The Senator and his assistant arrive for a camp inspection. Kurt & Gus play with "The Rack".

Camp Alpha - Part 4 (Page 1)
by Fledermaus
Art by Cavelo
Series: Camp Alpha
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That's this, Lieutenant?" Gus asked, holding up a metal contraption about the size of an apple. Silverstein turned from the carton in which he had been packing various small torture devices. "That's a very interesting gadget," he said, taking it from Gus. "Schmidt," he called to the blond who had just entered with an armload of whips and straps from the guard's barracks. "Come here and open your mouth." Silverstein put the contraption into Kurt's open mouth and turned a screw that protruded like a stem. "It's called an 'agony apple.'

It's a very efficient and painful gag. As I turn this screw the leaves open inside the prisoner's mouth, stretching his jaws wide open and depressing his tongue."

Gus laughed at the surprised look in his friend's eyes as the mechanical gag forced his jaws open.

"Okay" Silverstein said, leaving the gag in place and heading for the door. "I've got some other things to take care of. You two get all this stuff packed up and into the storeroom."

As the door closed behind the Lieutenant, Karl reached for the painful gag and began to unscrew it, but Gus grabbed his wrists and pulled them down. "I think I should leave it there," the Greek guard said, laughing. "Maybe then I can get some peace and quiet without your sarcastic remarks."

Kurt struggled to free his wrists from Gus's grip, but the dark-haired guard held on tightly and pushed his friend's hands down. As they struggled, the back of Gus's hands brushed against the blond's crotch. "Aha!" he said, releasing the wrists and switching his grip to the hard cock pushing against the olive green uniform trousers. "You've got a rod on! You like being gagged and restrained, don't you?"

Kurt removed the agony apple from his mouth and threw it into a carton, then knocked his friend's hands away from his crotch. "You should talk," he said, massaging the muscle in his jaws. "You loved it yesterday when I whipped your ass while you were fucking that gook's mouth."

"Yeah," Gus said, turning back to his packing. "I guess we'd both like to see what the receiving end is like."

They worked in silence for a while, filling cartons and carrying them back to be stacked in the corner of the storeroom. The late afternoon sun had heated the corrugated metal roof of the building, and they both found the heat and silence oppressive. Kurt had stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt, and Gus stood behind him admiring the muscular white torso as it strained to disassemble a wrist cuff and pulley system attached to a large beam.

"What about this?" Gus asked, as Kurt descended the ladder and added the straps and other paraphernalia to an assortment of similar devices in a box. "Are we supposed to put it in the back room, too?"

"I don't know" Kurt said, joining his friend beside the rack. "It's too big to get through the door. We'd have to take it apart."

"Feel it," Gus said, running his hand over the stained surface. "Along the edges the wood is all rough and splintery, but here in the center it's worn smooth."

"Yeah," Kurt said, caressing the planks. "The first guy they strapped down on this thing must have come off it with a backside looking like a porcupine, but a lot of sweaty straining studs have polished the center since then."

"I wonder what this is," Gus said, pointing to a large dark stain in the wood. "Could be a lot of things," Kurt answered. "Sweat, probably".

"No," said Gus. "The whole thing's stained by sweat, and probably piss. I'll bet when a guy's really being stretched on this thing, he lets go and pisses all over himself".

Kurt took a small thumb-screw-like device from a carton. "Yeah," he said, "particularly if somebody's screwing this thing onto his nuts at the same time."

"I wonder what it feels like," Gus mused softly "I wonder what it feels like to be stretched out naked on this thing with your arms and legs chained to the winches and some mean stud turning them?"

Kurt gripped his friend's chin and turned his head so that they looked directly into each other's eyes. "There's only one way for you to find out," he said softly.


From the window of his office he watched the twin lights grow larger. The jeep stopped as the barbed wire gate was rolled aside; then it drove around the corner of the administration building and was lost from sight. Brad, gulping down the last of his sippin' whiskey fought his emotions.

Podolski knocked, then entered. "He's here, Sir."

"Then bring him in. I'll be damned if I'll go out and welcome him with open arms."

Minutes later Podolski ushered two men into the colonel's office. "Good evening, Colonel. I'm Clint Mastigoph," said the tall bearded man.

"Good evening, Senator. I hope you had a pleasant journey," Brad said, visualizing the twenty miles of rutted road the Senator had to traverse to reach camp, and inwardly smiling at the rough ride he knew it was.

"The last few miles were a bit rugged, but this is beautiful country by moonlight. Allow me to introduce my aid, Stephen Humphrey."

"Beautiful," Brad thought as he shook hands with the handsome young man. "Please be seated," he said aloud. "Could I get you something to drink?"

The three settled into their chairs, whiskeys in hand, and the small talk continued for a while.

"Colonel," Senator Mastigoph said eventually "you don't seem too happy about our visit."

"Frankly Senator, I'm not. If my operations here are to be successful, I believe that they have to be kept completely secret from the public and the press."

"You're doubting my ability to keep a secret."

"No, no, Senator," Brad broke in, "however, the press does follow your movements very closely."

