by Max Vos
Chapter 3
It was the scratchy wool of the blanket covering him that woke Stone. His skin was raw where the cattle prod had burned him. He tried to sit up, but his sore muscles wouldn’t let him…at first. He pushed himself up eventually, fighting through the pain. He looked around in the nearly dark room, the only window bricked up except for about three inches at the top, letting in just enough light for him to see the dingy room he was in.
The thin, ratty mattress he’d been placed on was lying on a dirt floor. There was no furniture or anything else in the room, only the mattress, the thin wool blanket, and the Marine. The door was wooden, but Stone could tell it was thick, and newer than what one might expect. He had the feeling that he wouldn’t be able to break through it, especially in his current condition.
Stone was trying to clear his head of the cobwebs when he heard a scream. Instantly, he knew that voice. He knew that they now had Benoit, and more than likely were subjecting him to the same treatment that he himself had suffered at their hands. Covering his ears, he tried to block out the nightmarish sound, and the pain in that voice, but there was no way for him to do that completely. With every scream, he felt Benoit’s pain as if it were his own.
Stone sat there, his hands over his head, rocking back and forth on the dirty mattress, when a shadow fell across him. Immediately he froze, not daring to move, waiting to see what other horrendous fate had befallen him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the shoes, then the pants with the neatly pressed crease, and he instantly knew who it was.
The Arab man stooped down, his electric blue eyes seemingly lighting up the room, taking away the dimness, as he looked at the still-naked Marine, the ratty blanket not quite covering his large body. A well-kept, masculine hand reached out and cupped Stone’s chin, lifting his head slightly. Stone was struck by the sadness in this beautiful man’s eyes, and yes, there was concern there also. The warmth of his hand soothed and warmed the brutalized American.
There was a distinguished beauty to this man’s face. The nose was graceful and straight; his thick, dark eyebrows framed his astonishing eyes. Stone could see himself kissing those plum-ripe lips. He ached to feel the roughness of that morning beard against his own, were it another time, another place. There goes that need to fuck and procreate again, Stone sighed.
Shifting his balance, the Arab sat next to Stone on that unsavory mattress that smelled of mold and bad body odor. Sitting close, their bodies touching from ankle to shoulder, Stone’s skin absorbing the warmth of the Arab’s body through the wool blanket, making him acknowledge for the first time how cold he was. Carefully, the Arab wrapped his arm around the naked shoulders, his hand pressing Stone’s head to his shoulder, warming him even further.
Stone stiffened. This could be a trick. The Arab could be playing the good-cop-bad-cop routine with him while trying to get the information that his compatriots wanted. As soon as they got what they wanted, they would kill not only Stone, but Benoit as well, and Stone was not willing to let that happen if he could stop it. Stop it at any cost.
“I will not harm you, Samuel J. Stone.” The deep, rich voice whispered close to his ear. The British accent mixed with that of his Arabic ancestry, Stone now noticed. “I wish you no harm. I am as much a prisoner as you, maybe even more so.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” Stone’s own voice was low; he barely recognized it as his own.
“If I were in your shoes, I suppose I would ask that very same question.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small package of Gummy Bears. “Here, I brought this for you, but you must eat them now, so as I can take the wrapper with me. I risk a lot by coming to you.” He opened the bag, and shook out a few of the sugary treats into his palm.
Stone’s head rose up. As the Marine looked into those electric blue eyes, he knew then that he could trust this man. The sadness and hurt Stone saw in his eyes went much deeper than just his sadness for Stone. These animals had Benoit and himself, but they also had this Arab in some way.
Gently he fed the American the Gummy Bears until the package was empty, which didn’t take long. Stone hadn’t realized how hungry he was. The sugar hit his bloodstream like a burst of adrenaline, and he promptly felt better.
