FOREWORD
This is a record of a fantasy, not an attempt to describe a real life POW situation, about which I know almost nothing.
DAY ONE
The sun was hot and the air dry. Lt. Luke Henderson stood naked on the packed gritty earth in the center of a semi-circular amphitheater. About twenty-five feet in front of him a dozen or so enemy soldiers lounged in plastic Adirondack chairs. Where did they get those? Drinks were on small tables beside them. About twenty feet to their left Miller, DeAngelo and Beaubain sat on their heels in front of three soldiers who held them by their hair with knives at their throats. The translator had made it crystal clear that one of them would have his throat slit if Henderson resisted them in any way, which was why he remained motionless even though he was not physically restrained. The implication of having three there was that they could move on to another man if one had to be killed.
Fifty feet off to his right was a cage, built into the foundation of the amphitheater. The front of it was a barred wall with a similarly barred door in the center, so that everything inside the cage was visible from the outside. The remains of his platoon were there. Less than two dozen men, no non-coms left.
Blood from the several small wounds on his chest and thighs had dried. The wounds happened when his clothes were cut off of him with knives. Poor prospects for getting dressed again.
The expressions on his three comrades' faces were stoic, as was his. His mind was as empty as the landscape. There was no point in trying to guess what would happen next. He concentrated on his resolve to do whatever it took to save his men. He straightened a bit.
Five men in the group of enemy soldiers stood up and began to walk toward him. Three were dressed in fatigues, one in a service uniform, and the other, his demeanor suggesting he was of a higher rank, was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis. Henderson watched them approach, but his mental image was that of the three men with knives at their throats. As they drew closer Henderson's heart began beating in near panic as he realized that the black object in the hand of one subordinate was a leather facsimile of a circumcised penis, complete with testicles that could be used for a handle. He clenched his hands and stiffened his back further and stared hard at the officer in the middle, as much to avoid looking at the leather thing as to bolster his courage.
But it was worse. When the men arrived the one in the Hawaiian shirt said something to the man in uniform, who then turned to Henderson and said, in heavily accented English, "Lieutenant, what the commander wants from you today is a show." The commander flipped Henderson's penis, and spoke again. The translator said, "This won't do. If you can't give us a show, we'll slit the throat of that man over there." Henderson looked toward his three men in front of the bench. A small trickle of blood was already running from DeAngelo's neck.
Oh, God! Oh, God!
Di Angelo was just nineteen. He looked terrified.
Henderson's fear of assault was replaced by fear for his men. Getting aroused wasn't something you could command. The fear left no room for plans or ideas about what to do.
And then it came to him. He did know what to do. He would have to reach down to a seldom acknowledged aspect of his psyche. The prospect of going down that path in the real world caused a mental shudder. But needs must.
He had experienced a yearning for abuse and pain and humiliation that would allow him to surrender so totally that all other thoughts would be driven away. He knew it could result in an intense sexual response, but he had never experienced these things in reality. Now he must. He shut his eyes and cast about for a feeling of surrender, but he couldn't find it. He opened his hands and pressed his palms and fingertips into his bare thighs, a gesture evocative of being bound, or self stimulation. Then he forced himself to stop struggling and simply surrendered. He dropped his shoulders and took a long breath, so his whole body loosened. He focused mentally on his nakedness, nakedness under the gaze of these five captors. He moved his feet apart so his stiffening cock and balls hung even more exposed. He opened his eyes and watched is cock swell and stiffen until there was a straight path from his balls to the tip. He felt profound humiliation, to be seen by all to be aroused, but also profound relief. He raised his eyes to the chief officer and knew that he would do whatever that man commanded. He also knew that his men would be safe.
The officer stared back with an expression of sneering ownership. Henderson took this in and his body came awash with a sense of subjugation. His breathing became more rapid and shallow as he focused on the eyes of the officer. His genitals throbbed. His torso became sensitized so he wanted the men to touch him, to hurt him. Squeeze his nipples. Dig their fingers into his muscles. Sexual tension engulfed him. Finally he shifted his gaze to the dildo, desperate to be impaled.
The translator left and two of the remaining fatigue clad men came up to him and gripped his wrists, bending his arms and holding them rigid, to provide purchase. They were about his height, but bigger in all other ways; larger bones, more muscular. Their hands could almost encircle his wrists. He focused on the intimacy of their touch, of being imprisoned by their four locked elbows. He focused on the sneering face of the officer who had him in his power. His whole body became fluid except for his cock which was engulfed in need.
The two imprisoning him dug their fingers into his buttocks and pulled them wide apart. He embraced the feel of their hands, being handled this way. He watched the soldier with the phallus walk behind him, felt its tip start at the top of the cleft between his buttocks and slide down to his anus where it rested. Henderson braced expectantly for a sudden, painful thrust, but he was denied the dignity of a brutal assault. Instead the instrument was twisted slowly from left to right as it was eased in and his sphincter relaxed. When the small ridge on the phallus passed his sphincter, his whole pelvis was flooded with warmth and his erotic surrender was displayed for all to see. The men released his buttocks and they close around the shaft, heightening the sense of invasion.
