My eyes open to see Sgt Tate still in bed with me. He too is in that half way spot between awake and unconsciousness. As we face each other, he smiles at me.
His arm reaches from under covers and he reaches over to my face. Brushing the side along my jawbone, he uses the slightest touch. My eyes close as I nuzzle his palm.
Tate's index finger runs over my lips. I open them thinking that he wants me to suck on him, but he pulls it away. I close my lips, only to have the finger return to my lower lip.
He traces my lips with featherlike touch. With my eyes closed, I focus on his finger. I can feel my heart beating. It is racing like I have never felt before. This brute of a man is getting me excited, not with anything overly physical, but with the slightest touch on my lips.
The finger travels up to my nose and then to my brows. His finger runs over the only significant amount of hair on my body.
With each inch that finger uses to trace over my face, the more sensitive my skin becomes. It gets to the point where I shiver when it returns to my chin.
I open my eyes to see him just staring at me. With my hands under the covers, I reach over to his hairy torso. My fingers follow his hair pattern and travel down his stomach. My hand goes to his cock.
He pulls his pelvis back. A slight shake of his head says no.
Instead my hand rests on his side. I smile.
With his hand draped over my body, he pulls me into his arms. My hand pulls too, but it pulls my body towards his rather than the other way around.
In each other's arms we hold each other. He kisses me, just a peck. I feel safe in his arms. I feel protected. No one in the world can hurt me--not my dad, not Randy, not even Boris.
Even though I am quite uncomfortable, I do not want to move. In fact, I drift off in the last bit of unconsciousness of the morning.
I wake looking at Sgt Tate's neck. His Adam's apple bobs up and down. It's interesting to see him up close like this. Some of his chest hairs vibrate from my breathing.
His head moves to look down at me. I look up at him. A quick kiss on my forehead catches me off guard.
I wonder if he has ever been this close to anyone, either a previous girlfriend or boyfriend.
In a raspy voice he says the first words of the day, "Good morning boy."
"Good morning Sir."
"Did you sleep good?"
"Yes Sir. You?"
"Oh yes like a narcoleptic sitting in the dark."
"Did you enjoy your time with Boris?"
"No Sir. He's scary."
"He's designed that way. But he's got a good head on his shoulders. He knew to jump to your aid."
"I thanked him for that."
"Good boy."
"Sir, may I ask, 'What's his problem?'"
Sgt Tate picks up his head, only to have it propped up by his arm with palm on his head. "Do you want that answered chronologically, alphabetically, or by subject matter?"
I laugh.
"When we were in the Corps, he and I developed a device to improve the maneuverability of a hum-vee. Now it didn't go anywhere; it just didn't work as efficiently as we thought. So it sat dormant until recently. I tinkered with it some more. I found that I could make it smaller and it would go into cars real nice. That will be a huge seller. But he has fallen into some serious debt. I offered him cash to buy out the patent. He got suspicious about my offer and went around to other businessmen who wouldn't touch it for the price he needs. So it comes down to my offer. As soon as he signs, he will get the money. But he will wait for a final incentive to sign. He'll have it before he leaves."
"Wow Sir."
"Then throw into the mix that his daughter had some major medical issues last year doesn't help either."
"What's wrong with her?"
"I don't know. He hasn't told me. She just had some major woman's issues. That's all he said."
"What a coincidence that he's Russian and you . . ."
"Shhh. That's not a coincidence. Trust me it's not."
He reaches over to my ass. "You still have some welts there."
"He whipped me hard,"
"That's what he does. Get out of bed, I want to see them."
I jump out of bed and go over to his side. Turning around and bending over, I am showing my ass; I'm very proud of my marks.
After running over my bumps, a finger is shoved into my hole.
"Douche this out, I feel something inside." He pulls out his finger.
Standing up and turning around, I offer, "Yes Sir." A shitty finger hangs in the air. With me falling to my knees, I lick his finger clean.
"Atta boy."
"Thank you Sir."
Pointing to my tiny leather cover, he adds, "I like that pouch on you."
He gets out of bed, with his semi-erect morning wood staring at me.
"Drink."
I lunge for it. No sooner is my mouth around him and he starts pissing hard. I swallow fast. As it begins to trickle, I look up at him. His eyes are closed.
"Go douche your cunt, and then make us some breakfast."
When Sgt Tate officially finishes pissing, he pulls out of me. As he puts on a T-Shirt, I go into the bathroom to clean out and clean up.
Douching out is easy. I don't know what Sgt Tate felt up there as I mostly expel water.
Going out into the kitchen, Boris is up on his laptop at the table. Sgt Tate comes out of his office.
I ask, "What would you Sirs like for breakfast?"
Boris responds, "Eggs, bacon, the works."
"Sounds good to me too. Do you have to be on that laptop all the time?"
"Yes, I need to respond to some e-mails. Someone scheduled a hunting trip in the middle of the work week!" He notices Sgt Tate looks over is shoulder. "And what are you doing back there?"
"Nothing. Just looking."
"Well look elsewhere."
"How the hell am I supposed to understand it; it's all in fucking Russian?"
"You have a point."
"How do you understand all that?" Sgt Tate leans forward towards the screen.
"I just do. Anyways, move on."
"I'm just looking at what it looks like. I don't see it written down too often."
He just stands there reading away. Boris can't see his face, but his eyes are scanning whatever he is reading. When Sgt Tate stands, he winks at me.
"It looks like Greek to me." He walks back into his office.
I prepare breakfast. Tard joins us. He has a union suit on, the kind with the pull apart opening for his ass.
"Somethin' smells good."
I feel at home cooking breakfast. It is one of the few meals I can cook well. My mom taught us that breakfast food could be eaten for any meal. So she made sure that we always knew how to prepare a good one.
I serve them scrambled eggs, potatoes with onions, bacon, sausage, English muffins with lots of butter, flapjacks, orange juice, and coffee. They eat it down--or rather shovel it down. No conversation seems to interfere with the consumption.
Boris burps. As if challenging the others, Tard burps in response. Tard is the only one who laughs.
Sgt Tate looks at me, "Well that was good boy."
"Thank you Sir."
Boris adds, "Yes, Cunt, you are actually good at something, besides being . . . well . . . a cunt. And that's barely passable." He looks at Tate, "So when are we going?"
Going? Now what is up? What do they have in mind for me now?
Sgt Tate answers, "We can go now."
Tard asks, "Where are we going?"
Boris responds, "Hunting. We came here to hunt. Then we need to hunt."
Tard asks another question: "Is the Cunt coming with us?"
Boris answers, "I should hope not." At last, Boris and I agree on something.
Sarge adds, "Yeah, I think it will be good for the men to have some time together."
With that the men get up and walk into the office, leaving me to clean up. I don't mind. It's been a long time since I have had time to be alone.
With the dishes done the men come out. Tard and Boris head upstairs to change.
"Boy, I don't know how long we are going to be. We'll probably head back to the hide. If that doesn't work out, there is another one further out. Just follow the path for another half mile or so. You are free to do what you want here. No touchin' yourself though. I don't need to put the tube on you, do I?"
"No Sir, I will be good." I walk up to him and kiss him on the cheek. He smiles at me.
"We'll probably be gone for a few hours. Not that this place needs it, but clean up what needs it. Find something to make for dinner for us."
"Yes Sir."
The camouflaged three leave with rifles in hand and a bag of bottled water, apples, and a couple of sandwiches that I prepared.
Minding Sarge like this feels natural. He likes it too. I could easily get used to this.
I spend my day relaxing around the lodge. Sgt Tate would not want me to do anything that I shouldn't be. So I didn't; I don't want to break that trust.
Dinner consists of sauteed brook trout, rice, broccoli, and a salad. I did have to thaw out the trout.
They generally like my cooking skills.
