This week's "throwback" piece is a continuation of Fledermaus & Cavelo's torture camp story "Camp Alpha".

Camp Alpha - Part 2 (Page 1)
by Fledermaus
Art by Cavelo
Series: Camp Alpha
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15 July 1976, 1800 hours

Sean sat in the darkness and cursed himself silently He was breaking. He could feel it beginning to loose his will to resist, he, Lt. Sean Madden, former All American, winner of just about every honor a college jock could get, and super soldier who had skipped invitations to attend officers candidate school only to be given a battlefield commission. He had been as cocky as hell.

He had volunteered for the special forces thinking he'd show these guys how to do it. And when he'd learned of this very exclusive and highly secret training program for resistance as a prisoner, he jumped at the chance to again demonstrate how great he was. Now for the first time in his life, he was beginning to doubt his ability to achieve the goal he'd set. He had expected it to be rough but this was sheer hell.

In spite of the heat in his cell and the sweat drenching his big hairy body, he shivered with the fear of failure. They wouldn't get it out of him, he resolved. But the agony in his knees made him wonder. He had been a lucky football player, never ending up with an injured knee, but now after hours of kneeling on the damned dowel, he almost wished he'd had an old knee injury to keep him out of the special forces.

No matter how he moved around, one of the jagged rocks in the ingeniously designed floor of the cell jabbed through the thin khaki into his rear. He raised up as much of his 6'7" frame as the 4'3" ceiling would allow and flinched as his bare back touched the hot metal roof. He dropped his sweat soaked pants, wadding them into a ball and used them as a cushion on the rough floor.

He longed to stretch his legs and back, weary from the tension required to have kept the rocks held above his head. The tiny 3' by 3' cell was designed to cramp a normal sized man, so he felt like a sardine. He leaned back against the rough boards, ignoring the splinters that penetrated his bare back and tried to ignore his pain-racked body. He closed his eyes and tried to remember a happier time, but all he could picture was that skinny kid lying in the dust next to him as the guard slashed at his back with his strap.

Sean had wanted to help the kid. He had wanted to smash the rock he gripped in his uplifted hand straight into the guard's bulging crotch. But instead he had just closed his eyes and tried to blot out what was happening next to him. Footsteps sounded on the walk outside his cell and as they paused near him, he stopped breathing.

"No!" He thought, "Not me. Not again. Not so soon!"

But then he heard the rattling of the lock on the cell next to his and felt a thud as a body struck the other side of the partition behind his head. After he heard the door close, the lock snap, and the guard walk away, he pressed his ear to the partition and heard sobbing coming from the other side.

"Are you OK?" he whispered. When the sobbing continued, he repeated more loudly, "Are you Ok?"

"Yeah," came the response.

"What did they do to you?" Sean asked. The sobbing stopped.

"Nothing. Nothing really ... but God, what that fuckin' Colonel did to the Captain!" came the faltering response. "He whipped him. He hung him up by the wrists and whipped him!"

"Yeah," said Sean, "they like to use the whip here. What's your name?"

"Lance, Lt. Lance Filbin."

"How long have you been here?"

"They just caught us this morning. Three of us. And already they've flogged the captain and burned Chuck's tit with a cigarette. One of 'em was just getting ready to whip me when the colonel called him off."

The door to Sean's cell began to rattle. He closed his eyes to the sudden bright light that entered as the door swung open and didn't resist when a large hand closed around his cock and pulled him out into the late afternoon sunshine. He opened his eyes in time to see a fist inches from his face and closed them as it connected with his cheek throwing him oft balance, his aching knees crumpling under him. When he opened his eyes again, he saw them dragging Lance from the adjoining cell.

"We heard you talking, and talking is against the rules." Chaplain said. "White, get me some rope so that we can tie them up for punishment," he said to the other guard.

When the slim black guard returned with the rope, they made both prisoners kneel, then tied their wrists to their ankles. Another rope was tied around each man's neck, dropped down his back and passed through his crotch. Chaplain stood before Lance holding the end of the neck rope and White took a similar position in front of Sean.

"What are you going to do to us?" Lance asked in a faltering voice.

"The punishment for talking is gagging," said Chaplain "but damned if White here didn't forget to bring the gags. What shall we use to gag them, Whitey?" The slim black guard eyed the two naked and bound prisoners for a moment and pretended to ponder.

"I've got just the thing," he said finally He removed his boots and pulled off his socks. "Open up!" he said holding a stinking sock under the big redhead's nose.

"Just a minute," said Chaplain. "We don't want these fellows to be too uncomfortable, and that sock looks awfully dry I think you should wet it down?" A broad white grin spread across the black face.

"You're right. But I don't have any water so I'll just have to make due with what's at hand. He unzipped his pants, brought out a long slender tube of half-hard black flesh and pissed on the socks.

