Dan Sorensen: One Soldier’s 4th of July

Captured by the enemy, Lance Corporal Dan Sorensen suffers through repeated interrogation and other humiliations.

Dan Sorensen: One Soldier’s 4th of July
by Amalaric
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The lush countryside of southern Ohio seemed so far away. Lance Corporal Dan Sorensen tried to remember better, easier times and found the picture-post card images fraying at the edges. He knew it was the 4th of July- though every fucking day in this place seemed like high summer- and fled for refuge in labored recollections of a green landscape, loved or friendly people and places, whatever it was that he believed in. Choking on a mouthful of windblown yellow dust, twisting bloodied wrists against the rope that bound his hands; Dan attempted to steady himself against the jolts and sudden curves of the wildly careening pick up. It wasn’t easy. Seated backwards in the bed of the truck with a filthy rag tied over his eyes added to the hassle and augmented the rising terror. He couldn’t see any of the bumps or curves coming, and it wasn’t just the wild dirt road that worried him. How long had it been now? Easy- almost five days now. He had been taken from the ambushed convoy, out of ammo, blistered from the stinking heat of gas, oil, and burning tires on June 30th; five days ago. He shook his head, and listened for the thousandth time as the silenced screams of wounded bros were punctuated by premeditated gunshots. Battling the memory shot a fresh load of aching rage into his hard belly. Gunny, Jack, Shotgun...ah, fuck, all of them, knocked off in cold blood, but not him because he, somehow, had come through the explosion unscathed and they wanted a prisoner. He tried to make it hard on them, at least he could say that, and, against all odds, the young captive smiled. Bloody knuckles and the butt end of his rifle had taken a toll, for what it was worth.

‘Daniel Sorensen, Lance Corporal, US Army...’ the tiresome litany was cut off by a backhand across his bloodied mouth. ‘What the hell!?’ He didn’t know jack and they knew it, but the forms had to be observed. Besides, he reckoned pretty quickly that the interrogation was an end in itself. In other words; the bastards were getting their rocks off. The first lot were pretty tough and, against all expectations, straightforward. The corporal had been taught to expect the worst and a hundred unthinkable tortures ran like a B-grade movie through his reeling mind. Instead, what he got was the shit beat out of him. That wasn’t so bad, well, not so good either. He was twenty two years old, an inch over six feet and sheathed in the hard muscle developed over the years on his daddy’s farm and polished by a decent stretch among the scrabble dawgs of Uncle Sam’s finest. He figured, ruefully, that he would have knocked the chicks back home dead with his killer good looks if he had survived (the odd smile returned and infuriated his captors) the war. Sandy brown hair was now bleached a shade of deep gold over white eyebrows and a chiseled, tan face. Just like every grunt, he liked to strip to the waist whenever he could and his broad shoulders, deep chest and ripped, muscular back and abs glowed with ruddy color. What he packed below the belt formed his pride and a ready sense of joy in this God forsaken place, and he was scared that the fuckers would have a go at his manhood, but they left his clothes on. A fist slammed into the corporal’s tensed abs and a voice followed close behind in heavily accented English, ‘It’s very simple, corporal, please answer the question.’ Sorensen gasped, spit a jet of tangy blood from his mouth and prepared to recommence the litany when a knee cannoned into his groin. He gagged and tears of pain- just pain- coursed down his handsome face and, mingling with sweat, dripped in a salty trickle from his square jaw. Nah, they weren’t really interested in answers; these were only this farkin hellhole’s version of good ol boys out for a bang-up, fine time.

The initial interrogation lasted for three long days. Dan let out some long, healthy yells and wasn’t ashamed, as his guts were pummeled, limbs and tender parts kicked and abused and good looking face slapped raw. Then, suddenly, it seemed to be over. He was left alone in a locked storage shed with half a dozen plastic bottles of water, a couple of loaves of vermin infested bread and a galvanized bucket to piss in. Strangely, it was then that the terror began to really take hold and grow. The bruises faded and he didn’t really feel much worse for wear physically. He passed the time in lonely exercise; push-ups, sit-ups, that kind of thing, and staring at the cracked plaster on the wall...thinking, wondering who these guys really were and what they intended...to do to him. He wasn’t anyone’s fool and had read the newspapers.