While I clean up after dinner, Boris and Tard watch a baseball game on the big screen television. Every once in a while, I would be called in the room to drink their full bladders. Even Boris uses my stomach as a urinal, but he never once looks at me.
With Boris finishing his pissing into my stomach, Sgt Tate calls me into the office. I notice that he is working on his laptop. There is a nice fire going in the fireplace. He is stoking the fire with a poker. The hooked tip is glowing red and orange.
"Boy, help me set up this room."
I don't know what he means.
He walks from the fireplace to the part of the wall between the giant map and the giant window. It is about ten feet in length, with a couple of pieces of art on the wall. To the left of both pieces and a little down is a hole in the wall. The dark grain of the wood paneling camouflages it.
Sgt Tate sticks his finger in the hole and pulls. A four-foot long floor-to-ceiling section of wall is pulled out revealing a closet not two feet deep. The door is hinged between the two pieces of art. The door swings out to an almost one hundred eighty degree angle. It is very much like hidden doors seen in movies.
On the inside of the door itself is a wall of whips and floggers. Kinky toys that hang are on the door. The toys requiring more room are on a shelf inside the closet. There's a row of leather restraints over a row of larger leather items. These rows slide into a pocket behind the side of the wall now blocked by the door, revealing another rack of toys. Here are the dildoes and generally bulkier items. All in all, it is about a third of the amount of toys found in the dungeon.
Sgt Tate pulls out the sling from one of the shelves. "Here, help me set this up."
"Wow Sir." I say in response to this hidden room.
"I had it put in when the room was redone. I got tired of running up and down the stairs to get whatever I needed."
"It's practical Sir."
"That's what I designed it for. When I have politicians or high ranking officers here, I show them the closet and leave them here with whoever they are going to fuck."
We start putting up the sling. It's just like the other day except the sling faces the other way. Something tells me that I won't be rimming anyone who sits in it.
He hands me some restraints. "Put these on." They are a pair of wrist and a pair of ankle restraints. As I put them on, he leaves me in the room. Being right handed, it's hard to put on the restraint on my right hand.
When I finally get it on, Sgt Tate returns with a large heavy box with a metal rod sticking out of it under one arm. I have no clue what it is. The other hand carries a leather bound board.
He opens up the pouch of the sling and slides it in without much resistance. He snaps it closed. The sling's curvature is made rigidly flat--but definitely not horizontal.
"Want to hop on?"
Something tells me I shouldn't, but I look at him almost with a grin. Gone is the hard edge demanding asshole I saw a few days ago. Before I did things out of fear, now I want to do it for him.
I approach the sling.
He holds up his massive hand. "Wait." I look at him. "Let's take that off." He points to my pouch. I turn around. After fumbling with the knot, the pouch falls to the floor.
I look down at my cock and balls. I have not thought about them for a long time. Jacking off seems so secondary as I please Sgt Tate. Being behind the pouch or in the cock tube, my cock and balls have been pretty much neglected.
I lean back into the sling. Using the far chains, I pull myself onto the sling. The board is stiff, but the leather is quite accommodating.
"Atta boy."
He comes at me with some more leather. My hands go into small leather sacks, like boxing gloves but smaller, without padding. He locks them into place.
I don't know what he is planning to do, but it is kinda exciting not knowing what he is has planned. Having both Boris and Tard in the other room while he plays with me adds even more.
He puts leg stirrups on the front chains. Grabbing my legs, Sgt Tate lifts and locks me in place.
Sgt Tate takes a step back. "Now, boy, it is time for some fun! You ready for fun, because I am."
He moves the heavy box in front of me.
"You know what this is?"
"No Sir."
"This is a fuck machine. Randy gave me a discount on the best one. Boy, your hole is going to see some action tonight!" He walks over to the toy closet and pulls out a medium sized dildo. In comparison to the sixteen-inch dildo a couple away, this one is middle of the road. In comparison to a real cock, this is enormous.
"This dildo was molded from my cock. Seems fitting to be your first. Doesn't it?"
"Yes Sir."
He takes the dildo over to the machine. Based on the slight incline of my position I cannot see what he is doing, but he seems to be having trouble.
"Fuck." He stands up. "The clamp isn't holding it in place." He looks at me. "If Randy was here, I would punch him in the face. No particular reason. Just for the mere fun of it."
He gets on his knees to work on it. Sgt Tate scratches his head. After fiddling with it, I hear a hum.
"There we go." The hum ceases. "Now to get the right angle." A couple more moments and I feel the dildo at my asshole. "We need to really lube up that cunt."
A huge blob from the big bottle from the closet is applied to my ass. Three fingers work it in. I look down at him at my hole. The dildo goes a few inches into my ass. He looks up and smiles at me. He bounces his eyebrows. He knows where my head is.
This is what I want from a man: To connect with him, like we have been doing over the past few days. To have sex that is fun and yet I can simply trust what he is doing. To mentor and me to explore and learn many different aspects of the world around me, like hunting and even saluting.
I want him.
There I said it to myself. I want Sgt Tate, or rather Lennox Tate to be my lover. I want the man who just shoved a robotic dildo up my ass to be the one I spend my life with.
I laugh at the last thought at the moment that the fuck machine is turned on. So, my laughter mixes with moaning.
Sgt Tate gets up. "I'll be back later. Enjoy yourself letting yourself go."
He leaves the room, turning out the light. The only light comes from the fireplace. The flickering flames make the room dance.
Oh man! This feels real good. The in and out strokes are like Sgt Tate's. I cannot move much, nor do I want to.
I just think of Sgt Tate. Now that I want him, how do I get him? Do I tell him that I want to stay? What about my dad? My dad looks up to Sgt Tate. I should tell him after Boris and Tard leave. We will need to plan what to with my dad.
I am consumed with thoughts of Sgt Tate, so much so that I am not even thinking about the machine working my hole.
I don't even know how long I am being fucked when the voices of Sarge and Boris can be heard approaching. I can't even move to cover up, to hide, anything.
I first smell the distinct aroma of cigars right before the harsh realization of the lights being turned on.
"Aw shit! Ox what the fuck is this?"
"Boris, get over it. I'm just working my cunt. Besides, both of you were up her cunt yesterday, so you can't complain too much."
"But does she have to be right in our face while we are discussing business?"
"She's fine where she is. I like to look at beautiful things. Seeing her up there is a sight of beauty indeed. Besides, once you get to know her, you'll want her." Thank you Sarge for sticking up with me.
"I doubt it."
They sit down. Tard and Boris are in the chairs, while Tate sits in the middle of the couch facing me, with his arms behind the back. Boris, still disgusted with me, turns his chair so that I am out of his line of sight.
Now I am really conscious of the mechanical fuck.
Sgt Tate changes the topic of conversation, "What did they say?"
Boris responds, "They wrote back to me and told me that they are backing out. They didn't give any reason."
"Well that's a pisser. I keep offering to you, that I will gladly help you out here."
"I don't get it, this morning they were fine. That e-mail they wrote said that they would do it. Now nothing. It's like someone got to them." Sgt Tate did. Good for him. Reading that e-mail probably gave him all that he needed. I hope he screws over Boris good. Sgt Tate discretely winks at me. He did do it. That sneaky bastard! That sneaky wonderful intelligent masculine bastard!
"Take my offer."
"Ox, what's in it for me? What do you have to offer?"
Sgt Tate leans towards Boris, "I can get you out of your pickle you are in."
"But what you are offering is half what it's worth."
"And where are you going to get more?"
"I'll find someone."
"You came on this trip not to go hunting--which you weren't successful like the cunt over there--but to seal a deal with me."
"Ox, I need more that what you are offering. What do you have? I haven't heard anything from you these two days. The only thing you offered me was a piece of that cunt over there. And I'm sorry, used cunt ain't worth the shit that gets douched out of it. So what are you offering?"
