to 170, and down to 160, allowing him to stay up on the noose for a little bit longer each time. His formerly well-muscled chest and arms started to atrophy, although his legs actually bulked up a bit.


Three highlights of those first few weeks: a couple days in, Mike had apparently had all the silence he could endure. One morning when I went to get him from the cage, he spoke to me. Rather than take him to the treadmill, I dragged him over to the table and strapped him in, enduring all the while his pitiful whiny voice.


This time, I strapped his head down as well as his body, with a belt around his forehead and one around his neck. Then I placed triangular dental wedges between his molars, forcing his mouth painfully wide open. I grabbed his tongue with a metal clamp and fastened it to the neck strap, pulling it farther out of his mouth than it was ever intended to go. It got his attention, at least - he stopped babbling.


"Mike, I could not have been more clear when I told you that I would not tolerate noise from you. Since you are obviously unable to control yourself, I will have to solve the problem another way".



When I brought the thin knife up to his out-stretched lips, he began to scream and squirm, but the straps kept his struggles to a minimum, and held his head absolutely still. I proceeded to destroy his vocal cords.


Spending a few summers in my youth as a paramedic's assistant, I learned things which I now found useful in ways my teachers couldn't have imagined. Considering my lack of surgical training, I think my first attempt at a voice-ectomy went rather well. It wasn't hard to find the offending organs, as they were vibrating with all his screaming. I didn't do a very clean job with their removal, but I knew I my attempt at surgery was a success when the noise stopped at last. He panicked then, as the blood flowed into his trachea and blocked his breathing. I released some of the straps and sat him up, and he was able to cough out enough to breathe again. Good thing, too, since I was not in the mood to try a pen-tube tracheotomy.


The bleeding stopped fairly quickly, but I let him have the day off anyway to recover, leaving him in his cage instead. His meal that night, and for the next several days, was mostly liquid. He tried to speak once or twice, but the most he could manage was a harsh bark, and it seemed to hurt him to try. After a while, he gave up.


The second highlight occurred during his exercises two weeks later when he slipped and fell on the treadmill. I guess the low-calorie diet and lack of sleep had weakened him. I found him when I came home that evening. He was lying on his side on the moving floor. The treadmill was pulling him back, but the chain around his balls was preventing him from moving.


As a result, the moving surface was tearing at his arm and shoulder, and his dark, swollen balls were stretched well out from their normal resting place. I could tell from the abrasions on his other arm, back, and chest that he had been trying to endure that posture for quite some time. With his hands cuffed behind him, he was unable to stand back up, or even do much more than roll over every few minutes to ease the pain. And the agony in his balls must have been intense. It was such an ingenious torture I wished I had thought of it on purpose.


I flipped the motor off and propped him back upright, releasing his balls from their bondage, then brought him back over to his cage. I gave him that night and all the next day to heal, not even tying him up while he slept.


To prevent such an accident from happening again, I rigged up a shoulder harness to support him when he fell. It was attached in such a way that if he put his full weight on it for more than about five seconds, it would slip free of its mooring and let him fall. I figured that way it would give him a chance to recover if he slipped again, but would not let him get out of doing his exercises. It seemed to work. At least, I never found him being dragged on the floor again.


The third highlight involved another impromptu surgery. It started when I was having Mike blow me. He was on his knees with his hands behind him. I had attached his wrists to the ceiling winch and had cranked them up painfully behind his shoulders, forcing him to bend forward. Into that waiting mouth I was slowly inserting and withdrawing my cock, steadily fucking his face, when he bit me.


Fortunately, the wound was not severe - he could have no doubt emasculated me had he tried harder. But he was, deep down, a "good person", and his hesitation made him wimp out at the key moment. I, however, am not a good person. I pulled away and cracked him across the jaw with the back of my hand, then went upstairs to treat my injury and prepare to inflict his.