Putting the empty candy wrapper back in his pocket, the Westernized Arab then wrapped Stone in both of his hard, muscular arms, holding him tightly to his body. “I don’t know if I can save you or your friend, but I will try, Samuel J. Stone,” he said, his warm breath caressing the naked neck. “You will have to be strong. You will have to endure much, I’m afraid, but if you survive, when the time is right, I will do what I can for you and your friend.”
Placing both of his hands on either side of the American prisoner’s face, he kissed his forehead, and then he was gone.
There was now a glimmer of hope, as dim as it might be. Stone had to hang onto that miniscule pinpoint of light at the end of a very dark tunnel. He had to have hope to accomplish his personal mission, which was getting Benoit out of here and back to the wife who loved him, and to his small infant son.
Stone still had to suffer the nerve-grating screams of Benoit as he was being tortured. Hang on, my friend, my love. A love that he would never know of, must never know of, nor ever to be returned.
The torturing of Benoit seemed to last forever. Stone felt the temperature drop as the light faded from his tiny view of the outside world. Only then did the screaming stop. The large Marine took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, hoping that Benoit hadn’t succumbed to those vicious animals.
Stone heard muffled voices in the hall, and something being dragged like a heavy sack. Only when he heard a door slam shut, which sounded to be directly across from his own, did he relax a little. It was then he knew that Benoit had survived and was across that dark, narrow hall from him.
The heavy weight of exhaustion overcame him. Lying down, pulling the rough blanket around himself, he found a way to sleep. He now had hope. However slim, there was hope.
Chapter 4
Taking everything into consideration, Stone actually slept well. The body sometimes knows when to shut down and let itself heal, and he supposed that was what happened. He was sleeping soundly when he heard his prison door open, jerking him awake. The kid who had thrown the buckets of water on Stone the day before stood in front of him, pointing a gun at his chest. He wore the same evil grin on his face as he had the previous day. How Stone longed to wipe it off his face, preferably with his fists!
The kid motioned for the soldier to stand. Stone’s body, still sore from the day before but not as sore as it had been, allowed him to stand on his own without assistance. The kid indicated for him to go out the door. Before he reached the door, the kid punched him between the shoulder blades with the barrel of the rifle, nearly knocking him down onto his knees. Stone stumbled, but did not fall.
Being pushed down the hallway with the barrel of the gun, Stone’s dick swinging in front of him as he walked, they proceeded, Stone’s feet feeling like blocks of ice. They went in the opposite direction of the courtyard this time. Stopping at the end of the hall, the kid opened a door, and then pushed Stone through it. This room had a full window, allowing the Marine to look out onto the barren, cold landscape.
Country’s murderer was there, no longer smiling. There was pure evil oozing from this man, if you could even call him a man. Whatever he had planned, Stone knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
An old-fashioned iron bed was in the center of the room, the mattress removed, exposing the wire grid work that was a substitute for a box spring. There was a table pushed against a wall, with the same type of wool blanket that Stone had used, covering something. Instinctively, he knew that whatever was under that blanket was going to have a direct bearing on him.
Stone was pushed towards the bed with the barrel of the gun. With a flourish of his hand, as if it were the most comfortable bed to be had, his handler signaled for the prisoner to lie down. The smirk on his f
ace infuriated Stone.
Not having much of a choice, since there was a gun aimed at him, Stone sat down. The cold metal seared his bare skin as he sat, his balls drawing up even tighter to his body, seeking warmth. Again, he indicated for the naked Marine to get into the position that he wanted him in, never speaking. Stone’s back was now against the cold metal, on what could have been either the foot or the head of the bed, his legs lying flat out in front of him. Now he waited to see what his demented torturer was going to do or demand next.
Stone’s handsome savior-to-be entered the room, avoiding eye contact with him. Speaking to the other two men in Arabic, Mr. Blue-eyes’ face and body language remained neutral. He was freshly shaved and bathed, Stone could smell his cleanliness, and again he was dressed in Western-style clothing.