"Don't worry about that. As far as they're concerned, I'm at Kondot Army Base on an R&R to do some fishing in these mountain streams. However, if I am not convinced by the time I leave that you're conducting a sound program, I shall not hesitate to publicize it and to see that your program is killed. Are you aware of my ability to do that?"

"Yes," Brad responded through clenched teeth. "I am."

"Good. Then let's get down to business. I want to know the basics about your camp operation."

They talked for about an hour as Brad outlined his program, taking care not to mention the physical abuse to which he subjected his prisoners. The Senator's questions were brief and to the point, immediately getting to the crux of each of Brad's subjects.

Finally the Senator said, "Very well, Colonel. I'll want to observe your routine operations in the morning so I'd best be getting settled in."

"Yes, Sir," Brad responded. "I wasn't informed that you were bringing your aide, so if you'd like another drink while you wait, I'll have another room prepared for Mr. Humphrey"

Brad looked puzzled as the Senator continued. "I want accurate, first-hand information on the treatment of your trainees, so Mr. Humphrey will join them."

The look of surprise on Brad's face was exceeded only by that on Steve Humphrey's.

"I want you to outfit him in your regular uniform," the Senator explained. "And take him to the prisoner's quarters. I want him to spend the next few days exactly as one of your trainees. He is to receive no special treatment. Is that understood?"

"But, Senator..." Brad began.

"I'll make a deal with you, Colonel. I'll give Stephen a word. You can consider it a code word with a military operation. If you can get him to tell you that word in three days, I'll give you full support in Washington."

"And if I don't get it from him? After all, Senator, my job is to train men to resist pressure."

"If you fail to get the code word from him I'll reserve my judgment until I've seen your operation and received his report. You have nothing to lose, Colonel, and your program is insured if you succeed. Will you agree?"

"We only accept volunteers here, and I haven't heard anything from Mr. Humphrey yet," Brad said, looking at the young man who sat leaned over in his chair, staring at the floor. "Our program can be rough! Humphrey do you agree to this?"

"Yes" Humphrey mumbled without looking up. "If Senator Mastigoph wishes."

"Louder," the Senator commanded. "Yes, Sir'." Steve said, looking up. "I'll do it."

Brad was struck by the mixture of fear and excitement that had now replaced the surprise on the young man's ruggedly chiseled face.

"What size pants do you wear?" Brad asked, reaching for the phone.

"32 waist and 32 length," was the response.

Brad dialed two digits and waited. "Chaplain," he said. "Bring a pair of 30 by 30's to my office."

"Wait," Steve said as Brad started to hang up. I said 32 by 32."

"I heard what you said. Prisoners here always wear pants one size too small. It's one of our more subtle pressures."

"Why did you order only trousers?" Mastigoph asked.

"Because that's all our uniform consists of," Brad answered. "You'd better give Mr. Humphrey his code word. The uniform will be here shortly"

Senator Mastigoph whispered into the young man's ear then said aloud to Brad, "Remember, Colonel, he is to receive exactly the same kind of treatment you give the rest. I don't want you being soft on him because he is my aide and I don't want you being any rougher on him because of our deal, agreed?"

"Agreed," he answered reluctantly.

Brad answered a knock at the door and received a folded pair of trousers. "Wait outside," he told Chaplain, then turned to Humphrey "Put these on."

"Where can I change?" Steve asked, looking around.

"You can do it right where you're standing," Brad said gruffly "You've given up all rights to privacy for the next few days."

Removing his neck tie, Steve pulled his shirt out from his waistband, then unbuttoned it to reveal a dense mat of curly brown hair over a muscular chest. He slipped the shirt off his shoulders then sat to remove his shoes and socks. Both of the older men watched with obvious interest as he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly and slipped out of his slacks, revealing a pair of hairy bronzed thighs separated by the large white bulge of his jockey shorts.

Steve reached for the uniform pants but Brad put his hand on them. "Your underwear, too," he commanded.

When Steve hesitated briefly "Take them off!" the Senator barked.

"Yes, Sir," Steve said softly and, pulling down the shorts, let out a long circumcised cock and well oiled scrotum. Then, visibly wincing, he struggled to get the tight, scratchy uniform pants over his legs and around his waist.

As Steve carefully worked the zipper up avoiding his tightly packed genitals, Brad admired the handsome body and quietly wished he really could give this guy the same treatment as he gave the other prisoners.

"Sergeant!" he called, after opening the office door. "Sergeant Podolski, please escort Senator Mastigoph to his quarters. Sergeant Chaplain, Mr. Humphrey is to receive exactly the same treatment given to our prisoners. Escort him to a cell."

When they had left, Brad again dialed the phone. Scott answered. "Is Silverstein there? Well, find him and both of you get your asses over here on the double. There are complications."


Dave entered the outer door to the reviewing room and was ready to go through the inner door into the main interrogation chamber when he stopped in his tracks. Through the one-way glass, he saw Apostolos's dark hairy body stretched on the rack, his sweat drenched torso glistening in the shine of the spotlight hanging from the ceiling, his thick cock sticking up from a hairy crotch. At one end of the rack Schmidt knelt with his legs straddling the darker guard's head, his own chest also shining in the bright light as he moved rhythmically driving his long slender white rod into the Greek's eager mouth.