Sgt Tate looks at him. Without breaking the stare, he changes the subject, "Tard, how are the wife and kids?"
Tard reproduces? That is a scary thought.
Boris mumbles "Shit" to himself as a response to Tate's non-existent answer.
For the next ten minutes Tard fills in Sgt Tate with the most boring family history. Halfway through the story, Sarge applies more lube to my ass and it's fucking dildo. The coolness of the liquid feels so soothing.
As Tard begins the story of his cousin's hernia operation, Boris shouts out, "HOLY FUCK! Is that Gunny Valley's sword?"
Tate, quick to change the subject, "Yes, the cunt found it downstairs."
Boris looks over at me in disgust. "Well damn, it's about fucking time! How long have we been looking for that?"
Sgt Tate is smiling, "About three years."
"And it was here all the time?"
"Underneath the stairs all this time."
"Ox, how many of us did you have looking for it?"
"I don't know, five or six."
"Paul Dobson wanted to buy a new one and tell you that he found it. I told him that you would probably spot the difference."
Sgt Tate laughs, "I sure as hell would. I should have punched him in the gut when he was here last week for just thinking about it."
"He was here?"
"Him and his son Paul Jr." They're talking about someone I know! Most of their Marine buddies mentioned so far are random names to me.
"Did you have Cunt running around naked for him and his boy?"
"No, I saved Cunt just for you. They don't have any interest in fucking male cunt."
"AND I DO?"
"Well one look at my boy's beaten and fucked ass, tells me that you do."
"I'm not a fag." That line sounds familiar.
Tard is watching the fast paced back and forth, switching his head back and forth like at a tennis match.
Tate relents, "No, you're not a fag."
After a pause of Boris brooding, he asks, "How's Dobson doing?"
"Well he became a grandfather. Junior's wife gave birth to a boy last Thursday. That's why they had to leave." Sgt Tate adds, "I told him to name him after me."
Boris starts laughing. "That kid already has enough against him being Dobson's grandkid. He shouldn't have to deal with the first name of Lennox." I can attest that it isn't easy.
Tard offers the first on this conversation, "Sarge, didn't you get someone to name his son after you?"
Boris answers for Sgt Tate, "Tard, you know it was that motherfucking bastard Jack Stevens."
What? He knows my dad, and apparently he doesn't like him at all either.
Boris angrily continues, "How you ever convinced that lazy piece of shit to do anything is beyond me. So somewhere on this planet there is a Lennox Stevens running around. I bet he is as fucked up his old man. Is he? He must be."
Sgt Tate looks at Boris and then at me. "Why don't you ask him? He's right over there." Then he points at me.
Oh no. OH NO. This is not going to be good. Boris snaps a look over at me. Tard starts clapping his hands wildly and repeats, "Ooo-hooo-hooo-hooo-hoooooo!"
This is really bad.
Boris bolts upward causing his chair to fly backward.
He walks over to me, but asks a question over his shoulder, "This is Jack Stevens's boy?"
"Yes, but I call him Cunt."
He asks me. "You are Lennox Stevens?"
I don't know how to answer. I look at Sgt Tate who is silent.
"ANSWER ME BOY!" He grabs my balls and squeezes.
"Yes Sir. I am. We are not on good terms."
"I don't care." He smiles a grin of pure evil only to turn to Sgt Tate and calmly state, "I will sign whatever you want."
Sgt Tate stands, "The papers are on my desk over there. You sign first."
What the fuck? I am a bartering tool. Why is he doing this? Why after all that we have done over the past few days would he want to pass me to this asshole?
Boris walks quickly over to the desk. Sgt Tate comes over to me.
I immediately beg, "Sir, please don't."
"Boy, it will be OK. You handled yourself well last night. You've handled his belt, my belt, and Randy's beltings. It will be all right. Trust me on this one."
I am worried. "Please Sir."
He puts his finger on my lips to silence me, "Trust me."
He kisses me on the forehead.
"Please don't Sir. Please don't leave me here."
He coldly walks over to the contract, picks it up and with Tard leaves me alone with this asshole.
I shout, "Sir come back! SIR! COME BACK!"
Boris walks over to the door and locks it. He turns out the light, leaving only the fireplace to illuminate the room. He turns his head to me and says hesitantly in a timid voice, "Hi!" Slowly he walks over to me. "I think we got off on the wrong foot. I want to reintroduce myself to you. My name is Ivan--Ivan Chtgheglovski. What's your name?"
His tone might be apologetic, but I don't buy his shtick. "You already know it."
"Humor me."
"Dan."
"No, your whole name."
Reluctantly I say, "Lennox Daniel Stevens."
He approaches me along my side.
"Stevens? I know someone by the name of Stevens. You wouldn't be related to a Jack Stevens? Now would you?"
"Yes. You already know that."
With his standing body against the sling's board, he responds with, "Yes," then a nod, "Yes I did."
He raises his arm to cock a fist, aimed at my face. After a brief pause, it starts to descend rapidly.
Dandelions. I am thinking of dandelions--pretty yellow dandelions in extremely bright sunlight, but peaceful ones. I remember as a boy plucking them from the grass and rubbing them on my chin. It created a tickling sensation on my skin. It did this by heightening the sense of touch. If I rubbed a lot of dandelions my chin would be sensitive throughout the day. A gentle breeze would result in a sense of euphoria. The breeze would always catch me off guard. But the euphoria would create an out of body experience that would rival all good dreams put together.
I don't know why I am thinking of dandelions. My mind shifts freely between remembrance and experience. I confuse remembering the dandelion induced out of body euphoria and the feeling right now of floating free.
A split second and my mind drifts and focuses on that one feeling--experiencing the out of body feeling. It is such that I cannot control any part of my body, but my spirit floats within. I can feel it.
This feeling is completely tactile. I cannot hear anything, nor see anything, nor taste or smell. But the feeling of a non-reality is real. Something is different. I can sense that.
My sense of sight begins to return; I do see a blurry blob moving.
Wait, everything is moving slowly. The blob moves around me. The sense of euphoria fades, as a sharp searing pain affects my right part of my face.
The pain is intense. I really cannot see out of that eye. I just want to keep it closed. My other eye is recognizing the blob is starting to take form into a person.
I hear a slap somewhere. It takes me a second to realize that it is on my cheek.
"Wake your sorry ass up."
I am still trying to figure everything out, but my instinct says that this man is not a good man.
"Faggot!"
I am awake now. I recognize that this asshole just punched me in the eye, knocking me out. The last thing I remember is seeing his fist heading towards my eye followed by a flash of light in a void created by sudden blackness. Now that eye is in excruciating pain. I try to rub it, but my hands are restrained. My bound predicament has just flashed in my recollection.
"What the fuck?" Now it is all coming back to me. "Whatever beef you have with my dad is between you and him."
"Oh no; it isn't. But we will get to that in a moment."
"Let's get to that now."
Boris raises his hand. This is not going to be good either. His bare hand slaps my balls. I cannot lower my hands to cover my balls in recoil. I can't even bring my legs in to protect them.
"Boy, you don't seem to realize your predicament. I have just spent a lot of money on you. I plan to use you to do . . . nice things to you. You are not in control of that, I am. Let's just get comfortable here and let things sink in."
He looks around and sees the wooden stool, which Sgt Tate uses to reach up to hang the sling. Grabbing it he brings it to my ass. The fucking machine is still going at it. Shutting it off, he pulls it out of my ass.
Sitting at my ass, he asks, "What am I going to do with you?"
I dare not answer.
He snaps his fingers. "I know! You are injured. I need to find something."
He gets up and looks around the room. But he makes a direct line to the kink closet. After five seconds he comes back with an elastic bandage, the kind that is used to wrap a sprained wrist.