Sean clamped his jaws shut, but White expertly worked his thumbs into the former football player's jaw muscles and Sean's mouth opened. White thrust a piss- drenched sock into the open mouth, then quickly tied a length of rope around Sean's head to keep him from spitting it out. Sean gagged as the warm liquid dripped from the sock and ran down his throat.

"No!" Lance screamed as White approached with the other sock. "Please no. Don't! I'll do anything you say just don't put that in my mouth."

"Anything?" White asked.

"Yes," Lance sobbed, "anything, but please not that."

"Well," said White, stroking the black tube that still swung free from the slit in his olive green pants, "I could think of something else to put in your mouth instead."

As the black cock jerked up right in front of Lance's face, he screamed, "No! God! Not that!"

"You said 'anything'," White laughed as Chaplain moved to hold the youth's head motionless. "Now you're really going to get a treat."

The black Sergeant planted his foot in Lance's crotch and pressed against the kid's balls. "And if I so much as feel one of your teeth, I'll smash your god damned nuts." Lance froze as the foot pressed against his balls.

Resigned, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, gagging on the hard male flesh rammed down his virgin throat.


The cold water felt good as Gus stood quietly and let the spray wash away the sweat and grime.

"Apostolas," a voice called from the other room.

"In here," Gus hollered above the sound of rushing water. "Come on man," said the blond crew cut head that appeared in the shower door. "If we don't get to the mess hall quick, it'll be no dinner tonight."

Gus turned off the water and reached for his towel. "Go ahead Kurt, I'm going to cut dinner tonight. I've got tower duty at nineteen hundred and want to sack out for a while."

"Want me to bring you something?" the blond asked, admiring his friend's greek god-like torso and wishing he had that kind of development.

"No, thanks. I'll get a sandwich out of the cook on my way to the tower." Gus heard the door slam and was glad to finally be alone. He toweled away the droplets of water that still clung to the thick black hair on his chest and stretched out on his bunk.

The breeze from the wall fan felt good as it moved over his naked form. He had been a guard at Camp Alpha for only a week and still was not used to the oppressive desert heat. And this afternoon's duty in the yard had been rough on him in more ways than one.

"What the hell am I complaining about," he thought, picturing the three prisoners kneeling in the sun. "They're the ones that have it tough."

He closed his eyes and visualized the three sun bronzed backs he had stared at all afternoon. He was confused. When Sgt. Chaplain had given him his orders, he had doubted he could do it. He didn't think he could whip another man. At first, as he had watched their taut muscles straining to support the heavy rocks high above their head, he hoped they would not falter, hoped they would not make it necessary to follow Chaplain's instructions. But as the afternoon wore on, he had felt a strange stirring within him. He kept staring at the three and wondering how they would look with their pants off.

Then he had found himself watching even more intensely noticing every twitch of muscle under the sunburned skin. His palm, gripping the leather strap in readiness, had begun to sweat, not from the heat, but from anticipation. Then the stocky dago on the end had tried to shift his position to ease the pain in his knees, Gus had rushed forth gladly and laid the strap across the guy's straining shoulder muscles. At the crack of leather connected with skin, he felt an exhilaration he had never known before.

He had concentrated on the redhead's broad back and wished he would falter. He wanted an excuse to lay the strap against the giant's broad expanse of skin. Suddenly he was embarrassed to realize that his pants were growing tighter in the crotch as his thick joint swelled. And each time he stepped from the shade to lash out at one of the straining torsos, they became even tighter.

When the lean blond kid had collapsed, Gus had flogged the young back with a vengeance, delighting in the red welts that appeared where the strap had struck, becoming excited by the kid's sobs and pleas. He shuddered to think what might have happened if Sgt. White had not arrived and ordered him to stop the flogging and return the prisoners to their cells.

And now as he thought of it, he felt his cock again grow rigid between his legs. His hand closed around the thick shaft and he groaned in pleasure as he drew the foreskin back from the glistening red knob. Again he pictured the bare backs, muscles rigid in tension. In his mind's eye, his arm rose and tell, snaking the leather strap across the big redhead's shoulders while in actuality it pumped away frantically at.his cock.

He imagined the stud begging him, begging for mercy crying out in pain as the strap crisscrossed over previous welts. As the big man screamed, wad after wad of white, sticky cum shot from Gus's cock and spattered across his hairy chest.


Brad poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels before settling into his chair. He ignored the three folders Sgt. Podolski had laid out for him before dinner. Instead he savored the amber liquid, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It was good to have Larry back.

Brad had selected his staff carefully. They were all highly intelligent men and they all enjoyed their work at Camp Alpha. But with a few exceptions, they all had their hang-ups. Most of them had spent time in prison camps in Korea or Nam. They knew their work here would toughen the trainees and give them the ability to withstand the real thing if they ever got captured. They also knew they had to make it rough, to find the weak ones who would break easily and get them out now. But, few of them would admit, even to themselves, that torturing men was a sexual turn-on to them.

