The Dice

All the usual disclaimers. Over 18s only. This is imagination, not based on reality.

The Dice.

1.

I’d only been in the country a few hours when they opened the door of the land cruiser, the stopping of the vehicle and sudden rush of cool early morning air pulling me finally from the last lapping of the dream lake. They had drugged me of course. And put me in this evil restraint. There were at least two of them. At my short initial meeting there had been only my Master.

The steel across my body was unyielding and tight as they lifted me out of the car and onto the dusty gravel of the road surface. The massive chains were as heavy as I had anticipated when they set me on my bare feet. My new Master immediately took the genital chain and used it to pull me off the road into the dead grass. The pain was intense and I tried desperately to waddle as fast as I could to relieve it.

Walking normally was impossible due to the massive steel ankle irons that hobbled me with the short six inch chain between them. The chain, as all the others, was large and heavy and it dragged through the underbrush as I scuttled along, further impeding me and making me worry for stones or stumps of the thin trees which were scattered hereabouts.

My wrists were locked in the same way at my front, the linking chain keeping my wrists just a few inches apart and its weight making my muscles ache already. It was chained to the ankle chain and also up to the steel loop which was bolted around my head, tight against my chin.

My face was circled by three such steel bands, which were locked together at the back of my head. The bands were an inch wide and ran tight across my shaved skull. The uppermost belt of steel ran across my eyes, blocking much of my vision and it was tight enough around my head that it hurt to tense my face muscles. The central steel loop ran just beneath my nose, making breathing through my nostrils almost impossible. It narrowed to half an inch wide at the front so that it was clasped under my septum, crushing into my gums behind and utterly rigid. My lips protruded enough that I could see them even with my obscured vision, purple and pulsing under the strain of the gripping steel head bondage. I could still move my jaws a little, maybe enough to talk and plead the safe word to him if not for something unseen and hard stuffed in my mouth.

My neck had a thick steel collar, which kept my neck straight, so that my steel-encased head pointed at my Master’s back as I hobbled along in my bow-like stagger, my eyes fixed to the path.

There was a further steel loop cinching my waist, and it was to this that my wrist cuffs were also chained, further limiting their movement and making my hands useless should I trip and fall.

There was something large in my anus, steel again, and it conducted the chill of the air deep inside me. I guessed that it was some kind of ass hook and that it was chained to the waist loop at the back.

I hobbled onward as the ground grew a little softer and we started to raise, the tight steel ring around the base of my genitals constricting them and its chain threatening to rip them off with each stagger in my progress. My Master was unconcerned.

I was feeling very scared. The disorientation of the drugged unconsciousness was being frozen away by the morning cold, and with clarity came a deeper understanding of my peril. I could scarcely even remember what he looked like; the initial meeting had been so brief.  We had agreed a safe word, chatted about my long flight, and that was the end of my memory. I had foregone the usual safety guidelines in favour of pursuing the thrill, and this is where it had led me. Few people knew where I might be, and all of those were merely online acquaintances. I would try the safe word as soon as the chance came; my Master’s air was one of silent determination, but the other man might be easier.

We continued, the rise becoming quiet steep and my breathing coming in sharp gasps, each time saliva dribbled from within my mouth, around the hard round object jammed within.

“Interests,” the man leading me said. “Endurance bondage, outdoor bondage, extreme BDSM, torture, slavery, cages, modification.”

I didn’t understand. We had met on a BDSM site, but my profile didn’t carry that information. I was more into rope and softness. The antithesis of this, to be exact.

Something whipped me hard across the cheeks of my backside and I screamed, fell. My new Master stopped as the other man whipped me again with a long fallen tree branch. I shrieked, but the sound was mostly blocked by the obstruction in my mouth and the tight bands around my head caused a great deal of pain with the action. I tried to roll away from the next strike, down the steep slope, but my new owner stamped his heavy boot down onto my face, crushing my head into the soft grass and pinning me in place.

His colleague continued to hit me, the pain was massive and my vision started to dim at the edges, unconsciousness falling as he finally stopped. I could see the bright red welts already growing on my skin, maybe a hundred distinctive stripes, spotting with blood.

“Let’s do him here, I ‘m in the mood now,” my assailant said.

       “OK.”

       One of them dropped a canvas bag to the ground, and it rattled with the sound of more terrible steel. My Master took his foot off my head and lifted me to all fours by pulling on the ass hook and a ring on the top of my head bondage. I was easily controlled, my grunts doing nothing to slow them.

