Emmerson Paine the senior was a World War II pilot captured by the Nazis and taken to a special camp dedicated to sexual experimentation and torture.
Family Paine: A POW Story - Chapter 1
by GayBondageFiction
Series: Family Paine
Intro
The feel of the small rocks against the skin of Hunt’s thighs and his ass were particularly disconcerting but it wasn’t enough of a distraction to keep him from feeling the way jutting rock protrusions from the wall he leaned against caused even more discomfort.
“I just don’t get why we’re naked. I mean, isn’t that offensive to them?”
The man next to him laughed, and Hunt wished desperately he could see the man’s expression. Just the sound of laughter filled him with desperate longing for home, and it felt like a simple glance would take the fear of the situation away for at least a moment.
“We’re naked because they want us naked. It’s that simple.”
That was no kind of answer and Hunt sighed. “Are you naked, too?”
“Why? You want to cop a feel?”
“No! I just—” Hunt stopped protest as the other Marine laughed.
“I’m just screwing with you. Relax.” The other marine’s voice certainly held laughter but there was something else, too. Something bitter, maybe? No. That wasn’t it. It was some kind of calm resignation. “What’s your name?”
“Private First Class Hunt, Sir.”
“Your parents named you Private First Class?”
“No, Matthew.”
“Why did you call me, Sir?”
“Aren’t you an officer?”
The other man laughed. “Why would you say that?”
“You’re so damned calm here. I mean, I’m freaking out and you’re laughing and…” Hunt didn’t know how to explain it. He finally gave up and asked, “Are you blindfolded like me?”
“Yes. Hands behind my back, too.”
“What the hell are they going to do to us?”
There was silence for a while, and that silence seemed worse to Hunt than any torments the other marine might have been able to concoct. Hunt wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to ask again. Finally, though, he heard the other Marine draw in breath. “We could be bargaining chips but these assholes don’t seem to care much about winning. They care more about the fight. Plus, there’s no way in hell we’re gonna return any prisoners even in a trade.”
“Then what?”
“A symbol maybe? For a symbolic act. You know, on our knees while they’re chanting to their Allah and chopping off our heads.”
Fear flowed over him, and Hunt had to catch himself as he realized he was about to let out of choking sob. Finally, he calmed himself enough to say, “I just don’t understand how you can be so damned calm about all this.”
There was silence for a moment and the other Marine said, “You can’t control this right now. All you can do is wait and try to be strong. We have no options here.” That wasn’t at all what Hunt wanted to hear but he kept himself from responding. “Listen, being a POW isn’t the end. You can get through this with honor, you can go home a hero. Just stay strong.”
“Who are you?”
“My grandfather was a POW in World War Two. My dad was a POW in Vietnam. Both of them came home, and neither of them came home in a box.”
“So it won’t be that bad?”
The other marine laughed again, and this time there was no mirth in his voice at all. “No. It will be bad. It will be very bad.” Hunt felt his heart sinking. “It will be very bad but that doesn’t mean you can’t get through it and it doesn’t mean you can’t be brave.” Again the other marine was silent. Just when Hunt was about to speak again, the other said, “And it doesn’t mean that if things work out that way, you can’t die well.”
Hunt didn’t say anything for a moment and then finally said, “If you were going for encouragement, you’re piss poor at it.” He ended the comment with laughter, and it was genuine which surprised him but also delighted him. The other man joined in and it took a minute or two before they could stop. Finally, Hunt said, “I just wish I knew what would happen, you know. I mean if I’m going home missing an arm or a leg or if I’m gonna take some fucking Taliban bullet in the head I just want to know.”
The other marine seemed to edge a bit closer but in the blindfold, Hunt sensed it rather than saw it. He adjusted himself a bit, thinking maybe the marine wanted to lean back to back against him so they could each work on the others rope but instead the marine spoke.
“My name is Emmerson Paine The third. Gunnery Sergeant Emmerson Paine III.”
“Gunny?”
“That’s fine.”
“What the hell are we going to do?”
“We’re going to wait. I’ll tell you about my grandfather if you like, or I’ll tell you about my father. Maybe both. If they could get through what they got through, we can get through this, soldier.”
“What did they go through?”
Sergeant Paine paused for a long while and then said one word. “Hell.”
CHAPTER 1
Hunt nodded and then remembered Sergeant Paine was tied up and blindfolded as well. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me about your family.”
“Just remember,” Paine said. “They made it home. They went through terrible hell but they made it home. Whatever these guys do to us, you can remember what my grandfather went through and what my father went through. They suffered through it and came out okay. You can, too. Got it, Private?”