At each subtle movement of the dildo Henderson's cock throbbed. His breath was quick and shallow. He was increasingly in need of release.
During this time the officer had fixed his eyes on Henderson's, just occasionally looking down at his rigid erection with a half smile on his face. It was this look, rather than the invasion of his ass, that caused Henderson's abdomen to convulse erotically. The officer's smile broadened to a grin.
Finally he gripped Henderson's penis, squeezing and stroking just enough to cause Henderson's cock to shoot out a strong stream of semen. His involuntary cry was a mix of pain and pleasure. The men around him and those in the chairs cheered. He would have collapsed but for the soldiers holding his wrists and elbows. He felt a sense of loss as the phallus was slowly withdrawn. When his panting ceased and he could stand on his own, they let him go and motioned for him to return to the cage. The four of them went back to their drinks.
Henderson stood there for a few moments, waiting for his cock to return to some semblance of normal. His thoughts were, paradoxically, of completion. He had completed the task of saving his men, but he had also completely surrendered to his tormenters. If more of his men's lives were to be put at risk, he hoped he would be forced to save them again in the same way.
He absolutely did not want to face his men. Surely some had figured out what might actually be going on, but there was nothing for it. He had to figure out how to handle this and fast. He couldn't let his men become part of the sado-masochistic scene in his head. He fought the urge to cover himself with his hands, and instead tried to muster up the feeling (or absence of feeling) he would have if he were just coming out of the shower back at the base. No big deal. He finally turned and headed toward the cage. He had about fifty feet before he had to come up with an approach. With about twenty feet left it came to him. His shoulders relaxed. He knew what to say.
He entered the open door to the cage and the guard outside clanged it shut. The men were all standing, watching him expectantly. He knew them all well. He knew where they came from, their family situations, their military records. But it was clear that now they'd begun a journey of knowing him in an even deeper way. He took a deep breath and sat down gingerly on the splintery wooden bench, the only one in the space, and leaned his forearms on his thighs.
He paused for a moment to watch MacKenzie apply the two band aids DeAngelo had been given to his neck. DeAngelo caught his eye and pressed his lower lip up in a sort of inverse smile, conveying thanks and apology and sympathy, reminding Henderson that much more was at stake than his or his men's self image.
Then, "OK, guys, pull up some dirt, have a seat and listen up. I think these people want three things. He lifted his forefinger. They want entertainment. They're gonna get it and there's nothing we can do about it. He lifted his middle finger. They want to leave you leaderless. They want to destroy all respect you have for my authority. Well, I'm not resigning. Three," he lifted his ring finger. "They want to destroy your morale. One way, of course, is to put you all in fear for your lives. Will you be picked next? Beaubain and Miller and DeAngelo were legitimately terrified."
He paused and gently bit his lip, to take a moment to process some emotion. It was sadness. He was sad at the loss of his nearly seamless public persona. He suppressed a sigh and continued.
"It would be crazy to tell you to relax, but I think I can say that I'll rise to the task of protecting you." His wry smile was met, not by chuckles, but with sympathetic looks and smiles.
"I may be over thinking on these last two things, but that's my guess. But, whether that's their plan or not, we're not going to let that happen. You'll have had a lot of different reactions to what happened out there today." He tilted his head toward the amphitheater. "That's OK. The way not to lose morale, not to fall apart, is for all of us to accept our feelings. Did I expect to get a hard-on from having a dildo shoved up my ass? No. I did not. But there's nothing to be gained by running from what you're feeling. If I want to deal with it later, when we get out, fine. But I'm not giving these guys the benefit of making me upset or guilty or demoralized. And I want you to do the same.
"I know you have a whole host of feelings. Some were aroused and are now feeling guilty. Some were aroused and are not feeling guilty." He smiled in acknowledgement of the two openly gay men in the group. "Some of you were nauseated. Whatever you're feeling, it's OK, because, you know what? We're human! We accept our feelings. And we take charge of our actions. We thank you nauseated ones for taking charge and not throwing up in our home." Scattered smiles. "If you need to jerk off, just wait for dark and go for it. But while we're here we don't get involved in personal attachments, or angry acting out. Accept our feelings. Control our behavior. OK? Repeat after me, 'We're human!'" Almost all did. "Work on it.
"We need to keep busy, and one thing is we'll do a half hour of calisthenics twice a day, once after breakfast and once after the 'entertainment hour.' It's a good way to release nervous tension. Barbo, you'll be in charge of calisthenics. If you decide on jumping jacks, I'm going to invoke executive privilege and do something else, like sit ups. There's just so many assaults on my dignity I can handle," he chuckled.