       Panic overcame me as understanding of their words sunk in. I thrashed ineffectually against the chain and steel, and they did nothing until I tired myself out and lay there panting, my thoughts blanked by terror.

       I was rolled onto my side, curled up in the enforced foetal position and I felt a sharp prick in my backside, followed by two or more. My owner threw the empty syringes to the ground. Then they rolled me over and I could finally see their faces again. The other man was younger than my Master, and more heavy-set. He was smiling down at me.

       He knelt besides me and grabbed my bloated top lip, pulling my head towards him. “Give me your tongue,” he said. He pulled the object from my mouth, it was an apple, a small crab-apple and it was now that I noticed others about, lying on the ground around us under the trees. He pinched my lip and ground it between finger and thumb. The other man was controlling me by holding my chains.

       “Euphrates. Euphrates,” I said, my voice dry and weak. The safe word had no effect, as I had feared, except that it gave him a chance to grab my tongue painfully. Quick as a flash he brought up a hole-punch and clamped it around my tongue. With a dull click and a spear of horrendous pain, he made a hole through the middle of the organ. I screamed fully now, blood from my maimed tongue splattering across his face and the trees above seeming to tremble in sympathy with my agony. Yet again, a blackout should have been close, but instead I felt very awake, my body tingling not only with the hellish pain, but with a brightness and alertness that could only have come from the injections. I was turned easily like a sheep in the hands of a drover and my owner reached down to slip an open padlock through the wound in my bleeding tongue.

       I screamed and pleaded, my voice was unintelligible due to the small but heavy lock, my tongue pulled out of my mouth and across the steel of the chin loop by the weight.

       Next from the tool bag came a shiny hollow steel tube. My Master tried to insert into my mouth, the padlock fitted easily through but my teeth were uneven and caused the tube to jut out an angle.

       “Have to remove them,” he said. His friend wrapped his forearms around my neck and my torturer took heavy blunt pliers from his bag. I struggled and bucked, but of course the steel and their strength was too much.

He clamped the blunt nose of the tool around my top incisor. The other man clamped his fingers around both of my lips and used the purchase to keep my mouth fully open.

       I was falling into a well of terror. I had not experienced real terror before, thought in my naivety that it was just an escalation of fear. But, it’s not. It’s a different emotion which most are lucky enough to avoid. Terror, brothered with hopelessness and total despair.

       The tooth held.

       “Not enough leverage ‘cause of the steel,” my owner said and snapped the tooth off instead.

       I blacked out for the merest of moments, dreamt of orchards in the twilight, peace and serenity, a haven far away from the horror of my reality. The drug pulled me back quickly to meet the destruction of my next tooth.

       Once they were all gone, and I was only a piece of wounded meat, shivering on the edge of catatonia, the tube was rammed in again sparking a swift supernova of agony as it scraped across all those open stumps and my breathing became a hissing wheeze through the metal. The padlock tinkled against the steel of the tube as my tongue hung through it.

My fingers were flexing spastically in the irons, and I was aware of it on some level as my mind was backed against the wall of drug that prevented sleep or any relief of unconsciousness.

The tube kept my mouth wide, and together with the steel above and below my mouth, to which it was soon clipped, kept my jaws immoveable at the limit of their mobility. A spark of panic hit me, thrusting into the agony and disturbing it enough for my disjointed thoughts to feel. I retched repeatedly, issuing the last plane meal and the rest of my stomach contents onto the patch of blood and broken teeth soaking into this foreign soil. I retched until my stomach muscles cramped with the pain, and still it continued, trying vainly to expel the hard cold metal bloating my straining mouth.

They moved me again, clasping my septum bone with the hateful puncher. My hands were already under control enough to be flapping at the tube gag, their chain far too short for me to even touch my chin with these cold buzzing fingers, now they tried to move the punching tool. My legs were kicking with the same uselessness, and it was then that I saw the woman with the camera that was filming this whole horrible situation. My mind came together enough to realise how amusing my uncontrollable and pointless thrashing was to her before my vision was expunged by the closing of the tool.

Cold air ripped through the new piercing. Later, in all the time I have been given in which to recall, I would remember the small impact of the plug of bloody bone as it bounced off my heaving chest and the corresponding fantasy of an apple falling in that magical dream wood.