When I came back, he had gotten to his feet to ease the shoulder pain. I let him off the winch and led him over to the table, strapping him down head and all as I did before. Then I slowly, one by one, removed every one of his teeth, explaining to him all the while that biting was unacceptable behavior. I started with the front ones and worked my way back. Not having a dental drill, I made do with my own hardware, using a very thin bit to pulverize the sensitive root of each tooth before extracting it with pliers. Mike was, of course, in considerable pain. But there was very little blood, and what there was I was able to cauterize quickly.


After that, blow jobs were like a bit of heaven - no jagged edges to catch on.



Chapter 5


On the Saturday of the eighth week since his arrival, Mike lasted four minutes on the noose. He was down to 145 pounds, and he was getting used to having his neck muscles support his weight. He was exhausted from his two-month-long ordeal. His face was gaunt, with huge dark circles under the eyes. There was an angry looking red welt permanently visible under the neck cable. His beautiful body had withered to a pale shadow of what it once was, and his hands shook uncontrollably. He couldn't even focus his eyes on me when I spoke to him.


"Mike, all things considered, you've done rather well. I had hoped to have you at five minutes by this point, but four is acceptable. However, it's clear to me that you're not going to make much more progress from here on. You can't lose much more weight without serious health consequences. So, I'm going to give you a few days off from your exercises, although we'll continue your neck training. I'm also going to up your calorie intake a bit, to help you regain some strength. Next Saturday, we'll begin the next phase of your training".


So he spent the week resting in his cage, only coming out in the evening for a few hours being stretched on the table. His health improved quickly, with more food helping to speed the healing. By the next Saturday, he was looking much better. Color had returned to his face, and the shaking in his hands had stopped. He even beat the four-minute mark on the noose by another thirty seconds.



I brought him over to the table and tied him down, telling him that the next stage of his training was about to begin. I was very careful with his right arm, tying it down not only at the shoulder, bicep, elbow, and wrist, but also clamping each finger down to the table. By the time I was finished, he couldn't even so much as wiggle it.


Then I spent the rest of the day removing the arm.


I started by taking off his fingernails, each one a little differently. His index finger's nail came off slowly, by repeated insertions of a needle between the nail and the flesh. The middle finger's I burned off with acid. The ring finger's came off with pliers, and the little one I melted off with a soldering iron. By the time I got to the thumb, I was starting to get bored, so I just smashed it with a hammer.


Throughout, Mike kept trying to scream but could only produce that harsh barking noise. I gave him a little break after the thumbnail, then went to work on the fingers themselves. I thought it would be nice to stick with the pattern of the nails, so his index finger came off by several hundred needle pricks, the middle with acid, and so on. All this took about three hours. By the time his thumb was a bloody mess, Mike was beyond screaming, although he had not been able to escape the pain by passing out. I let him have another brief break while I went for lunch.


After a quick meal, I began in earnest on the arm itself. I didn't want him to bleed to death, so I attached a tourniquet around the upper part. Then I took a mallet and pounded the bones in both the upper and lower halves until I heard them snap. Two benefits to that: he was not only in intense agony, but he also lost the use of the arm, so I could release it from the straps.


Once the arm was free I amused myself with the mallet for a while longer by completely pulverizing the remains of his hand, until his arm ended at the wrist. I continued by cutting lines in his taut skin with a sharp knife and rubbing vinegar in the wounds. When that grew tiresome, I started peeling the skin off completely, exposing the straining muscles beneath. I had to pause periodically to cauterize some of the bloodier spurts near his shoulder, but it was worth taking the time - I wanted Mike around for a long time, so no sense in weakening him unnecessarily through needless blood loss.


It was nearing dusk when I was ready to finish up. By then Mike's arm was a hopeless wreck - fractured bones barely held together by thin strands of muscle. Mike had long since retreated into unconsciousness, twitching only occasionally at the most severe pain. I didn't mind too much - the poor guy had been through a lot; let him rest. I grabbed the upper bone of his arm and gave it a sharp, quick tug. It separated cleanly from its socket amid a fresh gout of blood, which I quickly burned shut.


