Andrew's Story
My name is Andrew Svenson. I am 21 years old and Swedish. I had been studying in England and had just completed my third year at a University there and gained an honours degree in Business Studies. I was feeling both elated and sad because I had just broken up with my girl friend. We had been together for the last two years, studying together, enjoying life together but she said she had met someone else at home and had ditched me. I was more than a little upset as I thought the relationship was really going somewhere but it was not to me. To take my mind off things I decided I needed a holiday so I took myself off to Italy, to soak up some sun, drink a lot of beer and try to forget. I had wanted to visit Italy for some time so this seemed an ideal opportunity before starting my career. I wanted to see Rome and Florence but most of all I wanted just to relax on a beach, get a nice tan and listen to the soothing sound of the waves.
The visits to the two cities had been most rewarding; I have always been interested in history and art and but, after spending a week in each, was looking for somewhere quieter. So I travelled to the area called the Cinque Terra, a group of small towns, fishing villages, and deserted beaches. I hate crowds of tourists and decided on Monterosso. I knew I could easily find secluded places nearby where the tourists don't go. I just wanted to be on my own. I was looking for a deserted beach where I could lose myself in the gentle swishing of the waves without being disturbed by loud mouthed drunken tourists. I could also improve my tan by sunbathing naked. I found a small hotel with a vacancy deposited my things and headed for one of the many beach bars. I was going to drown my sorrows before exploring further. Next morning I packed my rucksack with food for the day and two bottles of water and set off to find the ideal spot. Leaving the town I headed off along the beach. It was a bit of a climb over rocks to get round the headland but there in front of me was a beautiful little cove which appeared to have no access apart from the route I had just taken.
I found a nice sheltered spot near rocks and out of the wind, stripped of all my clothes and dashed into the sea. It was warm and refreshing and after half an hour or so went back to the beach and lay down on my towel. I made sure I had applied plenty of sun cream as I did not want my skin to get burnt. The sun was hot so after roasting my back and front, returned to the sea to cool off.
This set the pattern for the rest of the day until, at about 4 o'clock, I got dressed and returned to my hotel. The next few days followed the same pattern and my tan was developing nicely. There is something about sun bathing nude. I liked the fact I did not seem to be permanently wearing a white thong where my skin had not been exposed to the sun. I was beginning to forget my girlfriend and decided to stay a few the whole week before going home. But on the fourth day things took a turn for the worst. I was lying on my front on the towel dozing as usual when I heard the sand crunching around me. Suddenly my arms and legs were grabbed by four men. I tried to struggle but they held me firm. They spoke in an accent that sounded African or Asian. Then as they held me down I felt a hand stroking my ass cheeks and the backs of my thighs. One of the men made an obscene comment.
'Yes Hassan, you are right. The boy has a beautifully firm ass; clients will pay well for the right to fuck that. Farook will be very pleased with this one'.
From their persistent babbling it was obvious that the other men agreed but I could make no sense of what they were saying. It was then that I felt the jab of a needle in my thigh and that was the last I remember of The Cinque Terra.
As the effect of the drug wears off I slowly come to my senses and realise that I am now in the back of a van. I am naked and on my knees with my wrists shackled and roped above my head to the roof. In the front of the van are three men but of course I cannot see their faces. I try to protest but quickly realise that a ball gag is strapped in my mouth. We are on dirt roads and the van is bouncing around which causes me to lurch from side to side but with my wrists tied there is no risk of falling over. Looking down and can see that my knees are spread wide apart, being roped to fixings on each side of the van and my ankles are tied to the tops of my thighs so I am unable to raise myself from this kneeling position or indeed change my position at all.
The men at the front of the van are talking but in a language I cannot understand. Since one of them looks back at me I suspect that they are probably talking about me. As I get fleeting views of this man's face I see he is dark skinned with a black beard, I guess he could be a Turk or similar. The driver, in contrast, is black skinned, almost certainly African. From time to time all three burst into laughter and I have an uncomfortable feeling that I am the subject of their conversation.
As I look out through the windscreen of the van I can see nothing but barren hills and desert. Clearly we are a long way from the Cinque Terra and this is borne out by the roughness of the track; it could hardly be described as a road. The driver seems to be in a hurry judging by the way he is driving and one of the men keeps looking at his watch.
It is difficult to judge time but after what seems to be more than an hour the driver pulls into the side of the track where another van is waiting. As we pull up behind it three men get out and approach. These men are clearly Arabs in typical Arab dress; full length white robes and matching head dresses. After a hurried exchange of words the door to the side of the van is slid open. Two of the Arabs examine me closely. They rub their hands all over my body feeling the firmness of my thighs and arms. One of them grabs my hair and orders me to open my mouth. Then another takes hold of my cock and lifts it and separates my balls. He weighs them in his hand for a few seconds then withdraws. There is much laughing and friendly banter between the men; it is as if they are striking a deal. Then finally one brings out a bag and hands over several packets of what looks like pristine banknotes. The men shake hands and then my wrists and ankles are untied.
I am bodily lifted from the van and placed in the second one. Still drowsy from the effect of the drug I can offer little resistance as my wrists and ankles are tied as before. Then once more we set off on the bumpy road. The constant jerking on my arms as I am bounced around is beginning to tell on my muscles; particularly my shoulders. Although I am now very fearful of my fate in the hands of these men I am wishing we would get to wherever we are going soon.
It seems an interminable time but at last I see buildings. We are entering civilisation if a town with dust covered streets and low whitewashed buildings is civilisation. We stop at a set of high double gates that immediately open. Once inside they are swiftly closed. We are in a large walled compound. The men get out of the van and I am left alone. I watch them as they enter one of the buildings and I am left to my thoughts. It is extremely hot in the van. For the journey it was kept reasonably cool by the air conditioning but now that we have stopped it is becoming rapidly like an oven. I hope they come for me soon whatever their intentions. I have heard of kidnaps for ransom so perhaps that is what they have in mind. I could not think of any other reason for my predicament but why I had to be naked I could not fathom.
Just as I thought I was about to expire from the heat the three Arabs returned. They quickly released my wrists and ankles and ordered me out of the van. As I stood between them I felt humiliated and vulnerable. They turned me this way and that and all the time speaking in Arabic. They touched me and handled my body as if I was just an item of goods. One of them ties my wrists together behind my back and puts a rope around my neck then drags me towards one of the many buildings situated around the perimeter of the yard. At one side of the yard are posts and wooden frames with chains and manacles hanging from them and the sight of these sets my mind in overdrive. We enter the building which to my horror contains a number of prison cells with iron bars. The man unties the rope and pushes me inside the nearest one.
'Get in there slave' he said and get on your knees'.