Boris sits on the stool at my ass.
"Now I just slapped your balls, and they must hurt." Yes they do asshole. "I need to make them better."
He grabs my sack, without any regards to their contents. A tug down, and I can feel the strain to the chords on my balls all the way up to my abdomen. I am going to be sick.
Boris begins to wrap the bandage around my sac. It is loose. He still continues to wrap the bandage around and around, layer upon layer. With each pass he tightens the application. My balls have begun to feel some discomfort, even though they remain uncovered by the bandage.
I try to move, but really I can't move anything except my head.
My balls begin to throb. The pain is not under the layers, but actually in my exposed balls themselves.
The last pass of the bandage is the tightest. The tail is tucked under the layers.
"Well there, I'm done dressing your sore balls. They should feel a lot better."
He has significantly made them more painful. They feel like they sit in a vice and someone slowly cranking them.
"Please take it off. My balls are in a lot of pain."
"I see you got your daddy's stupidity. Of course they hurt. They're supposed to. That's what I want."
"Whatever my dad did to you, I apologize for him."
"You can't apologize enough faggot."
"Please let me beg for forgiveness for him. Please Sir."
He gets up to walk around the room. Stopping in front of the floor to ceiling map, he looks at it. "These pins. If I remember Ox, he put them all over the globe to represent the men the Corps has all over. So let me see. Here in North America, it is easy to see where San Diego and Parris Islands are. Somewhere in the middle of the country is a pin . . ." He pulls it out. " . . . That represents your Daddy."
Walking over to me, I can see the pushpin caught between his thumb and index finger. The thin silver sparkles from the light from the fireplace. Rolling it between his fingers, the metal post quivers up and down.
"Look at me."
Through my good eye, I see him step up to my head on my left. He holds it inches from my face.
"This is the pin that Sgt Tate had in your home state. So it must be him, your dad. Wouldn't you say?"
Again he twirls it around.
"It does look like him, don't you think?"
He moves the point within an inch of my eyeball. With my right eye pretty much swollen shut, I close my left eye, fearing what he might do with that pin. Feeling his hand on my temple, my head twists to the side.
"No, no, no. Look at me!" He pokes my right swollen cheek with the pin.
"Fuck! Get away from me!"
"I just want you to look at this pin. That's all."
He manages to push my head back into position to look forward. His strong right hand holds me in place.
"Just open your eye and see."
I squint, barely looking through my minimally protective lids.
"See that wasn't too hard. Was it? This pin is a perfect representation of your Dad. Notice how there is no spine. There really isn't anything here. It is quite negligent. I mean 'negligible'. That was a slip of the tongue."
His right hand relaxes control of my head. The pin thankfully is removed from my eyesight. He just stares at me.
"Now there is another similarity between the pin and your dad. Do you want to know what that is?"
I don't answer. He pretty much expects that. Instead, Boris strokes my head. He leans over to kiss my forehead.
This man is fucked up. I don't know why Sgt Tate would have handed me over to an asshole like him. He is an evil, evil, evil man.
"They both have a prick that goes where it shouldn't!" With teeth clenched, his face tenses up.
Excruciating pain instantly encompasses my body. I feel the out of body experience, but this time, I am conscious through out. The pain intensifies. I do not know where it is coming from.
I scream out, "STOP IT! STOP IT!" I don't know how my voice sounds. My head thrashes from side to side. When my right side hits the rigid sling, the pain from my eye adds to the body's pain.
Nothing in my life compares to this. My toes point in pain. My legs tense us. My arms in their restraints try to respond.
My head swims. I cannot focus on Boris's evil face. He once again becomes blurred. Everything has a white haze on it. My consciousness starts to shut down. The sad thing is that I don't pass out. I want to. I want away from the sensation of severe intense pain.
Boris holds my head up, forcibly steady.
"Look boy."
I don't see anything. I know that he has hit a major nerve in order to make me feel completely consumed by the pain.
All I see is my heaving chest and my convulsing stomach. It feels like my abdomen is being ripped open.
I see my cock and bound balls standing proud. My cock is shriveled to nothing. My balls would be hidden in my body if the bandage wrapped around them hadn't prevented it.
I do not see the pin, but the effects are definitely felt.
Then I notice a sparkle. My eyesight is so blurry, that it is hard to figure out what I am seeing. The sparkle is a result of the metal pin once again catching the light of the fire in the fireplace.
The pain distorts my depth of perception. So I can't tell if it is in my toe or lodged between my nipples.
Boris moves his fingers to the head of the pushpin. I still can't register where he reaches. With my head still swimming, I can barely see his index brushing the pin's head. My balls move in conjunction with the pinhead. Oh my god! It is in my left testicle. He twirls the pin and shoves it in further.
Knowing the origin of the pain does not help with the second wave that shoots from my ball to each extremity. In fact, knowing the entry point adds to intense feeling.
I now can feel it in my ball. His twirling it allows for it to go in deeper. It feels like he is driving a railroad spike through it.
My stomach is in knots. Spontaneously I vomit all over my face and neck. Acidic fish, rice, and broccoli, all have been marinating in my stomach with Boris's and Tard's ballgame piss. I can definitely identify the piss's rank smell. The bits of barely digested food cake on my skin.
"Damn fag! What did you eat?" He laughs. "Don't worry, I am about half way in."
He still twirls the pin. Barely holding my head up, I see the pin in all the way into my testicle.
I shout out, "SERGEANT TATE! SERGEANT TATE! HELP! SERGEANT TATE! HELP ME PLEASE!"
"Shout all you want. He can't hear you boy. Want to see him?"
See him, I want him here.
Boris grabs the bottom of the sling, where my ass rests. With a heave, my body is in motion. He lifts the base of the sling up, causing my bottom half to go much higher than my top. I am effectively upside down.
From this perspective, I am now facing the window, albeit inverted.
I see Sgt Tate near the firepit. I can recognize the white tank top he wore here not too long ago. Tard is sitting on a lounge chair next to him.
"Go on boy. Yell for him. He can't hear you."
Boris lets go of the sling, causing my body to slam down on the leather board contained in it. My balls bounce, once again igniting a wave of intense pain to permeate through my body.
"Besides he gave you to me. That man you cling to sold you out. You offered him a tactical advantage, and he took it. Can't say I blame him."
I know. He's right. I was sold out to him. Why? Why did Sgt Tate do this? He told me to trust him. Why?
As the sling comes to rest and the pain waves subside to an intense stabbing, I see Boris walking away from me to the map.
"You want Sgt Tate?" He pulls another pin out. Oh fuck no. God not again!
"Please don't do this. Please don't. I don't know what my dad did, but I am innocent."
"INNOCENT? Like hell you are. You want to know innocence. Her name is Katy. My daughter was innocent until she met your father. Then he came along and he had to fuck her."
The second pin goes firmly into my right ball. He doesn't twirl that one; instead he keeps shoving in until the head is pressed into my sac. It feels like my ball is ripping on the inside.
The pain is so intense that my eyes roll back and I begin to pass out.
"Oh bloody hell no."
Boris comes up to me and slaps my face.
I projectile vomit again, this time it hits him in the chin and his shirt. He smells the remaining rank fish and piss vomit. He offers a sour face.
"Fucking bastard!" He punches my side, causing the sling to sway a little. Removing his shirt, he uses it to wipe his face off.
Racing over to the map he looks around and finds the dish of unused pins. Returning to me with the dish tells me that those two pins are just the beginning.
I look at the ceiling. How the fuck am I going to get through this? Another wave hits me, which tells me that a third goes in. I can't even tell which ball it is going into.
He does not even talk to me before a fourth one goes in. When a fifth one begins, I decide to lift up my pelvis using my legs in the stirrups as a fulcrum, effectively albeit temporarily moving my testicles out of the way.
