I found out – months later – that my resistance cell had been infiltrated by a government spy. We’d been making arrangements, we thought, with foreign smugglers to obtain some new weaponry. When we arrived for the purchase we were greeted instead by government soldiers who quickly overwhelmed us and arrested us all.

I was taken to a prison camp full of political prisoners – all opponents of the ruling regime in one way or another. There I was held and subjected to “coercive interrogation” techniques. I don’t really know how long I was there, since sensory and sleep deprivation were implemented immediately upon our arrival, and continued nonstop. I quickly lost all sense of time. It was days at least, probably weeks. Maybe even months, I just don’t know.

They did everything to me I’d imagined – except genital torture. I’d fully expected that, but it was the one thing they never did. They didn’t touch my cock or balls, except on the first day when a clear plastic cage had been locked over them. It allowed me to piss, but it restricted me from getting hard or jerking off. Not that I could have touched myself anyway, as I was kept bound or cuffed at all times, and never allowed a freedom of movement that would have permitted me to masturbate.

It must have become clear to my captors very quickly that I was a very low level grunt. I had no information about the leadership of my own cell, much less the organization or location or membership of other cells. What little I knew they extracted from me fairly quickly. I knew that the information I had wouldn’t endanger others – most of the rest of my cell had been arrested with me. There was simply no point in resisting. They continued torturing me anyway trying to get more, but there was simply no more for me to give.

When they eventually gave up I was returned to my sensory deprivation cell and allowed to sleep uninterrupted for the first time since my capture. I woke – who knows how long I’d slept – to the sensation of a needle jabbing into my arm. I jerked awake and was barely able to focus my eyes in time to see a hooded figure withdrawing the syringe from my arm. Then my vision blurred again, and I lost consciousness.

The next thing I remember was waking up in a new place. It was very clean, quiet, peaceful – all in stark contrast to the interrogation camp where everything was dirty, and intentionally disorienting. As my eyes focused I realized a guard was standing nearby watching me.

“Ah good morning,” he said. He was wearing a government army uniform, but its unit insignias were unfamiliar to me. He walked over and gripped my arm. “Sit up, slowly, you will be dizzy.” Over the next few hours I was carefully monitored as the drugs wore off. I was given some light food, lots of water. I was taken to a bathroom and allowed to void my bladder and bowels in private for the first time since my capture. Eventually when I was able to stand I was allowed to shower using hot water and soap, and also given a fresh new razor to shave. I was then given a loose fitting pair of army green boxer shorts (the chastity cage was still locked on my cock and it was a bit bulky), and led otherwise naked to a warm, well lit but windowless room with two comfortable chairs. My chair, however, had eye bolts in its heavy frame, and I was locked with handcuffs and leg irons to the chair. Then the guards left the room without a word.

I drifted off to sleep again, and woke when I heard the door open and close. As I once again focused my weary eyes I saw him for the first time. The same army uniform with unfamiliar insignia. He was older than me, slightly larger, and incredibly fit for his age… lean and tone from what I could see. But what struck me most was that he radiated an aura of absolute authority and confidence.

He sat opposite me and flipped open a folder he’d carried in with him. He read my name aloud, and proceeded to recite my entire life story. My parents. Childhood. School. How I’d joined the resistance. What I’d done with the resistance. How I’d been captured, and every bit of information I’d given up while at the prison camp being tortured.

He then closed the folder, put it on a table beside his chair, and stared straight into my eyes. I shuddered, feeling suddenly cold even though the room remained quite warm.

“You are here because it has been determined that you are of no further value as an intelligence source.”

I felt a flash of fear, wondering if I’d been sentenced to death. I did not need to wait long to hear that my fate was, perhaps, even worse.

“It has therefore been decided that like all political prisoners of no further use, you are to be castrated, and spend the remainder of your life in a hard labor camp. Luckily for you, your life expectancy in a labor camp will be exceedingly short, so you will not have long to suffer.”

He stopped speaking and stared straight into me, allowing the silence to penetrate me.

“I am the commanding officer of this facility, where we perform the castrations of all political prisoners from the entire country. With that he pushed a small button on the table next to him, and panels in the wall behind him slid open, revealing rows of shelves holding hundreds of small jars, all lit from behind. In each jar floated globs of grey tissue. I didn’t need him to explain.

“These are the testicles of those who have come here before like you as broken men, and left as sexless things.” He then reached behind him and produced an empty jar. “And shortly, your balls will join theirs on that shelf, in this jar. I will perform the procedure myself, taking your balls like I have taken all of those you see behind me.”

I was now beginning to panic. The impact of the full shelves and the empty jar, plus his matter of fact confidence, left me with no doubt of the truth he spoke.

“What if I could convince you that I’m innocent!?” I blurted out.

He smiled like a wise teacher who had heard many young students trying the same naïve pleas to escape punishment. He motioned to the file. “You cannot possibly expect me to believe you.” It wasn’t a question, and of course I knew he was right. He then leaned forward and stared even more intensely into me, through me.

“Here’s what you must understand: I don’t just do this because I’m following orders. I enjoy what I do here. I enjoy watching men writhe as I remove their manhood. I love to hear them beg. I thrill at their agony. I am nourished by their suffering.” He then motioned to the lowest shelf behind him, where three jars had small white labels, while all the others were unmarked. “Do you see these three jars? Out of the hundreds of men I have cut here over the past ten years, these are the only three that I truly believed to be innocent. They convinced me that indeed they had been unjustly arrested, convicted, and sent to me. They were innocent men.” He smiled. “So they are my favorites, the treasured jewels of my collection. I made sure they suffered extra long, and extra hard, so I could savor their agony. I knew their screams were genuine, because they didn't deserve what was happening to them. That made their suffering more real and intense for them, and oh so much more satisfying for me. Each of them eventually passed out from the pain.”

He was quiet for a moment, almost wistful, remembering those moments.

“However I know that you are not innocent, so your suffering will never be as satisfying to me as theirs was. Therefore I am prepared to give you a choice they did not get. I will let you choose, for yourself, how much you wish to suffer….”

TO BE CONTINUED