The door opened and Dan squinted into the harsh desert light. ‘Hey! Wha...?’ His hands were tied behind his back, blindfold tied on, and the young corporal was kicked out of the shed and hustled into the back of a pick up. He was terrified, but swore to himself not to let it show. Dreaming of long ago summers back in Ohio helped a little as he banged against the sides of the speeding truck; maybe a boat ride on the Mississippi, or hot dogs and the sweet taste of his girlfriend’s kisses. The young corporal conjured melting ice cream and the feel of her arm around his broad shoulders waiting outside for the fireworks to begin. It was the 4th of July...a long time ago, far away in another universe. The truck took a sharp turn and slowed down. Without really understanding why, Dan felt sick. Must be the damn blind fold, not seeing or knowing what lay ahead. Finally, slowing to a stop, he heard the cab door open and had to use all of his will power not to lean over the side of the bed and puke into the sand. The tailgate banged down and he was pushed out. Unable to judge the distance, hands pinioned behind his back, the prisoner went belly down, sucking up a mouthful of dirt. Rough hands grasped him beneath deep armpits and hoisted him standing on wobbly legs.

Maybe it was going to be more of the same, only a different location. Yeah, that had to be it; he waited for the affirming punch or kick. Instead, a simpering laugh and a cloying caress down one side of his stubbled jaw. The soldier, unable to put his finger on what seemed so wrong, backed away, crazily preferring the dubious familiarity of a gut punch. His worst fears emerged from the shadows and the tall buck shivered in the 100 degree heat as his shirt was ripped open and stripped off. The same hand, more confident now, roughly fondled the ridged contours of hard young muscle, lingering over his pecs, tracing the tender circles of pale nipples to outraged erection. Dan twisted against the thugs with hands wedged beneath his soaked pits and blushed as the exploring hand brushed the fine blond hair on his chest and followed the trail down to the flat steel of his belly. ‘Leave my pants on, man...’ he sent a silent thought, half plea and half indignant command, to the unseen examiner and seemed to be rewarded as the hand withdrew. ‘He’ll do,’ a reedy voice in English so accented as to be nearly unintelligible, and Dan let out a deep sigh of mixed relief and anxiety as he was spun around and marched up a path of crunching gravel. A hand roughly pushed his head down as they passed through a low doorway and then again before stopping in some sort of room that smelled rankly of new leather, tobacco and unwashed linen. His hands were untied and held in front of him by the two goons standing on either side. Before he had time to think or resist, the terrified corporal felt the cold snap of metal cuffs on his wrists and his smooth, muscular arms jerked high and attached to a chain. Chugging stark fear like a freshly popped Budweiser, he shouted blindly at his captors, ‘I told you fuckers- I don’t have any information!! I don’t have...’ stammering a little; ‘My name is Daniel Sorensen, Lance Corporal, United States Army...and you bastards might be illiterate and stupid, but you must have heard of the Geneva Convention...you want us all to believe that you are civilized...???’ Anything to stave off what he suspected might be coming.

The blindfold was whisked away and Dan looked frantically around the room. The goons had left and he was shocked to see one man standing before him; dark complexion, dressed like one of the natives without uniform, and a look of cold amusement that barely masked a well of repressed excitement. Two antiquated rifles were propped against the curtained wall. ‘You’re no soldier!’ The man didn’t bother to reply, moving, instead, to the side he knelt and began unlacing one of the soldier’s boots. Dan tried to kick, but was held fast in the wiry grip. Both boots were methodically removed and, still silent, the other man produced a metal rod with a trigger at the end. ‘What the FUCK!!!’ Dan shouted, eyes wide with dawning comprehension. The prod’s first touch brushed the hairy trail just below the straining corporal’s navel and waves of cold fire ripped a steaming path through his heaving guts, gathering pulsing strength in a fraction of a second to explode with nuclear intensity from torso to groin, finally flowing in a sizzling charge through splayed fingers and toes. Dan Sorensen screamed; guttural howls of outraged agony racing, one after the other, around the contours of the stinking room. An instant before he passed out, the prod was withdrawn. His interrogator placed it on a low table and picked up a small quirt. He gingerly approached the tall American and nodded, eyes narrow with concentration, as Dan’s body language gave away his intent- Panting with pain and exhaustion, he was still alert, one foot ready to kick out. The big buck wasn’t going to let that fucker touch him again! ‘Perhaps you would prefer that I exchange this quirt for the prod, Corporal?’ The oddly pitched voice seemed amused and not at all afraid or concerned. He reached for the prod. ‘No!’ Dan spit the word out like a shattered tooth and hated himself for it. ‘Very good, Corporal. Now, you will allow me to approach you without resisting. Is that understood?’ Dan nodded, then hung his head and stared at the floor.