I carried him back to his cage, where he spent the next three days in delirium. During that time I carefully fed him, watered him, medicated him for both infection and pain, and even cleaned up after his messes. I was worried about him for a little while, when his pulse became thready and his breathing almost stopped. But he was a fighter, and he pulled through.



Chapter 6


On the fourth day, he came back to awareness. When I came downstairs, he was sitting up in his cage. He couldn't speak, but the look in his eyes told me volumes. This was his moment of truth. Without his arm, there was no way he could ever go back to the life he once knew. Up until now, he could nurture fantasies of escape, or of me releasing him once his training was finished. But this was the irreversible act that made him forever mine, in his own eyes. It was a beautiful sight.


I gave him the rest of the week to recover again, then began his training anew. It was hard to tie his one remaining hand for his daily treadmill run, with no matching hand to bind it to. The first day he actually slipped free of the rope, but was luckily unable to do anything with the ball chain. I finally settled on putting his arm in an L-shape behind his back, then tying the wrist to the elbow around the front.


Mike was listless, for the most part. He walked like a zombie through the day, eating when food was placed before him (food that included ground-up arm meat, though I never told him that, lest he stop eating), walking and running half-heartedly on the treadmill, and staring off into space. Even though he weighed about ten pounds less than he had with the arm, he backslid a little on the weekly hanging test - 3:40. I chalked it up to the trauma he'd suffered and let it go. Sure enough, two weeks later he passed the five-minute mark for the first time, though he remained listless.


After three more weeks of no more measurable improvement, it was time for another surgery. When I informed Mike of this, he finally came out of the stupor that had consumed him. Fear lit up his face, and he fought me harder than he ever had before as I wrestled him to the table. When at last I had finished strapping him in, tears were coursing down his face as silent sobs wracked his body.


The second arm came off in much the same way as the first, although I added some electrical play this time. Mike remained awake through most of it, partly because I knew better this time what amount of pain was likely to send him over the edge, and staying just short of it. It was like playing a violin - touch a string here or there and see what reaction takes place.


This time we were able to skip the delirium phase, and he was back up to nearly full strength in only five or six days. Then it was business as usual for another month. One week he made six and a half minutes. I was very proud.




Chapter 7


Over the next few months, I removed both of Mike's legs, one at a time, ending his daily treadmill sessions. Mike handled the amputations rather well, staying awake throughout both of them, even though they lasted about fourteen hours each. With all four limbs removed, he was significantly lighter - down to 70 pounds, give or take. Since his neck training had boosted his long-term endurance to 60 pounds, we were almost there.


My only regret at this time was that Mike appeared to be losing some of his mental faculties. I half expected this to happen. Mike had probably endured by this time more cumulative noose time than any other person who ever lived. The frequent reduction of his brain oxygen level was no doubt killing off neurons at a rapid pace. I knew I had to work quickly, then, or Mike would be reduced so far mentally as to lose awareness of his surroundings. It would be a shame to put him through all this training only to have him too dull-witted to appreciate the final show.


With that end in mind, I dropped his neck training to an hour a day, and decided on a crash weight-loss program for him. Any muscles not essential for supporting his life would have to go. These included the pectorals, most of what was left of his shoulders, some abdominals, and his buttocks. I deemed his genitals insufficiently massive to make a difference, and left them on. The surgery was arduous, and I debated giving Mike some anesthetic when the strain on his system seemed to be getting too much. Fortunately, he passed out shortly thereafter, saving me the trouble.


When I was finished, Mike was down to a sleek fifty-five pounds. He was completely unable to move his body below the neck, except to breathe, eat, and excrete. After a two-week recovery period, I decided that he was ready.


I hooked him up to the winch, and slowly lifted him up off the floor. As always, his face turned red and his eyes bulged from the pressure. But this time, his breathing never stopped. Taking a breath was arduous, of course, but possible. And enough blood made it past the constriction and back to keep him conscious. Five minutes passed, then ten. At the twenty minute point I knew he would be able to make it all the way, and gave a loud shout of congratulations, then I sat back to watch the show.


