The puddle

"Come on man.  Those things hurt.
Don't make it so tight.  Your're
torturing me!!!!"

They put five of the cuffs up Mike's arms behind his back.  One was just at his shoulders, a second bound his biceps, a third above his elbows forcing his forearms together which were help by a forth and finally the last at his wrists.

"Please. Please.  It's cutting through my skin.  It's too tight."

"GAG THIS SON OF A BITCH!!!"



They shoved a balled up rag down the boys's throat.  Thick and wide duct tape circled his mouth.  Then the duct taped around his chest and gut, zip tied his thighs, knees, calves and legs and went to work on the other two captives.

The three of us were lying on the ground, all bound up.
We were on our backs, so our weight pressed down
on the plastic ties increasing the torture.

Testing the bounds, I discovered that any movement of my arms or wrists made deep cuts into my muscle.

So I lay still.

They had removed my shoes and socks when they bound my ankles.

Now, being photographed for the ransom, they took a belt and took a few swats on the soles of my feet.  Desperately trying to get away, I tried to bend my feet. 

"Soon you will be strung up buy those feet boy!"

They took our ankles and bound the three of us together at our feet.  Then they hoisted us up.

As they videoed they beat our feet with the belt.

Then, hanging upside down,  they roped around our necks.

"You boys are on a live feed.  Your parents will see you suffering.  It should motivate them to quickly make the transfers.  When they do we will cut you down and tell them where you are."

All we could do was endure and watch the sweat and blood pour from our bodies into one large puddle below us.