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Roger stopped his struggle for a minute catch his breath. “How could I be so fuckin stupid,” the twenty- six year old asked himself. “I’ll break if they ‘skin me alive!’” Roger kept talking to himself in his head as his wrists burned in the tight ropes. “I can take torture, but if I break, then I will not stand a chance!” Roger got back to work on the ropes. There was not much time.

He had worked for the XXXX Enforcement Agency for several years now. He loved his undercover assignment: living on the edge. The pure rush – higher than a XXXX high. He loved pushing himself to the limits. He worked out and kept his body perfectly toned. He would push to the limit in everything he did --- pushup, squats, weights, ropes. Yes ropes. He was into tie up – not sex stuff nor bdsm, tie up. Like being roped up like some animal in a tight hogtie, arms pulled to their breaking point, rope biting into his muscular mass, hamstrings cramped from their XXXX position… he would work the ropes for a day if he had to. He always got free. Since he was a kid.

He loved living on the edge. A street wise Harlem kid, Roger had come through the ranks. At 16 he had joined a gang of Latinos….. Very tough kids. His initiation: he was strung up, striped to the waist, in the apartment of an abandoned building. They had crossed his wrists and hung him to the ceiling. His elbows were pulled together behind his head and tied. His legs were bent at the knees, and his ankles tied to his thighs. The gang members tormented him all afternoon. He was gut punched, blindfolded, and slapped as he hung off the ground in misery.. He always remembered how his shoulder blades and pits burned from his weight as he hung --- swinging. Finally they left him. He hung there, blindfolded, gagged, and sweating with fear as he heard the rats scurry under him. They next day he was cut down and became a gang member. It took him several days to walk without massive pain in his legs.

He came back to the present. How did they find out he was DEA undercover? He had worked for months to infiltrate the Jamaican XXXX traffic into Manhattan. He got in deep, and was at the distribution point: on old warehouse on the river in Scranton, Pennsylvania. He was going to take a shipment to NYC. He did not like the idea of a “wire,” recording conversations. It did not communicate to the outside, just record. To dangerous with all the high tech stuff the XXXXgies used – they could pic up the transmission. They must have caught his partner that night and tortured him for information.

Roger’s partner was more than just an assignment partner. He was his work out buddy and tie up buddy. Built like a rock, the dude like to play “prisoner of war.” You know, take him, and rope him into a ball, his ankles behind his neck, his arms pinned together behind his back. Roger would break into a sweat making the ropes tight on him. There was no way out. He would stay like that for hours until Roger decided it was time to let him go. His endurance was infinite. “What could they have done to him,” Roger wondered as he felt the tightness of the ropes around his own biceps.

Roger had been accosted as soon as he entered the warehouse. He had been tied up, wrists and arms, and mouth taped. They kicked him a bit. But when one punched him in his balls, they felt something. The found the wire… pulled up his shirt and saw it taped to his chest. Discovering it only to be a recording device, they left it there. They check his ropes and left to get their leader. Roger worked on the ropes. He knew what it was like to be tied up and he knew how to work with it. He liked the feel--- the rope biting into his biceps as he struggled.

He was used to tough spots. He had joined the army at 19, a tough muscular dude. After basic training, he went for ‘special ops.” He began to remember his SERT training: he was captured as a POW. He could have stopped the training, but he had told them, “…make it real…. Give me the full treatment!” They had roped his arms behind his back, elbows toughing, with a tight hemp rope. The sleeves on his camo shirt were rolled up to his shoulders, so the rope cut into his flesh. His arms were then lashed at his elbows and wrists to his back. Ropes were passed around each of his biceps and he was hoisted up until he was standing on his tip toes. If he lowered his feet, his arms would burn. He could stop it at any time. His captors played cards for hours as they watched Roger sweat in his bounds- resting his feet, and then raising them to his toes. He gave up in 5 hours, almost a record. They were amazed at the rope burn on his arms. Roger took it as the Medal of Honor.

He came back to the present--- it had happened so fast. He had no choice but to let these Jamaicans bind and gag him. They would hurt him in an instant. When his was roped, they beat him and threatened him. “Who else…” He would not talk. They had left him for a while and he struggled, but could not break free. Finally, when they hit the recorder near his balls, they pulled up his shirt, and found the wire. Ripping it from his skin, and crushing it, they manhandled Roger and roped him securely to a metal pole. He was tortured yet his was able to take their abuse. Finally, the boss spoke: “Skin him alive! That will make him talk!” They left him to get their edges. Roger felt terror in the pit of his belly. Strung up and skinned like some fuckin deer.

It was then that Roger knew this was it. He would break if they skinned him and tell them the names and descriptions of all other agents. He knew he did not have much time. Flexing his muscles he got the ropes off his chest. He took the pain as the ropes sawed into his wrists, but he finally got them free. He began to escape from the basement. After a few hours he was back at the federal building in Scranton. He explained to his superiors what happened. They were relieved that Roger was ok. His partner too had survived the torture. When they went to the warehouse all were gone. Roger knew there would be another day.

He decided he needed so more training. He called his partner who came by with a coil of quarter inch hemp rope. Soon the ropes were biting once again into Roger’s skin as he hung from the ceiling, his partner holding a edge to his chest, and then……..

The End

Roger played by Clark

Photography by Caitiff

Date of Production:05/21/2006