"Fucking faggot, get down here." Grabbing my balls--pins and all--he pulls down. This grinds my balls and their torturous metal invaders, reigniting each pin's pain.
I can barely breathe. From screaming and puking, my throat and mouth are raw. I completely forget about my right eye. It is so swollen that I barely can see out of it.
Boris is standing in the middle of the room looking around. He starts to laugh a demonic laugh. His hand, the one that grabbed my balls is covered in blood.
He walks to Sgt Tate's desk. Then I hear a whooshing metal sound. It is familiar.
I focus on him. He has Gunny Valley's sword unsheathed.
"Well I need you focused for the rest of my story. I can't have you trying to get away from me, even though you really can't." He dumps out a small waste bucket. Walking over to me he stands next to the wooden stool. He puts the bucket between his legs. Holding up the sword he adds, "You were the one who found this, I say thanks for that. This sword is one of the sharpest ever created for any man in the military."
He holds it to my balls.
"One little knick and you become a gelding forever. Would you like that?"
I don't answer.
"Answer me bitch!" He grabs one of the pins from the dish on the floor, and drives it in.
I shout out. "FUCK!"
"I'll cut them off. All you have to do is say yes." He holds the blade up to the bandage encasing my scrotum. "The blade will be fast and merciful. Your pain will end right here and right now."
As the latest wave of pain ricochets through my body, the thought of not having pain sounds so wonderful now. I want this to end; I want out of here. If cutting off my balls is what it will take to get me out of here, then so be it.
But I know it won't be the end. He's a psychopath through and through. I look at him. I respond in defiance. "Nothing I say here will affect anything you have already in your mind. No begging, no screaming, no answering your insane questions will change anything. You are in control of everything here. Not me. You say that the blade will be merciful. The blade is the blade; it can't show any emotions let alone mercy. No, the one who is merciful is you; you would be merciful. You can be merciful."
"The blade may be merciful, but I am not." He sits on the stool. Two more pins are shoved into me.
My brain cannot process any more. I have tried to be logical to him, but that doesn't work. This is hopeless. I don't know how I am going to get out of this. Where is Sgt Tate?
The pain is nonstop. I cannot get him to stop anything.
I look up at him and he is fiddling with the sword. Then I feel something unique in the crack of my ass. Like a hot dog going into a bun, the blade of the vertical sword is pushed into my crack. The sharp edge of the blade is placed on my asshole.
"That ought to keep you from fidgeting all over the place. You fidget, that blade starts cutting into flesh. Your asshole will be a lot bigger in no time. So where was I in my story?"
He puts another pin into my right one.
Not knowing how to focus around the pain, I decide to focus on what Boris is talking about.
"See, I had a small Corps reunion. I invited him. When he got there, he couldn't stop flirting with my Katy."
Another pin goes in.
"I told him to fuck off. But he still managed to fuck my only daughter. And wouldn't you know it? He knocked her up."
Fuck no.
"When she told me, I told her to tell him. He'll do the honorable thing; he's a Marine after all."
"Is what you are doing to me? Honorable?"
Another pin goes in. Either the nerve is dead or my brain has shut down because I do not feel anymore, except one continual intense never-ending stab of pain.
He ignores my question. "And he took her to an abortion clinic. That wasn't honorable. He killed my grandson. That wasn't honorable. Your fucking father killed my blood."
The sad thing is that this does sound like my dad.
"Not only my blood, but he killed your little brother. You could have had a little brother to play with, but your dad saw that would never happen."
Fuck! I never thought about having a little brother somewhere. This makes no sense. God! I will always be dealing with his fucking mistakes until the day I die.
I have no idea how many pins make it into my balls, but when I look, it looks like a pincushion. It is definitely more than ten in each.
Valley's sword gently grazes my ass lips. It feels like a potato peeler scraping across it. With each breath I exhale I swear that I can feel it lightly scraping my puffy lips.
Strangely, the pains in my balls subside. It still feels intense, but I guess in a strange way, the pain has lessened.
"Damn, boy. Your balls look like they are in pain. Are they?" He flicks his finger into each one.
I start screaming. "STOP IT! STOP IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE."
He leans over me and screams back, "TOO FUCKING BAD!" He smacks me on both sides of my face, including landing one on my bruised right side.
Sitting back down he looks around him. He slowly gives me an evil look.
"When Katy went to the doctors afterwards, they told her that the abortion fucked up her chances of having any kids. Your dad screwed up my chances of having my blood carry on."
"I'm sorry." What? Did I say that? I cannot believe that I would say that to such a monster.
"And now I am ruining his chances of having any grand kids." He looks at me, "I could have simply told him that his son is a faggot, but this way is a lot more fun, and it will guarantee that it will never happen." He stands up and pulls the sword from my crack.
Boris turns on the fucking machine.
"Well, faggot, this ought to be interesting."
Fiddling with the machine he removes the dildo and the post it is mounted on. With him continuing on the machine, it gives me a moment to catch my breath. I look at my balls.
The skin is taunt and shiny--from the natural glaze of the skin and also from the wetness of the blood. The pinheads dot my scrotum. I remember looking at those pins when I got here. The heads had either a tiny Corps emblem or a "Semper Fi" on them. From my distance, I just see the two colors.
Boris stands and moves out of the way. I see the point of the sword sticking up.
"You see Katy's insides were fucked up by the abortion that your dad forced her to get. She has been in one hospital after another. She has seen countless therapists who help her. Basically my daughter is tore up from the inside, physically and mentally." He moves whatever is holding up the sword closer to me. I am really terrified. "And now Jack Stevens gets to go through the exact same thing. Do you know what the clincher was? Katy calls him to come see her because she had feelings for him--God knows why. He tells her that she is damaged goods, then he hangs up on her."
Boris starts the motor on the fucking machine, and the sword violently gets thrust up and down in very fast motion with the tip only a few inches away. Oh no! He has hooked the sword up to the fucking machine. God, please let him not do what I am thinking of. I have to think fast.
I ask, "Why did you join the Marines?"
Boris stops his fidgeting with the fucking machine.
"What?"
I repeat myself. "Why did you join the Marines?" I need to appeal to his honorable side.
"I joined to protect this great country. I served it well. Not like your lazy ass father."
"Protect us from whom? You, Sgt Tate, my dad, Tard, Paul Sr., and Gunny Valley each fought to preserve the American ideals of life, liberty, prosperity, and freedom. Not just freedom for the individual, but freedom from the evils of the world that want to harm us. That's what Marines do. You protected us from people who would torture the family members of their enemies. You don't want to be like them. Do you?"
Boris leans back. We stare at each other for a while.
"Nice try." He moves the machine to my ass crack. "You will tell your pappy who is the one who turned his boy's cunt into damaged goods."
A small miracle causes the machine's grip on the sword to falter, making the sword to fall from the machine's mount to the floor, making a metallic thud sound as it does.
Boris looks down. "Fuck. Looks like the ghost of Gunny Valley has come to your rescue." He adds, "For now."
He returns to fussing again. Thankfully, he can't get it to hold in the machine.
"I need some duct tape." With the sword in his hand he looks in the closet for tape. I look over at him with my good eye. He frantically looks on each shelf.
I start to call again, "SGT TATE! SGT TATE! I NEED HELP. HE'S GOING TO KILL ME!"
Sgt Tate put me here, and I need him to get me out of here. God, please, help me. I don't want to suffer. I don't want to die here.
Boris looks out the window behind me. "Nice try. Your Sergeant is still at the fire pit. He can't hear you." Something else catches Boris's attention. He looks back and forth between the fuck machine and what is behind me. He smiles. "When Katy went to the hospital, she was bleeding heavily." He walks behind me. "The doctors had to cauterize parts of her vagina." The room suddenly gets brighter from the fireplace. "You seem to be bleeding."