The orchard rose in my vision again, and I smelt apples with such a deep clarity that I was almost sent into a high by the smell alone. The pain faded just enough to allow a hint of recognition of the dream before hell came back with the punching of my left nipple.

In and out of the dream state I was thrust by more attacks, my other nipple, my ears, my scrotum, each time the blissful dream becoming less blissful, more like the hell of reality, and losing its potency to comfort me.

My ball chain was dropped and my Master locked a chain into the padlock through my tongue. It reawakened with new agony as he used it to pull me onward again. My tongue was wrenched immediately and the muscles sparked with pain. I lost the movement of it, but it still didn’t come lose when I tripped in my hobbling chain and he had to pull me up with it. I realised that I was screaming like an animal now, and if anyone could even hear us in this wilderness they wouldn’t even imagine that it was a human being tortured.

His colleague slipped heavier padlocks through the other newly made holes as I was hurried along, eliciting new shrieks each time from the bleeding flesh that was somehow disassociating with me, and we moved on, ever up the steep slope, my body only able to move thanks to the damnable drugs they’d given me.

I heard the snap of a still camera.

Finally, the slope flattened out and they slowed to a walking pace.

“Slow piggy,” the woman said, and the sheer hate in her voice made a new eruption of terror explode in my thoughts. The tone said I was indeed no more than an animal to her. Safe word, what a joke.

       I was pushed to the ground, the heavy padlocks set about me bouncing painfully.

“Wait here, I’ll find it.,” the other man said.

My Master put his boot on my chest, crushing my wrist chains to me and holding me to the ground. The woman came up to tower over me also, the video camera now focused tightly on my face.

“Advice,” he said, and past the silver steel cutting my view in half, I could see a pensive expression.

“Don’t indulge dangerous fantasies over the internet,” the woman interjected, bringing a smile to the terrifying man who now owned me. So easily taken, this little piggy.

“You’ll have to suck up food; this will require some kind of mashing first. Use the flame to cauterize your fingers, later you’ll be able to use the stumps to crush up food.” He paused. Icicles of absolute terror stabbed my heart and my cramping guts. “Infection shouldn’t be much of a problem in the beginning thanks to the medicine, so worry about that when it happens. You might need to develop a strong stomach.” He laughed, and I saw the woman shake the camera as she shared the same horrible mysterious joke.

The retching started again, my poor damaged body instinctively trying to eject the steel invader. Their laughter increased and she actually looked around the camera to see into my eyes. She winked at me. The terror was enough to take me back into the little garden, the pain fading slightly again for the shortest aching moment until the retching pulled me back, a small stain of green bile across my chest my only reward.

“Try to find a little place in your mind. If you can get there you may

survive, and it will help later, if there is a later.”

I was making little moans as each new realisation found its way through the ring of agony that I was within; the woman pushed her camera close up to my face to catch them.

       “Every six months we roll a dice, and if your number comes up we come back for you, see what we find. You can think about that while you wait.”

       The woman grunted amusement again. I didn’t have the strength for hatred, only terror.

“Found it,” the other man called, returning. The garden felt far away now. My body ached under the tight steel, my mind panicked still, constrained by it. More moans escaped me, and it was fully me making them. I knew the drug was locking my consciousness in place, preventing any enduring peace. I was clouded in despair as they dragged me slowly along the top of the slope, in a new direction now.

“Here,” the other man said.

I was a crying, wheezing wreck as we were stopped again, pulled up onto my knees, hands held in a doggy begging position by the cruel heavy chain.

I saw more equipment being dropped to the ground: a small portable welder with mask, large bolt cutters, and another set of syringes. I was deep in the ocean of my terror now, my single linear thoughts almost scripted, so close did they follow to the influence of each new heightening of the torture. The cameras were still working.

“Hole in one?” My new owner said, pulling me forward a little, then back by just a touch.

       “50,” said the woman.

“OK.” Master said.

My glutinous mind understood that it was a bet. My Master kicked me in the head and I fell, rolling too far, down a new slope, head and feet smashing into the ground as I bounced in my chained foetus shape. Speed increasing. The world was a greenish and blue flicker now as my body was battered, retching, shrieking in terror and agony. The speed lifted the chains and made them into lashes which flayed my body in its bouncing tumble.

The slope steepened, I was driven into blackness by a terrible blow to the steel of my head, came back quickly. Then, impact. A tree flashed past. The sword of pain rose from my foot upwards as I tumbled in mid air, crashing down again. My lower leg was flapping spastically, and it was a moment of more bouncing, crashing confusion until full pain of the broken leg hit me.