It wasn’t much longer before Benoit was ushered into the room, in the same fashion as Stone had been. Stone breathed a sigh of relief, but Benoit looked to be in about the same condition as himself, perhaps a little worse. He had a black eye and a split lip, dried blood still on his chin. When the two Marines’ eyes met, Stone saw only resolve there, and the slightest grin, as he looked at his best friend.
In a short clipped voice, still not looking at Stone, the blue-eyed handsome man told Benoit to sit opposite Stone. It was clear, at least to Stone, that the Arab didn’t want to be there, and did not want to be a part of whatever was about to happen.
Benoit’s captors forced him into the same position as Stone, his legs stretched out in from of him, his feet close to Stone’s upper thighs. They were both tied from behind to the metal frame of the bed. Their arms were tied along the top bar of the bed, forcing their chests out.
Stone couldn’t help but admire how good-looking Benoit was, even in the sad condition he was in. His immense chest, covered with the same dark hair as his head. The tight abdominal muscles that he constantly worked on, doing sit-ups and crunches, to maintain that washboard look. Although Stone had seen him naked many times before, he always took pleasure in seeing his manly equipment, but this time may have been the exception.
Benoit’s dark eyes drilled into Stone’s, giving him strength, and Stone hoped that he was returning it right back to him. Stone knew that look. It was as if he could hear him speaking inside his head. We can do this, buddy.
Their torturer spoke, barking out an order to the other two men, the ones who had brought Benoit and Stone into the room and tied them to the bed. They approached the two bound Americans with copper wiring that looked as if it had been stripped from electrical cable. Then they each took one end, one weaving it into the grid of the bed, before wrapping it around Benoit’s genitals. The other one, the one who had dumped buckets of water on Stone, wrapped the other end around his cock and balls. He made it known that he was not pleased with having to touch Stone’s junk.
Stone knew what was coming. The look on Benoit’s face told him that he also understood what was about to happen. With a quick wink, he reinforced what he had previously conveyed to Stone: we can get through this.
Before they could react or brace themselves, they were both drenched in cold water. Both gasped, more by the surprise of it than anything else. That proved to be tremendously entertaining to everyone but the handsome man with the electric blue eyes.
“Do either of you wish to tell us what your mission was?” he asked, voice flat. His blue eyes looked at Stone briefly for the first time since entering the room.
Benoit and Stone remained steely silent, neither saying anything.
The Arab turned away from the bound men, facing the wall.
Stone finally understood enough to know that their torturer, the one who had murdered Country in cold blood, was named Abdul, having paid close attention when the blue-eyed Arab addressed the animal in charge. Abdul uncovered what he had hidden under the blanket. Stone was not surprised to see an old-fashioned electrical hand crank, modified with battery cables. The goons who were assisting Abdul, quickly clamped the cables to the frame of the metal bed.
Benoit and Stone looked at each other, and braced themselves for what was to come. They didn’t have long to wait.
Picking up the crank box, Abdul slowly started turning the crank. Electricity soon flowed through the metal of the bed, and consequently, Benoit and Stone. The water acted as a conductor, not leaving any parts of their bodies untouched by the electrical shock. The pain was intensified around their groins, being directly wired to the frame of the bed.
They soon learned that when their legs thrashed about, the electrical current causing their muscles to constrict and twitch, the movement only added to the excruciating pain of their genitals. The combination of electricity and their cocks and balls jerking hard away from their bodies was excruciating. They flopped around like fish out of water, and indirectly hurt each other as their legs kicked the other’s genitals.
When Abdul stopped turning the crank, he nodded to Mr. Blue-Eyes.
“Will you now tell us what we want to know?” This time he looked hard into Stone’s eyes. There was a question there. Can you endure?
When Benoit said, “You can tell your towel-headed friends to go fuck themselves,” Stone’s head snapped around. “They will never get any information out of us,” Benoit spat out, his voice strong and full of hatred.