Hunt gulped. “Yes sir.”
“Outstanding,” Paine replied. “Then let me tell you about my grandfather.”
***
The senior Emmerson Paine was in the Air Force though back then they called it the Army Air Forces. He was a hell of a man, tall and strong and one of those all-American types that really defined the term all-American in the first place. Prior to World War Two, that type didn’t really exist, at least not in popular culture. Anyway, my grandfather told me about his escape but that part isn’t really important. What matters is what happened to him while he was in the POW camp. When I was a kid, I made him tell it to me over and over because I always wanted to be a soldier and I worshiped my grandfather. I worshiped my dad, too, but I’ll tell you about him later. So, Emmerson’s plane is shot down, wing just sheared off, and he finds himself behind enemy lines with no way out, just walking and trying to hide from any patrols that might show up. He lived for three weeks like that, stealing food from farmhouses he’d come upon and just hoping to wait things out until he could get back into allied territory or come across some GIs.
One night he went to sleep against a tree in the middle of the forest. When he woke up there was a bunch of Krauts staring down with machine guns pointed at his face. There was no way to fight back and he ended up on a prisoner transport train. The train was mostly empty which at the time seemed like a good thing to Emmerson because it signaled that the German's war machine wasn’t working as well as the German propaganda machines suggested they were. He figured he’d only been captured accidentally because the train had stopped to pick up a unit of soldiers and the pickup point had just so happened to be where he’d ended up sleeping.
However, what the empty train actually meant was that he ended up at a hidden facility where all the really bizarre shit happened. My grandfather said he’d never seen anything like this place. He was shuffled in with the only four other prisoners who were on the whole train but he was immediately separated from them because he was American. His blonde hair and blue eyes probably didn’t hurt either.
He was led to a separate section of the camp and directed to quarters that appeared to be soldier barracks of some kind. He figured it was the only place that fit the Geneva Conventions. Back then, there were only three of the Geneva Conventions, and it was the one that came after the second war that really expanded rights but there were still rules and nobody really wanted to piss off America even though we weren’t really a superpower back then. Anyway, Emmerson felt bad because the four other prisoners were led somewhere else, and they were kind of pushed and hit all along the way.
So, when he was taken from the room where they put him before even an hour had passed, Emmerson was sure that it meant he was already being exchanged for German prisoners or being transported away from whatever this facility was to a regular red-cross inspected P.O.W. camp.
But that isn’t what happened, though. Not at all.
Emmerson was lead through a large courtyard, and as he walked he saw a bunch of guards but no prisoners, and it seemed pretty strange given the lack of people there that there would be so much security. It was like hiring twenty people to protect a little corner store. He didn’t know what the hell was going on but he knew they seemed committed to treating him differently than they’d treated the other customers.
And they sure as hell did treated him differently.
They walked him around the edges of the courtyard then he followed a guard through an alley between two buildings. It was very different to be out in the open in a plane than on the ground, and walls on either side of him felt good even though they limited his options from an escape perspective. The conditions weren’t great for that at all with a guard in front of him, limited space, and a guard behind him. But he told me if he’d known what was coming next he would have attempted escape right then anyway. Of course, he didn’t know. He had no idea at all. So he didn’t try to escape.
The guards stopped him in front of a door and made him put his arms behind his back. A moment later he was cuffed and then his feet were shackled as well. That actually encouraged him because he assumed that meant he was being prepared for a trip but instead they opened the doors and the first thing my grandfather noticed was screaming.
Instinct told him to run but if he had, he’d be dead. So in a way he found himself thankful for his shackles once again as the guards pushed him along until the long hallway suddenly opened up. As Emmerson stepped into a foyer, the guards turned, huge knives in hand. He would have struggled as they systematically cut off his clothes but he was distracted by the sounds of suffering he heard from other men just beyond the entryway. There were at least two groaning and one was screaming. The one screaming would occasionally cry something out in French. Emmerson didn’t know any French but he could tell the man was begging for mercy. The light was dim so even though he could see movement and even see the Frenchmen’s body jerk, he couldn’t really tell what was happening to make him scream. Once he was naked, the guards pushed him along until he found himself forced into a cage of sorts against a corner. It was too small for him to sit, about half the size of a phone booth. So, he was stuck standing in the semi-darkness while horrible sounds filled the room.
And then the lights came up and it took all of Emmerson’s self-control to keep from screaming himself.
