The officers interrogate a black recruit.
Camp Alpha - Part 3 (Page 2)
by Fledermaus
Art by Cavelo
Series: Camp Alpha
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Chuck shivered in spite of the heat. For the 80th time since Silverstein had been called away he pulled at the leather straps that held his arms and legs tight against the rough tabletop; and for the 80th time he was unsuccessful. His eyes strained to look beyond the bright light shining down on his naked body In the shadows at the edges of the room he could make out racks of whips, knives, thumb screws, leg irons and other similar items. His back still burned from the flogging White had given him only that morning, but the sight of those implements of torture, combined with his position-naked, immobilized, vulnerable-made him shiver, not in fear, but in anticipation.
"I've got the niggerboy stretched out for us to work on, Sir." Silverstein spoke as they entered.
Silently Brad admired the naked man. The bright light shining off his skin lit the contours of strong muscles and gave him the appearance of a polished ebony carving.
"This is your last chance, Johnson," Brad said pleasantly "So far you have refused to tell us anything, but now Lt. Silverstein and I are ready to work on you in earnest."
He let his hand rest on the bound man's thigh, his fingers almost touching the hairy sac hanging down between the spread black legs. "If you do not tell us about the mission you were on when you were shot down, I'm afraid we'll have to do some things to you that you'll find very unpleasant." As he spoke, Brad extended a finger and gently caressed the black man's balls.
Chuck tensed visibly as the Colonel's finger touched his scrotum, but he did not speak.
Switching his grip, Brad encircled the twin testicles and slowly increased pressure on the vulnerable organs as he increased the volume of his voice. "You're making a big mistake, Johnson. Give us the information. Where were you going and why? TALK!"
As the fist squeezed his nuts, Chuck's mouth opened in a silent cry of pain; his body writhed as much as his bonds would allow.
"OK, Lieutenant, he wants to remain obstinate. Work him over with the quirt." Silverstein brought the short whip down across Chuck's chest and taut abdomen again and again while Brad used a similar instrument to lash the tops and sides of the prisoner's spread thighs. Frequently one or both of them came close to the huge black rod now beginning to stiffen, but neither touched it.
Again and again and again the whips struck, until Chuck felt like he was on fire from his neck to his knees. He bit his lips to keep from crying out and fought to keep his cock from getting hard. He was successful at the former, but a dismal failure at the latter. When the two officers stopped flogging, his glistening ebony prick stood firm and long up his abdomen!
"Give me some clips, Lieutenant," Brad ordered, and Silverstein handed him several small alligator clamps with serrated jaws and strong springs. He opened one full agape then released it suddenly allowing it to snap shut on a chocolate nipple.
The jagged jaws bit into the prisoner's flesh and he jumped at the sudden pain. He jumped again when a clip gripped the other nipple, and moaned aloud each time one of the tiny pincers bit into the tender flesh of his armpits or the insides of his thighs. His moans became even louder and more impassioned when Brad snapped a clip onto the loose skin on the underside of his scrotum.
"I have one clip left," Brad said, rubbing the metal lightly against Chuck's throbbing cockhead. "Tell me what I want to know or I'll let these little steel teeth bite into your black meat."
But Chuck remained silent until the sharp points dug into the sensitive tip of his engorged cock. Then he screamed in pain, but his rod jumped and, if possible, became even harder.
"OK, nigger!" Brad spat out as he unzipped his pants. "If you won't let anything out of that mouth I'll have to put something into it." He stepped on a stool at the end of the table and waved his massive shaft centimeters from the black man's face. "Talk or I'm going to fuck your mouth."
Chuck stared up at the red-tipped white cock above him. His whole body ached with pain and excitement. "They're nuts," he thought, "if they think this kind of treatment is going to make me talk." As his eyes followed the rod hanging above him, they shone with eager anticipation, rather than with fear and loathing. "Why is he taking so long?" Chuck thought. "I'm going to shoot my wad before he even lets me touch it." He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue towards Brad's cock, striving to lick the meat that hung so tantalizingly close.