To me, sitting there watching, time seemed to pass slowly. I can only imagine how much more slowly it must have felt to poor Mike, hanging there by his neck, unable to do anything more than twitch. Each minute must have felt like hours to him.


After four hours, I decided to give him some distraction. I slapped his face a few times to get his attention, then stood in front of him and removed my clothing, slowly so he could see. I pulled out my painfully erect cock and touched it to his soft one. His barely stirred - no matter. I turned his body around and positioned myself for entry.


Since it had been a while since our last sexual contact, I was gentle with him, lubricating myself up first and taking things slowly. Even so, I got the impression he didn't enjoy the experience as much as he did our first few times. I told him I thought he owed me at least a little gratitude, since my upward thrusts took some of the weight off his neck for a short time, but he was unresponsive.


In a further burst of generosity, I decided to give him a blow job. He was slow to respond at first, but soon his cock was standing erect in my mouth, and not long after that I could feel he was ready to come, for the first time (that I knew of) since his first week in my home. This was much too quick - I slammed my fist into his bound balls, which cut off the impending orgasm in a flash. This was repeated several times. Each time Mike would come close, I would pound his ball sac a few times to stop him. In this way, I was able to draw the event out to about an hour before I finally let him come, twitching and jerking limblessly on the end of his rope, still fighting for every breath.


Finally, the eight-hour mark arrived. I slowly lowered him to the floor and released him from the winch. Instead of returning to its usual color, his face remained reddish-purple from the thousands of broken capillaries. It looked like one big bruise. His eyes were an angry red, too, and swollen nearly shut. He was unresponsive, and seemed barely aware of his surroundings. I gently fed him and bathed him and left him to his first night of completely uninterrupted slumber in the year he had been with me.



Chapter 8


With his training complete, it was almost time for Mike's performance, although he still had a few more surgeries to undergo. I explained to him carefully what would happen to him, both to allow him to mentally prepare for his ordeal and as a way of saying goodbye. His mental acuity had definitely decreased. If he were to take an IQ test in his current state, I don't think he'd score over an 80. But I'm not sure he could have focused on such a test long enough to take it at all. I had to repeat myself several times, but I think the message eventually got through. Then I strapped him down to the table once more for his final modifications.



Where Mike would be going it was important that he not be able to identify me, so I had to remove all of his ability to communicate with the outside world. His brain damage would help, but I wanted to make absolutely certain of his silence. First to go was his tongue. I had left it in when I removed his teeth because he gave better blow jobs with it. But now, it was a communication liability, so it had to go. I took it off with a heated pair of bolt cutters, which cauterized the wound as it cut.


Next were the lips. Even with no vocal cords and no tongue, lips could make lip-readable words, so off they went. Same tool.


After that came the ears. Hearing is a difficult thing to completely remove. I poked around in his ears a bit with a straightened paper clip, then poked a little harder with my soldering iron. Just to be sure, that night I covered his ears with a pair of headphones playing sounds of various pitches at intensely loud volumes, and left it on all night. I'm fairly certain that when I took the phones off the next morning, Mike was stone deaf.


Last to go were the eyes. I felt a brief stab of remorse at the idea of scooping out those once-so-beautiful eyes, especially when he looked up at me, pleading in the only way left to him to spare him this last torment. But practicality won, and out they went. The first one I popped out with a spoon, letting it dangle on his cheek as I mangled the other with a needle. Then I returned to the first one and snipped it from its mooring.


At last I was finished with Mike's preparations. The handsome, powerfully built stud that had walked into my home more than a year ago was reduced to a mass of scarred, sensory-deprived flesh that was incapable of moving more than an inch in any direction, yet remained fully conscious. Most importantly, he could survive hanging by his neck for up to eight hours, and possibly more. Just what I needed...



Chapter 9


The newspapers the next few weeks were full of stories about the limbless young man found hanging by the neck from a downtown billboard.