I hear a whoosh. The red-hot poker swings through the air. He is not really aiming it at anything, but rather showing off some pseudo swordsmanship. Another whoosh and the poker travels behind me to show up on my right side. Now he just repeatedly waves it around the room close to me to terrify me. It works. I do not move at all out of sheer terror.
He holds the dildo upward as he bends to pick up the dildo on the metal rod mount. The shaft of the rod mount and the poker have the exact same thickness.
"Looks like we have a winner. I think your cunt needs a little cauterizing."
He examines the tip. It has lost some of its glow.
Quietly Boris mentions, "I think this has cooled off too much. What do you think?"
He drops the poker's tip onto my left pec. The pain is instantaneous. "TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!"
I hear sizzling of my own flesh.
"STOP IT! STOP IT! GET AWAY!"
He pulls it up. My head is lost in haze. My eyes roll in the back of my head. Even with the poker removed, my chest is in excruciating pain. The pins in my balls are nothing in comparison to this.
He slaps me awake again.
I start going through the vomiting motions, but nothing comes up.
The room gets brighter like before. He's probably stoking the fire again. I barely notice what he is doing due to my searing pain.
He walks into my line of sight with the bright poker. He sits back on the stool. I can feel the heat of the poker, and it is only two or three feet away form my legs.
"Well that went in easy." Then I hear the hum of the fucking machine. Across the room in the glass of gun cabinet, I see the reflection of the glowing poker. Not much else can be seen due to the dim lighting. The poker glow moves at a slight angle, quickly up and down. He's actually going to put this into my asshole.
I look at him. I start to speak, but it comes out slurred. My shutting down brain reacting to my hopeless situation is not allowing me to speak with clarity. "Just . . . kill . . . me." I know this is the end.
"All good things to those who wait."
I hear a pounding thud repeat three times in the distance, as my head falls back into the sling. I feel the skin around my asshole getting very hot.
The machine's hum echoes in the room, followed by three more pounding thuds.
I close my eyes, as I sense a bright light envelope me. But this bright light is different. It isn't internal; it comes through my eyelids. No, this is definitely not in my mind.
I open up my eyes to see the room has gotten significantly brighter. The door to the room has been burst through. Sgt Tate stands in the door silhouetted by the light from outside the room. I can barely hear him say, "WHAT THE FUCK?" Those three words take what seems like a century to register in my brain.
My cognition returns as I see Sgt Tate lunge toward Boris.
Boris tries to stand up. Sgt Tate grabs him by the neck and pulls him back. Boris flies into the chair. Sgt Tate sees the fuck machine and yanks the handle, effectively pulling it away from my ass.
Boris jumps onto Tate's back sending him falling forward onto me. His chest lands on my balls crushing them into my body. I scream out. "AHHHHH-AHHHHH!"
He gets off of me and spins to see Boris trying to punch Tate. Tate stops it with his forearm. Tate try's to throw his own punch, but Boris stops it. The two men engage in a shoving match as each one holds the arm of the other.
Boris's size is no match for Sgt Tate. He stumbles backward, due to Tate's foot catching his ankle. As he falls backward, he rolls on the ground only to jump upward.
Sgt Tate takes two steps towards him. "You fucking bastard."
"He's a fucking Stevens." Boris punches Sgt Tate in the side, but Tate does not react other than to grab a hold of him and throw him across the room into the gun cabinet, shattering the glass into shards. He falls to the ground with the glass around him. He looks at Tate. "Tard, get him."
In the door stands Tard. I can see him assessing the situation looking at the three of us.
Sgt Tate standing in the middle of the room looks at Boris and Tard on his opposite sides. Rolling his left hand towards Tard. He points his fingers as if it was a revolver. His outstretched arm is tensed. Veins pop all along his biceps and down to his forearm. His chest heaves from the adrenaline. Sgt Tate looks down the barrel of his finger and orders, "Tard this doesn't concern you. Walk out that door and go and wait for me at the firepit. THAT'S AN ORDER MARINE!"
Boris gets up and after a spin, he lands a kick in Sgt Tate's abdomen.
Tard walks out.
Sgt Tate falls on the couch, making the couch roll on its back.
Boris picks up Valley's sword. Sgt Tate bounces back to an upright position. Boris begins to charge his former Drill Instructor with the sword flying back and forth.
Sgt Tate holds up his hand. With each swipe of the blade, Sgt Tate tries to catch the blade by hitting it. One swipe in the air and the sword hits Tate's left forearm. I can see that it is starting to bleed.
Boris swings hard, aiming for Sgt Tate's head. Tate leans back, making the sword to fly past. This causes Boris to twist up.
Sgt Tate takes the opportunity to jump with his three hundred pound body onto Boris. They fall onto the ground. Their momentum lands Boris on the floor jammed up against the map wall.
Sgt Tate takes advantage of Boris's twisted predicament to start pummeling him. Sgt Tate uses his whole body to start punching Boris over and over. I cannot see Boris from my vantage in the sling, but I can see Sgt Tate's arm repeatedly retract over and over--each time coming down with full force--five, six, ten, twenty times. Each time his fist gets bloodier.
He stops and sits back on his hunches to fully examine Boris. He quickly glances back at me.
Picking an unconscious Boris up, Sgt Tate wraps the unconscious Marine around his neck. "I'll be back." He takes Boris out of the room, hopefully to some place where he can do me no harm.
I am saved. I cannot believe how relieved I am to see Sgt Tate.
With the excitement gone and my resulting adrenaline ebbing, my pain in my chest, eye, and balls return.
I start to scream. But this is not just a scream of pain, but also a scream of terror and relief. Yes Boris is gone, but now I realized that I could have died at the hands of a crazy madman. Sgt Tate runs in response to my scream.
Seeing him, I start to cry uncontrollably.
He turns on the lights and walks up to me. He sees me. I can see it in his face. I am disgusting. He says, "Fucking hell."
That's all I need to really start to cry. I am crying because of how I would have been killed if it weren't for Tate's rescue, but also I see standing in front of me the man who is responsible.
"Oh puppy!" He looks over my body. When his eyes look at my balls, he adds, "What is all over your balls?" Sgt Tate leans over to examine the pinheads in the dim light. He glances over at the map and then back at my balls. "Fucking Hell!"
His hand covers his mouth as he starts heaving. "What the fuck? Are those my map pins?"
My voice strains, "Yes Sir."
He looks up at me. "Want water?" I nod.
I have never seen Sgt Tate move this fast for anyone. A quick trip to the kitchen and he is back with a couple of bottles of water. He opens one and extends his hand to me, but then realizes that my hands are bound.
Shaky hands crack open one bottle. Sgt Tate is trembling. As he pours water into my mouth, it splashes on my face. It feels good to wash away some of the vomit chunks on my chin and cheek. I just drink the water down non-stop. My mouth has to close every once in a while to swallow.
"Oh my god." Sgt Tate can't stop looking me over.
"Pour some on my chest."
He opens up another bottle and pours it on my burn. It feels so good. A brief relief of the pain ends when the water does.
"I'll be back." He leaves once again. A minute or two later he comes back with two plastic bags full of ice. One goes right on my chest, and the other goes to my swollen eye. Oh man does this feel fucking good!
"Sir?"
His frantic glancing around ends as his attention snaps to me. "Yes Dan?"
He uses my name! I wish I could enjoy this moment in a much better setting.
"Sir, undo my hands. I can hold the bags of ice." He quickly moves to my hands. Within two seconds both bags of ice fall to the floor. As he undoes my first hand, I tell him, "You are going to need to pull out the pins from my balls."
I look up at him. He is shaking. Oh no, I remember; he's extremely squeamish when it comes to needles. He's actually somewhat disoriented by this. I can't handle him like this.