Then next impact jammed soil into the hollow mouth tube, cutting my breathing to a whimper and stifling the screams from the renewed, relentless agony.

I think I prayed to God in that time, but the memory is broken by my ordeal since. It is all a can do to create this essay, after which I feel I will lose myself completely.

A smashing clang of steel on steel, I rolled up the opposite slope and then was brought to a stop at the bottom of the long steep slope. Chains had wrapped all about me, one around my neck grasping the airflow to almost nothing, painting dark patches around my narrow sight. I was breathing through my nose only, the soil stuffing my mouth tube far out of reach of these fluttering hands.

Three of my fingers were broken, and each was a narrow column of agony, which along with the twisted leg, bone peeping through bleeding skin, dwarfed even the former tortures.

I had landed on a steel grid at the bottom of the long steep slope, my body now beginning to stick to the cool steel of the drain with the sticky blood from my thousand wounds.

The fall should have killed me. Maybe, at least it could have. Was that any worse than dying here on this dry stream bed? I was succumbing to the lack of air when my captors reappeared, pulled me to knees once again and unwrapped the chains from about me.

I was crying and shaking as he positioned me carefully with the tongue leash to the side of the drain cover. I shivered in fear of another blow but he spoke instead.

“Kneel up,” he said. There was softness in his tone and his ability to be so calm in this situation, to fake kindness in his voice, scared me more than anything else up to then. It told me that these people would stop at nothing. A yearning for death was born there, and has been with me ever since.

His friend fired up the blowtorch. My bowels loosed and the smell started me retching again. Now I imagined the steel gag to be the terror of this life I was trying to expel. God again, a god I didn’t believe, and my soul was trying to fly free. But the chains were anchoring me to this earth as well as any magical prison. I glimpsed the orchard again, the light was fading and golden, but I couldn’t go there.

He didn’t use the flame on me, but took it to a rusting lock on the drain cover instead. “It’s a deep one, hell of a way down,” he said.

They jabbed me with the further syringes and I immediately felt my heart race and the rush of my consciousness locking even more firmly in the real world. My senses became heightened; I could smell something dead in the drain, and taste the steel and copper of blood in my mouth with a terrible strength. The pain was highlighted too of course. So I felt it as fully as is probably humanly possible when she cut the first finger off with the bolt cutters.

Blackness. Next finger. A broken one. I was stabbed in the soul by each loss. My breathing was one long scream, just a hollow hiss due to strained vocal cords. Panic had become my norm. Agony. No God would help me with death.

She picked up my fingers and tossed them into the drain. “Maybe you can eat them when they rot soft enough, eh?” Her voice was so tinged with excitement. It was a mirror for my despair.

The retching started again, throwing waves of nausea and light-headedness over me, yet the drugs kept me awake, alert, screaming my now soundless screams. I felt her shove the bolt cutters into my groin, pecking for my genitals. My awareness came clear enough that I tried to flee, but my Master was holding the chain of my tongue, and there was no fleeing.

“You do it, I want to get a good film,” she handed the tool to my Master, but he passed them to his colleague, who had just finished opening the drain cover. He pulled it open, rusty hinges doing my shrieking for me for a moment, and then stepped over to take the bolt cutters.

“Crawl piggy,” he joked, jabbing it at my face. My Master held the chain high and tight, keeping me on my knees and erasing any chance of me dodging the tool as its sharp beak clutched one of my bloated lips.

“The cock.” The woman said.

“Fun first, loosen the chain a little,” he said, and my owner obliged. The chain slipped through his fingers and now I was free.

A deep knowledge of the hopelessness of it filled me as I tried to crawl away from them. He kept jabbing at me with the bolt cutters, chasing after me now as I moved up the gulley, stumps of broken fingers little explosions as I used them for walking. My missing fingers were lasers of agony. My broken legs trailed behind me, useless.

“Run piggy,” the woman said. They all laughed.

My Master stopped me with the genital chain, pulled me back towards the dark open drain. I could do nothing when the other man slipped the blades of the tool around my smallest toe. The leg was broken and I couldn’t do anything. It flicked into the air when he lopped it off.

I was praying for a heart attack, it was indeed hammering along, but no release that way, either. He took them all, and my Master stood on my good leg to allow the removal of those toes too. Fight left me. I was simply a large lump of pain, hovering over the edge of death.