And the same went for the trainees. They were all surprised at how rough it was. None of them had expected a leisurely vacation when they volunteered, but few had really thought they'd be flogged or tortured. In spite of all that one reads or hears about prison camp interrogations, you don't expect it to be as bad as it really is. Only experience gives that insight and it was Camp Alpha's major function to provide experience.

Brad rubbed the rope scars on his own wrists and remembered how he'd felt. He had been cocky. He had known that he wouldn't be caught, and even if he was, he'd known that there was nothing Mao's men could do to break him. But his long stint in a Sinkiang prison had almost done it.

He shivered involuntarily as he remembered the stark cold of the Central Asian winter, remembered his freezing naked body hanging from wrists lashed to a cross pole as weights hung from his ankles, remembered the grin of pleasure on the round yellow face of his tormentor as hundreds of little bamboo splinters were pushed into his skin and ignited. And he remembered himself screaming.

He had almost broken that day but somehow he had managed to hold out. He'd held out, but for what? He'd taken all that pain for nothing. The next day the Chinese torturers had begun to slice the skin from his partner's cock and the man had talked. Rod hadn't managed to save his cock. The Chinks had gone ahead anyway even after Rod had told them everything.

Brad had seen Rod afterward one last time. He had lain naked, strapped to a make-shift stretcher, raving madly in physical and mental anguish because of the tube of bloody meat that hung between his legs. Because of the information Rod had given them, six other undercover agents had joined him in the prison camp. Two had died before Brad escaped. The others were probably also dead, or perhaps still shivering in the cold.

Brad had always swung both ways and when he finally made it back to the States, he began to investigate the gay S&M scene. After a couple of years under an expert Master, he was ready. It had taken a lot of talk, and the help of some influential friends, but he'd finally succeeded in convincing the special forces brass to set up the camp.

In some ways it was a Master's dream. He had a continual assortment of handsome, virile studs that were legally his to torture as long as he did not maim or cause any permanent damage. However, the dream was somewhat hollow . The treatment really turned some of the guys on, but few would admit it to themselves, let alone to him.

Then Larry had come and Brad had had two wild months unlike anything he had experienced since he left his own Master. He could get sex and screams from any of the trainees. From Larry he got both and more. It was good to have Larry back.

A loud knock roused him and as he tried to adjust his trousers to conceal the bulge that had grown in his crotch, Sgt. Podolski entered.

"The lieutenant reports that all prisoners are secure in their cells, Sir."

"Thank you, Sgt.," Brad responded, waiting for his stocky aide to leave so he could return to his own thoughts. But the man didn't go.

"Sgt. Kramer also asked me to tell you that the Williams kid is about ready to crack. He thinks a session tonight will do the trick."

"Williams ... is he the skinny blond that Apostolas was working over in the compound this afternoon'?"

"Yes, Sir. Would you like me to bring you his file?"

"OK Pololski," he sighed, then added with a grin, "You're a worse slave driver than I am."

The Sgt. flashed a set of gleaming enamels and said over his shoulder as he left the room, "I try my best, Sir."

Brad leafed through the dossier and was again amazed at how much information Washington could compile on a man. All of the vital statistics on George Thomas Williams were present, but in addition there were interviews with his childhood friends, his parents and his girlfriend. And there was a complete report from an army psychiatrist.
This last sheet was what Brad studied most closely.

The whole shack shook from the force of the slamming door. Cursing under his breath, Brad tramped off into the darkness. He had been badgering the Williams kid for hours and was exhausted and mad. And the more he thought about his success, the angrier he became. Soon he was fuming.

The kid had stood rigidly at attention, naked under the bright spotlight while Brad had called his mother a whore, told him how is girlfriend was now sleeping with his best pal and berated him for a letting a sailor screw his ass after a big drunk a year before.

The psychiatrist had been right. The kid was overly sensitive about these things. At first he had been silent, then angry and then had broken down and blubbered like a baby. When Brad had pulled out his own thick rod and made the kid bend over and grab his ankles while the Colonel pressed his flaming tip to the kid's asshole, Williams had broken.

The welts from Apostolas's strap were still scarlet across his back. He had taken a lot of physical punishment during his short time at Camp Alpha, but the psychological degradation and the thought of a man's cock up his no-longer-virginal ass was more than he could take.

Then he had described in detail the fictional gun emplacement he was supposed to have kept secret. But Brad was mad. He was always mad when he had succeeded in breaking a prisoner. He always tried his damnedest to do it, but he didn't really want to succeed. He wanted to test these men to their limits then let them go with the confidence that they would be able to withstand further capture and interrogation. He didn't want them to break like that sniveling kid had just done. He was mad at the kid and he was mad at himself.