I shout at him, "MARINE!" With my first hand free, he looks at me. It is very difficult to speak. I cannot have him reacting like this. He needs to regain who he is. I repeat, "YOU are going to need to pull the pins from my balls. I can't be moved without hurting more. I can't do it myself. I need you."
We stare at each other. Sgt Tate closes his eyes, exhales, and nods. It is this moment that the old Tate returns--the composed one, the logical one, and the one that is always in control.
With both arms free, I lower them. They are incredibly sore. I move them around to get the circulation flowing. Sgt Tate hands me the bags of ice. Back to my chest and eye they go.
Sgt Tate approaches my balls. "Do you want me to undo your legs?"
"No, I don't want my balls to move around. I just want those things out of me."
He sits on the stool Boris occupied not twenty minutes ago. Boris, I wonder where he is. "Sir, where is Boris?"
"He's not going to be a threat in your life again." I want to press him further, but I am happy with that answer.
"And Tard?"
Sgt Tate half stands up and looks out the window. "He's where I ordered him to be, at the firepit. Tard knows when to follow orders and whose orders to follow." Sitting back down, he stares at my balls. "Boris really did a number here. There must be about thirty pins in you. How the hell did you deal with this?"
"A lot of fucking screaming. How else would you expect me to deal with it?" I feel that sarcasm is quite necessary here.
He takes one pin and starts to pull slowly.
All the pain comes rushing back. I scream at the top of my lungs.
Sgt Tate starts to heave. But he does everything short of vomiting.
The first pin is pulled out further resulting in another scream. He cringes.
As I calm down, he reaches over and looks at me. I nod. He takes the last of it out of my testicle. But, before it comes out of my scrotum, the tip catches part of my skin, pulling it out a bit before the tip rips free. Instead of screaming I grunt loudly.
With the pin still in his hand, he stops as he is shaken up. His palms go up to his temples and press in. His fingertips scratch the top of his head. A shiver comes over his body.
Oh fuck this is going to be all night. "LENNOX TATE!" I need this to be done. "I need for you to get over yourself here. I don't care what the fuck is going on in your head. I don't care what phobias you have or what makes you feel icky. You need to deal with it and move on. I cannot believe that a highly decorated Senior Drill Instructor of the United States Marine Corps is acting like a little schoolgirl."
Again, in a different context, I would really enjoy what I just said.
Sgt Tate stops and looks at me. His eyes squint. "Boy, I should punch you in the other eye. But you don't have a third hand to hold another bag of ice." There's the Sgt Tate I need.
"We really need to finish this."
"Yes." He adjusts the stool.
"You are going to have to pull them out one after the next as fast as you can. I am going to scream. But you are going to have to ignore that." I cannot believe that I am directing the action here to inflict more pain on me.
He looks up at me. With a curl of the upper lip, he snarls, "Ready boy?"
"On the count of three."
We both "One. Two." We both pause. Neither of us can say three. I realize that he is waiting for me to tell him to inflict this great amount of pain on me.
After that moment of pause, he launches into pulling out those pins. I start screaming. It feels like my balls are being shoved through a meat grinder. My arms flail in all directions, causing the icepacks to go somewhere. The half-minute it takes for him to pull them out seems like a half a year.
As soon as he pulls them all out, my balls seem to breathe. I cannot lift my head. Instead I glance down with my good eye. He is looking up at me.
"How are you doing up there?"
I am breathing very heavily; I cannot speak. He seems so distant from me. Between some heavy gasps the words, "Thank you," are heard. Funny I do not realize that the words are in my voice.
He pauses a few seconds. I know that he is thinking of how to respond.
The blank look turns to his Drill Instructor snarl, "I would say it was my pleasure, but that wouldn't be nice. Aw hell, it WAS my pleasure."
Strangely, I find this funny, and I waste a few breaths laughing.
I close my eye, "There's the Sgt Tate I remember."
He gets up and hands me the fallen icepacks before turning on the lights in the room. The bright room light startles my eye.
Sgt Tate snarls, "Fuck this room is a mess." I look around, and it looks like two Marines brawled in here.
"Let me get my legs down."
"Hold on. Let me pick up these bloody pins." He gets on the floor and starts picking up the pushpins that were easily discarded during their removal. I just lie here in the sling with my ice packs.
Sgt Tate sits up on his knees. Looking into his hands he examines the bloody pins. Strangely he walks over to the desk and spills them out. He is looking for something.
"Sir?"
"Hold on." He races over to the floor area under my ass, frantically looking all over under me.
"What's going on Sir?"
"I don't see it."
"See what?"
"I found a pin head on the floor without the pin. It's just the tiny ball."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that the pin and the pin's head got separated. I found the head, but I can't find the pin itself."
"Sir, it's on the carpet somewhere. It has to be."
"Or, it might . . ."
I nervously ask, "Or what Sir?"
" . . . Or it is still in your balls." He looks around my bloody sac.
"Is it sticking out?"
He gently runs his hand over the skin. "I don't feel it. Do you feel it inside? Is there still some pain in there?"
"FUCK YEAH! I haven't stopped being in pain since I got knocked out."
"He knocked you out?"
"Yeah, when he gave me this." I lift my eye's icepack.
"Can you feel that something might be in there?"
"I can't decipher what I feel down there."
He takes his two index fingers and two thumbs and places them on my balls. His face winces. "I'm going to have to see if it is still lodged in there." I nod. He starts to push.
Instantly I scream, "It's in there."
He jumps up, "Fuck!"
"How do we get it out?"
With a blank stare, he says, "I'm going to have to push it through." His body shivers.
"Can't you pull it back out?"
"I don't even know what angle it went in. I don't know if it went in this way." He uses his index finger to point across my balls. "It could have gone this way." He points downward. "Or this way." His finger barely touches the top of my left ball as he points to my head. "Besides, I would rather have it go through using the sharpened point than pull it back using the blunt end."
I don't like either option.
"I'm going to have to first find out the direction. I don't want to push it from any other direction except lengthwise. That will tear up your ball."
This is sounding so fucking wrong.
Standing up and looking down, he unconsciously wrings his hands, "Boy, I think I got it. I'll be right back." As he leaves he grabs a clean pin from the map.
I feel my body limbs relaxing from being in a heightened tense state. My right eye is now starting to throb. My chest no longer smells of seared meat, but the heat is still there despite the ice pack on it.
Sgt Tate comes back into the room with a couple more bottles of water and something in his other hand. He walks up to me and opens one of the water bottles. He holds up a tiny white round object.
"Boy, this is a heavy duty pain pill. I brought two."
I open my mouth, without question. He drops them in and then hands me a bottle. We switch the bottle for an icepack. I down the pills and then the whole bottle of water. When the last drop is swallowed, I take the pack back.
He holds up a dark gray cylinder about a half-inch tall. It has a string through the middle.
"The pins are magnetic." He holds the string. Slowly he moves it around my sac. It definitely is attracted in two spots on my left ball. So it found the ends. "Uh-oh."
"What Sir?"
"I don't know which end is the point and which is the blunt end."
"Fuck!"
"Exactly. I'm going to have to squeeze and have it work its way out." Again he shudders.
"Squeeze my ball Sir?"
"Yes Boy." He takes my left ball in between his thumbs and index fingers. "You ready?"
"No." I laugh.
"On the count of three. One." He squeezes, with his head turned away for the first few moments. The pain comes back to me, the exact pain that Boris inflicted. I throw my head back and arch my back. He looks down. "I see it! It's trying to pop through."
I am shouting through clenched teeth. "Get it!"
He relaxes one hand to grab it, but by relaxing his clench, the pin retracts. "Fuck boy! I have to do it again."
This time he holds his thumb at the blunt end and uses his index and middle fingers as a "V" on the other side. I can feel his hands shaking. He doesn't even ask if I am ready, he starts squeezing.