What took Stone by surprise more than anything was that it didn’t seem to be directed at Stone’s handsome new friend. When Benoit turned back to Stone, Stone saw the determination in his face, giving his fellow Marine strength to draw from.
Again, sharp and painful current coursed through their bodies. Stone’s teeth chomped down, the already-sore jaw muscles constricting uncontrollably. As hard as Stone tried, he could not control the flailing about of his legs, acting as if they had a life of their own. The last thing Stone wanted was to cause Benoit any more pain than necessary.
Over and over again, the prisoners were asked to divulge the intent of their mission when their helicopter was shot out of the sky. Stone’s mind quickly went to the others who had been on the copter with them. Did anyone else survive? If they did, where were they now?
Again, Mr. Blue-Eyes asked the Americans to divulge the information that Abdul wanted.
“You can tell your friend there that his mother fucks camels,” was Benoit’s reply.
Each time they were asked for the information, Benoit made it quite clear what they could do, and whom with: their mothers, their sisters, their farm animals, and anyone or anything else he could think of to insult the men torturing them. Stone never spoke a word; he could only hope to let the man in whom he had placed all hope know that he was holding on: keeping the faith, so to speak.
From what Stone could see through the dirty window, it looked as if it were sometime after noon when they finally gave up and took Benoit and him back to their respective rooms. Stone flopped onto the mattress, his new bed. He was physically and mentally exhausted. Even with his swollen nuts throbbing, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 5
Stone was abruptly woken up when the door slammed open. It seems that his young torturer had been appointed as Stone’s keeper, and he didn’t seem at all pleased about it. He had a bucket of water and a loaf of hard bread with him. Dropping the bucket, water splashing out, he then threw the bread at the naked man on the thin mattress. He said something in Arabic, which Stone took to be either cursing or, at the very least, insulting.
Not to be outdone, “I’d like to beat the living shit out of you, then turn around and fuck your ass silly, you little twerp,” Stone said, looking the captor dead in the eyes. The torturer actually seemed surprised that his prisoner had said anything, and scurried away.
Stone attacked the water, his mouth feeling like sawdust, wishing he had a toothbrush. He was ravenous, so the stale, hard bread didn’t last long. Drinking more water helped fill the void. Stone hoped that Benoit had gotten as much, if not more.
Lying back down, his belly gurgling with all the water he’d drunk, St
one started to doze off a bit. As he closed his eyes, then opened them, he saw the dull orange of the winter sky, the sun dropping down below the horizon. Soon the temperature would also drop. He had never been so cold for so long in his life, and it was draining a lot of his energy, making him feel so very tired.
Stone must have fallen asleep, a deep sleep, because he never heard him come in. The naked man woke up with him stroking the side of his face, hearing and feeling his hand as it ran across the stubble on his cheek. Opening his eyes, Stone smiled up into the handsome face.
Returning Stone’s smile, Mr. Blue-Eyes said, “I’ve brought you something.” He pulled something out of his pocket. It was hard to see in the limited light, but Stone saw the reflection of foil. Unwrapping its contents, the Arab handed it to Stone. It was a large piece of dried meat, similar to jerky. “This will help you keep your strength up.”
Stone cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He sat up, the blanket falling away from him and exposing his bare chest, chilling him even further. “Since you know my name, won’t you tell me yours?” he asked as he chewed the salty dried meat.
“My name is Abbas Hakim.” His Arabic accent grew stronger as he said his name.
“I like the way you say that. It’s very sexy.” Stone smiled at Abbas as he sat next to him on the not particularly pleasant bedding.
“It pleases me that you think so.” Abbas’s smile was bright in the dim room, his white teeth bright.
Thinking out loud more than anything else, Stone said, “I wish I had a toothbrush.”
“I will see what I can do, but I can’t promise.” Both were whispering. “I am taking a significant risk in sneaking in to see you.”
“Have you seen my friend? Benoit?”
“No, I’m afraid it would be much too risky to try and see you both,” he answered. A slight frown furrowed his brow.