Silverstein burst through the inner door and shouted, "What the hell's going on here?"

The two guards froze and stared, speechless with embarrassment.

"Schmidt, you don't have that gag in your mouth now. Tell me what's going on! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry Sir," Kurt said, springing back off the rack. "Gus wanted to know what it felt like to be stretched on the rack, so I put him on it. I guess I got a little carried away.

"A little carried away!" Dave roared. "A little carried away! I don't give a fuck what you two do to each other on your own time, but you had a job to do. You were supposed to get this place cleared out and instead I find you fucking around-literally You're both going to be punished and punished severely for this dereliction of duty."

Dave's experienced fingers probed Gus's shoulder and hip joints. "So you wanted to feel the rack, huh?" he asked the bound guard.

"Yes, Sir," Gus said, tears of shame beginning to wet his eyes.

"Well, you haven't begun to feel it yet. When I'm through with you, you're going to wish you'd never laid eyes on this contraption. And you," he said, turning to Kurt, "you were enjoying stretching him, weren't you? You were getting your rocks off by torturing your friend."

"Yes, Sir," Kurt said, his downcast face turning crimson at the sight of his now limp cock hanging out of his open fly.

"Drop your pants," Dave ordered. When Kurt hesitated, Dave snatched up a long braided whip and flicked the tip across Kurt's sweat-slicked, bare chest. "I said drop them!"

Unfastening his belt, Kurt let the pants drop to the floor. "Shorts, too," Silverstein ordered. When the blond guard stood naked except for his boots, Dave picked up the thumb-screw-like device that the two of them had been examining earlier. "Spread your legs and stand still." When Kurt obeyed, Dave slipped the gadget over the golden hair-covered scrotum and tightened it just enough so that it didn't fall off. Then he backed up and retrieved his whip.

"Now I'm going to start counting. Every time I count, Schmidt, you will turn the crank on the rack one full turn and stretch your friend a little more, then you will turn the screw on the nutcracker on your own nuts one full turn and squeeze them a little more. If you fail to do either, I'll turn your lily-white skin red with this." He cracked the whip loudly.


Kurt turned the crank on the rack one turn and Gus's body which had been tied down but not really stretched, became tighter. Then he reached between his legs and turned the screw on the nutcracker. He felt the jaws tighten around his balls, but while the pressure increased, it was not really painful-yet.

By the count of four Gus was in obvious pain. Beads of perspiration stood out all over his body and the quiet gasps he had uttered on the second and third turns became moans on the fourth. But his cock still stood straight and proud between his legs. The pain was also beginning to mount significantly in Kurt's balls; as he slowly and reluctantly turned the screw the fourth time, fingers of pain jumped up through his abdomen to grip his stomach.

When Kurt turned the rack's winch for the count of five, Gus let out a pitifully loud, anguished groan. It took all the willpower Kurt could muster to drive his hands to his tortured testicles. He gripped the screw longing to release the pressure and unable to make himself tighten it again. Silverstein's whip bit into his chest twice before he closed his eyes and mustered the willpower to quickly turn the knob again. As he did an involuntary cry escaped from his lips.

When Silverstein called for the sixth time and Kurt reached for the crank, Gus, tears streaming from his eyes and his cock now hanging limp between his thighs, said, "No, please, not again. Please, Lieutenant, I can't stand any more."

"Shut up," Dave said, bringing his whip down across the dark guard's taut abdomen. "You'll take a hell of a lot more before I'm done. Schmidt, turn that crank or do you want to feel this whip again?"

Kurt didn't answer. He just turned. Gus screamed, feeling as though his arms would be ripped from their sockets.

"Now your nuts," Dave ordered, and again Kurt fought to make himself turn the screw He could taste the blood in his mouth where he had bitten into his lower lip in pain. As he felt the whip slice into his teat, he moved the screw a portion of a revolution. The fiery fingers of pain inside him squeezed at his stomach and his mouth filled with vomit. He became dizzy and leaned against the rack for support. He reswallowed the sour contents of his mouth as Silverstein called out again.

"That was only a partial turn. Twist that screw the rest of the way."

"No" Kurt moaned, clenching at his churning guts. "Tie me up if you want and turn that thing till my nuts pop, but don't make me torture myself like this."

Dave drove the handle of the whip into the blond guard's abdomen and roared, "I said turn it. If I have to touch that thing, you'll regret ever having been born a man. And you won't be much of a man when I'm done."

Kurt's whole body shook as he reached for the screw, and he let out a long anguished wail as he completed the turn.

"Seven!" Dave bellowed, and Gus began to plead with him to stop. Before Kurt could muster the strength to turn the crank, the phone rang. Silverstein answered and the conversation was brief.

"I've got to go," he said to the two guards. "But I'm not through with you two yet. Schmidt, you can take that thing off your nuts and release Apostolos from the rack. Then get your asses in gear. I want this room emptied. When you're done you will both report to my room and bring this box of gadgets with you. You've got a lesson to learn."

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