The waves of pain return.
"I think I got it. I got it." I feel it sliding through my testicle--then relief. "I got it boy!"
Now, my balls feel pin free.
"Get me down from this fucking sling?"
"Um."
I shout "WHAT NOW?"
"I have to remove that bandage around your balls."
"So remove it."
"No, you don't understand. When Boris put it on, did he start kinda loose and then get tighter and tighter?"
"Yes. Why Sir?"
"I taught him that. It makes the removal quite painful. The blood rushes back, and brings with it a lot of pain."
I shake my head. "More fucking pain?" When is this ever going to end?
"Yes."
"Jesus Christ!"
"This is the classic example of do it fast and get it done with."
I shout out, not necessarily to Sgt Tate, "Is there anything else I don't know about? Is there any other way that my balls can cause me more pain? I can't take any more!"
"This appears to be the last of it. You sure have brass balls boy."
The attempt at a joke is appreciated. I feel him working the bandage. He starts to pull, and pull fast. My balls flop left, up, right, down, left, up, right, down, . . . The pain sets in as my balls become more free.
"AHHHH! Fuck! Goddamn I hate that fucking man!"
I sit up and instinctively try to stop the unwrapping.
"Don't boy. Almost done!"
I look up, "God, please let this be it." The end flies off. As the blood rushes back, the pain takes on a different feel--like a band-aid being ripped off but a thousand times worse.
"Well there is one more thing."
I look at Sgt Tate with disbelief.
"I need to carry you to bed."
"THAT is welcome! But can I clean up first Sir?"
"Sure boy!"
He frees my legs and brings them down slowly. He picks me up like nothing. I wrap my arms around him. I finally see the destruction of the room: the gun cabinet's broken glass, the upturned furniture, my vomit, my blood under the sling, and Boris's blood on the map. It all hits me. I cannot believe this is over.
"Thanks for rescuing me Sir."
While being carried by Sgt Tate, I start to cry. It is over. I have no idea where Boris is, nor do I care. Tard is probably sitting outside completely unaware.
As I am being carried, I hold on to his torso. I want this man's protection. But as we leave the office, he has to step around the chair that Boris knocked over when he discovered my identity.
That moment when Sgt Tate identified me changed everything for me. I never knew my dad could be so callous. I feel betrayed by him.
Betrayal. Wow, what a word. I feel betrayed too by the man carrying me, the man offering me safety. The conflicting feelings of hatred and love consume me.
The thought that seems to follow is that the man I love should not have done what he did to me.
As Sgt Tate carries me into the master bath--bringing me into the shower area--he sits me down on the built-in tiled bench along the opposite wall from the showerheads. He strips and turns on the cool water. The cool water feels so good on my chest. Using a washcloth he begins with my face before moving to my chest.
I cannot believe that he is being so tender. After everything that has happened, I am completely numb. I need time to process everything.
The fact that he is cleaning me up, touching me intensifies my repulsion towards him.
The water keeps pouring over me.
His face comes within inches of mine. He doesn't have any of the intense look that he did that first morning in the shower, when he asserted his authority over me. His confidence is gone too. Now his face looks disjointed. He's worried.
With the water turned off, he applies an ointment to my burn and a different one to my balls. They both sting, but in comparison to what they went through, this is nothing. I just zone out. I want to be away from him.
I stand. My legs wobble.
"Do you want to be standing? Let me carry you."
"My legs are going to be fine." I don't want to touch him again.
"I insist."
He begins to lift me. I stop him. Instead I lean against the bathroom counter so that I can see myself in the mirror. I look like shit. I have a gigantic black eye. I have a burn on my pec, and my ball sac is swollen.
"I need to see this."
I look at myself, not just the physical damage. Looking into my one viewable eye, I don't see myself in there. My spirit, my soul, my essence has been tore to shreds by these three men: Boris, my dad, and Sgt Tate. Nothing of Dan Stevens from a week ago is still visible.
I don't feel that I can go back to my life the way it was. Why did it have to change? Why did my dad feel the need to make a man out of me? Why did Boris need to seek his revenge out on me? Why did Sgt Tate do what he did? That one word is the question that pops into my thought process. Why? I don't know anything anymore. Why?
Sgt Tate continues to clean me up, as I stand motionless.
I turn to go to bed.
"No, let me do this." I don't want to fight. He carries me into the bedroom. He has the sheets turned down. Setting me down, I am tucked in.
He leaves me to go deal with Tard.
The bed is so comfortable; I could easily fall fast asleep. As much as I try, my mind is going a mile a minute. My numb thought center around Sgt Tate's actions tonight.
Even though he tucks me in, washes me up, helps me remove pins from my balls, and even rescue me, he still is the one who told Boris who I am. Joe's words of caution come back to me. He is so right. All Tate's plotting and controlling nearly got me killed.
The pills he gave me are finally kicking in. I am getting tired.
Sgt Tate returns to the room. "You can rest well tonight knowing that Boris and Tard are both taken care of." He pulls down the blankets on his side of the bed.
He climbs into bed with me.
I cannot handle this. This is so wrong. I start to get out of bed on my side.
"Where are you going? If you need something, I will get it for you."
"I'm going to find another bed." I don't care anymore about my role with him. I really don't. I start by saying: "There is no way in hell that I am going to share a bed with you."
"What?" I stand up; it is a challenge after getting comfortable. He gets out of bed. "No, no, no. Stay here. What are you saying?"
"So how much money did you make off that contract? I want to know how much you sold me for."
"Dan."
"Now you know my name? Now? I thought it was Cunt, or faggot, or pussy, or--on a rare occasion-Danny. You know exactly how volatile Boris is. And yet, you still passed me over to him."
He is truly shocked. "No I didn't."
"That's hard to believe. A man who prides himself on knowing everything about everyone didn't know that Boris looking for revenge over his daughter."
"Katy? What about her?"
I look at him. He doesn't know. "Now that all makes sense. It really shocks me that you don't know that my dad knocked her up and then paid for her to get an abortion? One that fucked up her insides?"
"No I didn't know."
"Priceless. Fucking priceless. You used me as a pawn and I almost die. He was going to kill me. The fact that you didn't know doesn't make up for a damn thing. You lost control tonight, and I had to pay."
"Dan."
"Don't 'Dan' me. I hate that my dad will pay whores to give him what he wants. But you turn me into a whore just to make a little money. I thought I meant something to you, more than a business relationship."
"You do. I told you about my feelings the other night; I meant it." He looks at me with an apprehensive glance.
"Bullshit! That isn't love. If you meant it, you wouldn't have handed me over to Boris. And! You would have at least once said you were sorry. You had plenty of time to do it. You could have said it when you were pulling the pins from my balls, or when you were unwrapping them, or when you were cleaning me up. Any time! Just two little words 'I'm sorry.' That's it. You fucked up tonight."
He stands in front of me with a shocked look on his face. I don't think anyone has ever talked to him like this. He doesn't respond.
"You should have thought more about me, not what I am worth to you. Your last words to me before abandoning me were 'Trust me.' What a fucking joke! I don't know if I can ever trust you again. You told me that 'Semper Fi' means 'Always faithful'. I don't know how you can ever say those words again and mean it."
Sgt Tate shoulders drop, and his head bows. That last statement hit him hard.
"Now I am going to bed. Don't follow me in here."
I lay down on the bed. Reaching over to get the covers, I have one final glance at him. He stands motionless in the exact pose from a minute ago. Even in the dim bedroom, I see his eye start to well up.
I turn away from him. "I . . . fucking . . . Hate . . . YOU!"
I pull the covers up to my chin and begin to cry myself to sleep. I start to doze off to my own cries, but I know that they are not the only tears I hear before falling asleep.
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