He was first spotted shortly after sunrise - not surprising, since the billboard was in a highly traveled area. The first of his would-be rescuers was injured, though not killed or even permanently maimed, by the bomb that went off when he got too close to the hanged man. The explosion provided enough of a deterrent to others that no further rescue attempts were made until the authorities started to arrive.


By the time the bomb experts got there, the young man had been up for two hours (plus the three he had hung before anyone noticed him). Onlookers could tell he was alive by his slow but steady breathing, and were amazed at his endurance. They shouted useless words of encouragement, and wondered why he showed no sign of having heard them.


It took the bomb squad another half hour to ascertain that all the remaining bombs in the area were fakes except for the one large one directly under the helpless victim. That bomb, in addition to having a proximity sensor, was attached to the noose above. A sign nearby explained that the bomb would explode if the tension in the cable were reduced in any way. It also stated that the bomb would disarm itself after a set time, and displayed a clock showing that time to be two and a quarter hours away. The emergency crews spent the rest of those 135 minutes trying to find a way to get the young man down without blowing him to bits.


They were unsuccessful at speeding the process up, but as soon as the explosive's green all-clear light came on, it took them less than thirty seconds to get him down from the cable and whisk him off to a hospital.


A photograph was found at the scene, showing a smiling, handsome young man who bore little resemblance to the quivering near-corpse they had found. Checking the name on the picture, they found a match with a certain college student who had been reported missing more than a year ago.


Mike is currently alive and as well as he can be, living in a long-term care facility. He is armless, legless, blind, deaf, mute, and brain-damaged. He is unable to send or receive communication of any form, although his nurses say he shows signs of consciousness and self-awareness in his dark, silent prison. They try not to touch him unnecessarily, since any human contact causes him such distress that he shakes violently.


Still, with all the disabilities, his life expectancy is good. With regular care and feeding, he could live another fifty years. And at least he has endured his last noose.


I, meanwhile, have recently resumed flirting on-line.

4 comments:

  1. WOW, POW, that is fucking horrible!!
    What I liked best were the odd touches of compassion:

    "I gently fed him and bathed him and left him to his first night of completely uninterrupted slumber in the year he had been with me."

    "They shouted useless words of encouragement, and wondered why he showed no sign of having heard them."

    You held my half-horny, half-appalled attention to the end, because you know how to write.

    Oh, your bastard predator thought he was being so clever, didn't he, deliberately choosing a chat-room with no facility for keeping a record of conversations?

    What he didn't bank on was that poor Mike would be so dazzled by him that he always copied the contents of the chat window before he closed it, and pasted them on his facebook account as messages to himself.

    Mike's big bro Tom, and the Feds, have both read those messages, and your predator better pray the Feds reach him before Tom does. Because when Mike was found, Tom and his pals started visiting chat-rooms and flirting with strangers in the hope that the sicko might want to strike again. And they might have made a breakthrough, because one of them has just been invited to share a "fun-filled fantasy weekend".

    The whole crew of them intend keeping that rendezvous.

    The day after Mike was found Tom visited him in hospital and stood looking down at his poor, broken, violated body. Tears were coursing down Tom's cheeks and though his teeth were tightly-clenched, he was still uttering little sobs and whimpers of grief. He reached out to brush the backs of his fingers tenderly against Mike's cheek, and Mike gave a violent shudder and his chest began to heave. This filled Tom with such anguish and despair that he just threw back his head and howled like a dog.

    Now Tom doesn't have a heart any longer. He has a burning core of rage which is sustained by his craving for revenge. It will be a terrible thing for the predator if he falls into Tom's hands.

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  2. Is he “mat” in hopeless 2?

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    1. Good catch! No, the similarity between this victim and the "Matt" character from Hopeless 2 is incidental, not something I planned. I actually had to go look up who "Mat" was in Hopeless 2 because I didn't remember him. Turns out he doesn't even appear! He's only referred to secondhand. You have a keen eye for detail, Adam.

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  3. i had some communication with a man who blatantly wanted to do this to me...except the part about the nursing home..
    lost contact and wish i had not...
    this is sad/sick as can be...and still so appealing...

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