The Predator

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Six inch stakes firmly pounded into the firm sod will aptly keep Max in four-point restraint. With boots removed he lies prostrate, feet well parted, wrists bound above his head, the stolen jewelry returned to the cloth bag.

Sharp metal shards heat in the fire’s embers. Luda surveys her prey while sitting astride his buttocks. Her naked flesh beneath the animal skins abrades Max’s hips, furnishing a brief erotic thrill for the condemned, as strong hands grasp large folds of skin at the shoulder blades.

“Good skin, Max. It will hold nicely.”

Long iron tongs reach to the embers to retrieve the first shard. It glows in the darkness.

“Scream if you’d like, Max. No one around for miles.”

The left hand pulls a large and thick tuft of flesh away from the left shoulder blade, the right presses the hot shard into the skin. Max lurches and indeed screams as the sharp shard penetrates beneath Luda’s fingers then exits beneath her thumb. Though the metal slowly cools, Max continues his plaintive cries.

“The heat instantly cauterizes the skin Max. No blood.”

The left hand slides away and reaches back between Max’s thighs to soothingly stroke the testicles while Luda surveys her handiwork. The middle section of the four-inch length of metal rests beneath the flesh; the two ends are exposed left and right.

“I’ll let you rest a bit. There are many more and you shouldn’t be ashamed to swoon. Most do and there’s some cooling water to revive you. It’s important to me that you be alert for each piercing. I’m sending a message which I enjoy watching received.

“The process is a combination of Indian torture and Western antisepticism. If you were a Sioux captive, you’d soon be hanging by a rope threaded through these openings in your skin. Left somewhere to die. Your systemic reaction to the slow and unrelenting agony would kill you before any infection from the openings.”

Luda reaches for another shard.

“That won’t do for me, Max. I need you healthy and able to work. You’re going to help me move south. Many pounds of equipment await your toil.”

Max feels another tuft gathered at his right shoulder blade. Luda presses again with the same results. Does Max hear his own skin sizzle?

“Lots of skin, many shards, Max,” Luda observes with a laugh.

More screams. Another respite.

“So to protect against infection, I have some smooth and clean copper tubes I’ll be inserting in your piercings. Your skin will heal around them and I’ll have some convenient openings to provide control. You’re going to be impressed by how much strain your own flesh will take. You’re going to be more beast than man over the next few weeks, Max... restrained by your skin. My way of fixing you.”

The third shard enters the flesh two or three inches below the first. The fourth slides through to the right, forming a symmetrical pattern down Max’s back. With the fourth, Max faints as expected.

“Water, Doodie.”

The faithful page awaits nearby, thoroughly enjoying Max’s vociferous expressions of pain. As he pours the reviving liquid over his head, Luda works back to slide out the first shard and press into the opening the first copper tube, the size of her index finger.

She has performed the procedure so often, knowing that the opening must be most deep beneath the many layers of epidermis in order to withstand the tension of the ropes which will bind Max to the supply sled. Effectively, Max will be imbued with a skin corset, used to attach him to his ponderous task.

The mind of a semi-conscious Max returns to his excruciating ordeal. He feels Luda’s hand working between his thighs.

“Nice weighty sac, Max. Have you measured him, Doodie?”

Doodie dutifully holds up an open iron ring. Max will soon be donning it around the base of his scrotum, the ring closed with a heated iron bolt to permanently encircle his testicles.

The naked page smiles with the satisfaction that his will not be the only body bearing Luda’s circular metal restraints.

The cruel process continues well into the night. With the eighth and final opening, Max wrenches and gags, his empty stomach attempting to give up what little food remains. Luda works back to remove the cool shards and insert the tubes. Max feels the skin on his back tightening, as if he is dressed in a jacket too small.

Finished for the evening, Luda releases Max’s right hand. It is used to demonstrate the utility of her work. A rope is threaded through the first tube and used to bind his wrist behind his back. The left wrist follows, bound to the second tube and then Max’s ankles are untied.

“Tonight you’ll sleep in the tent. Over time you’ll learn to sleep outdoors in the cold.”

A relieved and depleted Max is led into Luda’s large tent, shaped like a teepee but covered in canvas. Doodie has begun a fire within a small collection of stones in the center. When the flap of the canvas entrance is folded closed behind the trio, the interior becomes most comfortable.

“It’s best that you become accustomed to your bindings,” Luda explains leading Max to the side.

Ropes threaded through the remaining six tubes are used to secure Max to support poles overhead. Luda leaves him kneeling with wrists remaining behind his back. She tightens the ropes to ensure that he cannot lie down.

“You’ll learn to sleep... in time.”

Max gapes as, for the first time, he can finally scan Doodie’s nakedness without interruption. The soft hairless skin, the long blond hair, the effeminate shape all suggest that the body is that of a teenaged girl. The emaciated, forcibly upturned p***s suggests otherwise. The missing gonads bring a shudder of realization. After enduring the eight searing penetrations, so insouciantly implemented, Max knows full well who plucked the missing organs.

Doodie notices Max’s examining eyes and steps to turn down the oil lamp just as Luda doffs her animal skin covering. In the soft light, Max is afforded a glimpse of the uncovered body of his powerful tormentress. Her back is toward him, displaying buttocks of steel, thighs of tree trunks. She is well muscled and without feminine fat. The showing of her inordinate strength strikes fear in Max, particularly when an equally naked Doodie humbly steps toward her to kneel at her feet. The pretty castrate raises his forehead, cranes his neck upward and Max watches in a combination of inquisitiveness and lust as Doodie’s meek hands reach up and tenderly grasp Luda’s buttocks to hold himself steady. The sounds of wetness hint at Doodie’s oral homage as Luda parts her feet and her powerful hands entwine in Doodie’s long blond hair to draw him closer.

“Yes, my taste is strong, Doodie. Torturing Max has aroused me.”