They kicked me over and I fell into the drain, but it wasn’t the immense fall I‘d imagined, There was a cage here, a small cage just large enough for me.

The woman tossed my toes in after me. The man slipped his tool around my limp cock. My soul cried as he took it away too.

“Yum yum,” the hateful woman said. My Master came at me with the blowtorch now, seared the amputations with the hellish flame. I passed out, thankfully. But there was no garden, only blackness.

The drug awakened me again, unmercifully. But some time had passed.

I was on my side in the cage, the drain mesh sealed above me. The pain was intolerable, and I had a recurring image in my thoughts of a limbless tree, as such I had become.

       A finger bone, gleaming white in the gloom, splashed a surge of confusion within me. How had such time passed? Why wasn’t I dead? But there were more here, other remains of the previous captive. I was lying on the bones of my predecessor and other dead things. The cage was small, the bones cut into my welted skin.

       When I moved I found that my padlocks had chains through them welded to the corners of the tiny cell. The crying started again, but the retching withheld for the moment. I could move only barely, or a chain would tug at my nipple, or scrotum.

       As my eyes accustomed to the light I could see my flaccid torn penis lying on the steel grille at my side. My cries came so strong that I felt the emotion would split me in two. But the pain kept it levelled, and I was stilled suddenly by my Master’s chuckle.

       “We’re alone. I wanted some quality time with you, to bond as it were.” He laughed again. I found my self obsessing his every word. Maybe he would release me from this hell, but my heart was breaking with longing and terror and the knowledge that I would surely die here. He seemed to read my thoughts.

       “Your friend there’s number came up last month, but when I came back I found she’d failed her test.

“There are a lot of fruit trees on the slope, you can probably find some of there issue in there. My bet is that along with small animals and insects which fall in, you should be able to survive until you’re lucky enough. You can drink the spill water if it rains, and if not, well, I don’t know.”

I shuffled around in the cage; found that the only comfortable position was on my knees and elbows with nose just touching the grille beneath me. My tongue flopped painfully as I saw that the chain was not welded to the cage itself but dangled through the grille into the darkness below. There was some weight on it, adding to my pain. My saliva dripped into the darkness. Dank stinking air wafted up. A large insect fell onto my back, scurrying with what felt like a million legs. I shrieked silently, but couldn’t dislodge it until it fell over my head and disappeared into the darkness of the sewer below.

“Our last guest was impregnated while here.” He paused. I shivered in the cold. Above me, through the shadow of the bars, the sun was getting bright and I knew it would be strong soon. Confusion rippled through my mind. What’s he talking about? Maybe he’s not going to leave me alone here to starve or freeze to death?

“Apparently, the cockroaches lay their eggs beneath the skin. It will probably drive you insane as they grow, feeding in your flesh, but it will give you a nice meal afterwards if you can catch the babies.”

       “Anyway, that’s all as maybe, maybe they won’t like your taste. There’s a storm coming, I think. See you.” I wasn’t sure he had left until later.

The orchard has never been back to my nightmares, now I dream of his dice, and which number I might be.

I have eaten my fallen parts. I vomited it all more than once but thankfully the narrow grille and dirt beneath me saved it from toppling into the abyss and I was able to repeatedly re-ingest it, sucking it up with all the shit through my dirty tube until it stayed down.

I spend my time on all fours, unable to comfortably move to any other position; my knees are stuck to the steel beneath me I think. Ants have set up home somewhere nearby and spend their days roaming my quivering flesh; in my nose, mouth. They get trapped in my tears and sting me.

He was right about the storm; it rained heavily and filled my cage with roaring, deafening water. For hours I struggled against the heavy chains as the water rose around me, entering the tiny cell faster than it could drain away. My stamina nearly gave out by the end of the storm, but at last I was settled again on the floor of the cage rather than stretching for air at the welded chains tethering me as the water subsided. I doubted I’d survive another such storm, unable to stretch enough to push my deformed lips above ground level. No strength left to fight. Only the first day.

I found two dead fish after the rains. Sucked their eyes out raw, my hunger finally defeating my disgust. I vomited them too, lost most of it in the darkness beneath but managed eventually to keep some of it down.

How many days have I been here? How long can I continue to survive?

Does he really roll a dice?

If you liked this story, please visit my blog and check the offers out to make a few pennies for a struggling author.

http://brightsidesun.blogspot.com/

Best Wishes. Anyone want part 2?

DemonMonsterDave  at Gmail.