The small foreigner slowly approached and lightly rapped the strapping, half naked soldier across his rippling abs with the head of the quirt. Dan winced, but it was reflexive; the quirt stung like the bite of an insect. ‘Hold still, boy, or you will be subject to discipline,’ the bee-sting slash licked a broad pectoral muscle. ‘Resist, and I retrieve the prod. Is that understood?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ Dan mumbled. The quirt traced a ticklish pattern over the young stud’s sensitive torso and the effort to stand still and not squirm under its leisurely ramblings caused Dan to break out in a running sweat of nervous tension. At one point, as the head of the supple whip nosed into the silky depths of the soldier’s armpit, he flinched and leaned away as far as the chain would allow. His diminutive master snapped the quirt against the smooth corrugated rib cage and fresh tears of pain sprang into Dan’s eyes. The proud stud held his breath and blushed furiously as the tip of the quirt was inserted below the buckle of his belt, but didn’t move, as it insinuated itself below the waistband of his trousers, sliding over the hidden surface of his shorts to brush, feather light, against the straining head of his scandalized dick. ‘Very good, Corporal!!’ and the probe was withdrawn as Dan exhaled sharply. ‘You have passed a rudimentary test,’ he said and laid the small whip on the table next to the prod.

The turbaned inquisitor leaned close to his captive. Dan refrained from struggle, eyes riveted on the switched off prod. Waves of garlic washed over the gagging stud as the dark man whispered, ‘it’s now time to commence the next step and many more will follow. This first phase is, ah, well, you might say...contemplative.’ He stroked the muscular expanse of Dan’s smooth torso and then casually unbuckled the soldier’s belt. Dan bit his lip, exerting immense self-control, as nimble fingers fumbled the buttons of his fly open and slowly hiked his khakis down around his thighs. The small man sighed and cupped the hot bulge straining against sweaty cotton briefs. Dan instinctively backed up, shaking his head, but ceased as his tormentor turned toward the prod. ‘Easy, soldier, this is only the beginning.’ The hand was withdrawn and the little man sat daintily on the floor, robes arranged neatly around him. He looked up at the tall young stud and smiled. His eyes roamed the sweating contours of the big soldier’s body; half stripped, panting his anxiety, racing headlong toward an unimagined threshold of pain and humiliation. ‘As I said, Corporal, this initial phase is contemplative,’ and his black eyes drilled into the helpless soldier’s tight crotch. Dan looked away and, nearly choking on the words, said, ‘Why are you doing this to me? What do you want? You know I don’t have any information.’ ‘Quite right,’ the speed and matter of fact tone of the reply caught the chained buck by surprise. ‘You see, Corporal, I’m afraid that you have become a casualty of war. Yes, it’s true. It’s possible that they will eventually release you. It’s also possible that they will kill you. Who knows?’ he shrugged and smiled again. ‘For now, you have been given to me; not for questioning, but for entertainment. I will keep you alive and...ah...reasonably healthy until your ultimate fate is decided. Did you enjoy the kiss of the prod, Corporal?’ Another shrug and a brighter smile. ‘No??? Well, my boy, that was only the beginning!!! Soon, after I have had some time to savor and explore the, ah, possibilities of your magnificent young body, we will take up the prod once again but, I think, perhaps a little lower down next time?’ he laughed. ‘And, after that, there are so many other ways to test you, to make you dance!!! Now, soldier, let’s get you stripped down.’ He slowly rose from his cushion on the floor.


1 Comment

  1. 31118azti - July 3, 2020, 9:33 am

    Poor guy, what’s next?

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