"He wants it!" Silverstein shouted. "The fuckin' nigger wants to suck your cock!" Brad avoided the straining tongue, instead rubbing his crimson cock against the black man's face. "You want it, don't you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Yes, WHAT?"
"Yes, Sir. I want to suck your cock."
"Then beg for it."
"Please, Sir, let me suck your cock. Please! Ram it down my throat. Let me taste your meat."
Brad grabbed the bound man's ears and held his head steady as he lowered the tip of his cock to the eager lips. But instead of plunging his rod into the waiting throat, he released a hard stream of hot piss.
Chuck coughed in surprise and tried to turn his head away but Brad held him firmly digging his thumbs into the black cheeks to keep his mouth open. Salty yellow piss filled the prisoner's mouth and nose; he tried to cough and spit it out, but there was too much as the stream just kept pouring into him.
Chuck fought to breathe, but couldn't. His head began to throb and his lungs screamed for air. He had visions of drowning in his torturer's piss. Just before he faded from consciousness his hard chocolate cock jerked and sputtered, flinging drops of cum up his black chest covered with short wiry hairs and over the front of Brad's uniform.
Brad left the now-limp prisoner and stuffed his still-hard rod back into his pants. "Revive him and get him out of here," he called to Silverstein as he stormed out of the shed. His cock, throbbing in the tight pants leg, begged for relief. He had wanted to tuck the nigger's mouth, but that would have been contrary to his goals. Sucking his cock would obviously have been no torture at all for a masochist like Johnson. "I'll have to think of something else," Brad mused.
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In the courtyard two prisoners were running in a large circle defined by the length of the rope that ran from their necks to Chaplain's hand. A heavy backpack on each man's shoulders bounced at each stride and grated against his naked skin. Beneath the packs, the prisoners' wrists were firmly bound behind their backs.
As Brad approached them, the shorter and stockier of the two slowed down somewhat, but quickly resumed full speed when Chaplain snapped his whip against the well rounded but protected ass in the thin uniform trousers.
"Sergeant," Brad called. "I want to borrow that one for a while." He pointed to the taller prisoner.
Chaplain eyed the obvious bulge in the Colonel's crotch and smiled. "Yes, Sir," he said, handing over the rope that led to the prisoner's neck. "Can I be of any help?" "No, just keep that little dago running."
The bewildered prisoner followed as Brad opened the door of a maintenance shed, then pulled the man in after him. Brad led him immediately to a table and, without even bothering to remove the guy's pack, pushed him forward so that the prisoner's bare chest was flat on the table top and his ass stuck up in the air at its edge. Then he ran the rope tied around the prisoner's neck over the far edge of the table, back under the table top, and between his captive's trembling legs. Reaching between the prostrate torso and the rough table top, he unfastened the guy's pants, then pulled them down around his ankles.
"Spread your legs," Brad ordered. When the prisoner hesitated, he reached between the hairy white thighs and grabbed a fistful of cock and balls. "I said 'spread 'em,' Brad shouted, jerking hard.
When the now-obedient captive's legs were spread, Brad pulled the rope tight and tied into the fear-shriveled scrotum, trapping the man's balls beneath the knotted fiber so that any attempt by the prisoner to lift himself off the table would choke him, jerk at his testicles, or both.
Brad stepped back to admire the firm rounded ass. Pulling his belt from his waist, he cracked it across the white cheeks. "What's your name?" he demanded.
"Whitt, Sir," the prisoner responded in a faltering voice.
"Whitt, do you want your ass tucked?"
"No, Sir!" shouted the prisoner.
"Good!" Brad said, taking out his still-hard cock, "because I'm going to fuck it and I don't want you to enjoy one minute of it!"
"No, please Sir, don't Sir,"the captive pleaded, but Brad spread the firm cheeks, enjoying the screams as he drove his thick dry meat into the tight hole.
TO BE CONTINUED