He had been using his cock as a threat, but when that threat succeeded, he drove it home in anger and pumped viciously as the kid screamed his head off. He had tortured the kid for no good reason. . . after the kid had talked.

He had fucked the kid in contempt, and he remembered the Chinese interrogator who had gone ahead and skinned Rod's penis even after he had broken at the first touch of the knife.

Back in his quarters he stripped off his clothes and collapsed on his cot. He felt dirty and even though he had just cum up the kid's ass, he did not feel sexually satisfied. He reached for his phone and called the officer of the watch, then he slipped back into his clothes and waited.

Shortly a knock sounded at the door. Brad opened it and the guard shoved a prisoner into the room.

"You may go, Corporal," Brad said.

"But, Sir," the guard responded, "I shouldn't really leave you alone with him."

I said, 'Go, Corporal!" Brad shouted. "I'll call you when I want him returned to his cell.

When the guard left, the prisoner stood with his eyes lowered. His hands were bound securely behind his back. The stripes of a whip were still conspicuous across his naked chest. His prison-issue pants ended several inches above his bare feet. "Alright prisoner, do you know why your are here?" Larry looked up to Brad and a grin spread across his face.

"I hope so, Sir."

The Colonel's hand lashed out and connected with the captain's cheek. "Wipe that smile off your face, cocksucker!"

When the prisoner was again solemn and contrite, Brad commanded in a hoarse whisper, "Undress me."

The prisoner looked up, puzzled. Then he turned his back to Brad and tried to unbutton his shirt with his bound hands, but the Colonel shoved him away.

"Not with your hands. Use your teeth." Larry's face pressed against Brad's chest as he worked one button free. Brad pushed him down on the broad shoulders.

"The belt first." Larry knelt and used his teeth to pull the leather strap free from the buckle, then taking the buckle between his teeth, he pulled the belt free from its loops and sat back on his heels with the black leather strap hanging from his mouth.

"Give it to me," Brad commanded, holding out his hand, "then get back to those buttons." After he had worked all the buttons free, Larry used his nose to push the shirt back over his Master's shoulders, pausing to lick at a firm, hair-encircled nipple.

Brad brought the doubled belt down across his prisoner's back. "Enough of that! Now work on those boots."

Larry pulled the leather laces with his teeth then sat back on his haunches and looked puzzled. Brad sat and raised his leg to put the sole of his boot in Larry's face.

"Take hold of the heel!" Brad commanded. Larry gripped the dirt-encrusted heel between his teeth and held firm as Brad pulled out his sockless feet.

Both men were now breathing heavily and Larry buried his face in Brad's crotch and softly mouthed the thick, semi-hard ridge he found there. Again Brad's belt connected with his back.

"Get your mouth off my cock and get busy on that zipper." Larry used his tongue to lift the little metal tab, gripped it between his teeth, and pulled it down exposing a tangled mat of wiry hair and the base of his Master's huge rod.

"Pull 'em down," Brad commanded.

The kneeling man took a mouthful of material and tugged down over one firm hip then switched to the other side and repeated his actions. Finally the Colonel's trousers fell into a crumpled heap and Brad stepped out of them.
He made a loop of his belt and slipped it around the prisoner's neck, then jerking on the free end of the leather strap, he moved toward the bed.

"I feel dirty," he said stretching out his naked form on the white sheet. "Wash me."

Larry began licking Brad's neck. He worked his way down over the hairy chest to the round firm nipples. His tongue probed his Master's sweaty armpits, then lapped at the salty skin of the Colonel's slides and taut, flat abdomen until he reached the thicket at the base of Brad's now stiff cock.

Suddenly Brad raised his knees trapping his prisoner's head between his muscular thighs.

"Lick my ass," he commanded. Larry lapped at the grimy crotch and then stuck his tongue up the sweet tasting hole.
Later, after he had completely licked the big feet, cleaning the lint from between Brad's toes, he again worked his way towards the center of his interest. He caressed Brad's huge balls with his tongue, then took them both into his mouth and sucked.

Brad moaned in pleasure as the prisoner sucked at his testicles, then licked his way to the tip of the swollen cock where a drop of fluid glistened in the soft light. Gently Larry nibbled at the pulsating column of flesh and ran his tongue slowly around the edge of the red-purple crown.

"Take it!" Brad moaned. "Suck it, suck it, man. Suck it hard." He commanded as Larry lowered his head over the ridged column, impaling himself on it and allowing it to fill his mouth and his throat and his soul.


1 Comment

  1. scotts60143 - June 20, 2019, 7:23 am

    Artwork by Cavelo is always amazing. Stories by Fledermaus are legendary and this one is great. One of the best stories I ever read was by him, called “Next”. Unfortunately, it was lost when the site it was on, American Male Slave Market, (, went dark. Really enjoyed this and looking forward to the next chapter!

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