Cry Down the Mountain

Max was bound in what we called a banc de prière, a prayer bench where one knelt before a wooden frame to support the forearms while in prolonged prayer. The sexual device version of this had stocks on the top edge of the frame. Max's head and wrists were trapped in the stocks and his knees were lashed in place to the frame. He was beyond help.

The first thing I did was take the knife out. He was beyond relief from doing that, but there was no reason to invite suspicion toward me in any of this. I took the knife out to a water trough half full of fetid water and cleaned it off. I walked for five minutes to an upper ward of the castle ruins, where the crumbling wall overlooked a ravine buried in dense foliage. I threw the knife as far out into the ravine as I could.

I then came back to the dungeon, took out my cellphone, and started making calls. It was too late to prevent this from being a sensationalized international incident. While I waited for the various authorities to arrive, I put my story together--enough for it all to be clear--not more than was necessary on the sexual aspects, at least where I was concerned. In my calls I made clear that once the others were here and the scene pinned down, we needed to take a ride down to the Merit Park Casino and Hotel to find a man named Mehmet Ergon.

After that unpleasantness had been taken care of, I drove back to Kyrenia Harbor and to the Trypiti harborside restaurant. I was in a mood and decided I'd spend the night in Kyrenia. I knew a man there who melted to big bad Danes. I thought that I'd like to get just a bit more rough with him than we'd experienced that afternoon, do more in building up a relationship. He had the toys for it, if he could muster the stamina for it. I was in the mood.

It was my turn with the whip.