The man screaming with the occasional French word thrown in was bent over a saw horse completely naked. His arms were bound at the wrists with leather straps and lifted high up, chained to a beam above him. There was a collar around his neck, though, attached to a chain attached to a ring in the floor so his body couldn’t go up with his arms, and the way they pulled at his shoulders looked horribly excruciating. It also looked to Emmerson like the best thing about his situation.
His ass jutted out about a foot from the saw horse and Emmerson saw the man from that angle. His legs were spread by some kind of bar so that the ankles were about four feet apart. The man’s balls hung down and that was what generated the screams. They were red and horribly swollen with a thin rope wrapped around the scrotum. The other end of the rope was tied to a gear with a handle, and that gear turned automatically. Every time it turned, it pulled the Frenchman’s sack until it was horribly distended and the man’s wails filled the room until the gear completed a half-revolution and the man’s screams became whimpers for a short while before his sack was pulled again. Emmerson stared in horror and almost felt the man’s pain as the wheel tormented him.
As he stared, Emmerson realized the man’s cock was hard. It seemed strange for it to be hard. There was something moving but his sight was obscured. Emmerson felt sick but stared in unwilling fascination until his training and discipline kicked in and he surveyed the rest of the room. There were others there, all prisoners. One man was tied to large wheel, spread-eagled and hanging upside down. He was muscular as hell but he looked defeated, like there was just no way on Earth he could handle anything else. Emmerson could see crisscrossing red stripes over his chest and legs but his cock was covered by some kind of weird metal and leather contraption. The man was particularly hairy but outside of his olive skin there was no real clue about his ethnicity. His dick looked really huge but that could have been how it was covered up.
Emmerson turned his attention to a third man hanging from manacles from the wall like some kind of medieval prisoner in a dungeon but suddenly the man on the wheel began to cry, “No! No! No! No!” While the man had seemed lethargic and listless before, his eyes were horribly wide now. Emmerson stared at him and then followed his gaze to the side of the room. There was a man grinning there, a tall man in an SS uniform. He had his hand on a switch and made motions to flip it. Every time he made the motion, the wheel-man’s screams grew louder. Finally, the man pulled his hand away and the prisoner sighed. The Nazi took two steps away but then whirled around and in one quick motion flipped the switch. Howls exploded from the wheel man and Emmerson turned back to look.
My grandfather said that particular scream was the worst he ever heard. The man’s mouth was wide open and his whole body seemed to shake as he strained against his bonds. Emmerson looked down and saw sparks coming from the strange contraption on the man’s cock. He felt phantom pain as the man writhed and then stared in amazement as the man’s cock grew hard. From the left, he heard a chuckle. He turned his head and another Nazi in a white lab coat stood next to him. “There’s a probe in Carlos’s anus. So, he will have an orgasm even though he will feel only pain. This will be his fourteenth orgasm since we put him on the wheel last night. The electroshocks increase recovery time, see, and they stimulate semen production. It’s important work because we will learn what it takes to increase production and replenish our German race.
“He’s German?” asked the SS officer.
The doctor laughed. “Of course not. He’s a Spanish diplomat. Franco thinks he’s on his way home but the Fuhrer isn’t impressed with Spain’s non-belligerence stance.”
Emmerson stared. The man’s cock was rock hard now, and as he screamed, Emmerson could tell the diplomat was fighting back tears even as his cock began to pulse.
The SS officer stood next to the screaming man and ran his fingers along his square-lined jaw before stepping back and grabbing something from the wall. Emmerson didn’t recognize it until it snapped forward and the leather whip raised another welt on the Spaniard’s chest.
“The whip doesn’t actually help the experiment but sometimes it's good to just enjoy yourself." the doctor said with a chuckle.
Emmerson watched in disgusted wonder as the whip fell, the diplomat screamed, the whip fell again, and the weird electric device continued to spark and buzz. It seemed like time stood still as he watched and then suddenly the man let out a terrible scream as doctor scrambled to grab a beaker.
“The orgasms are, unfortunately, excruciating,” the doctor said. “But the results are fortunate indeed.” Emmerson watched as the engorged head began spurting streaks of white into the beaker. He came a long time, screaming the whole way.
When the spurts stopped, the officer walked to the wall and pulled the switch. The Spaniard whimpered as the machine stopped and the doctor said, “His testes will replenish in an hour or so. Full motility. It’s really quite remarkable.”
Emmerson looked at the officer who seemed disappointed but then pointed at the man bent over who still screamed every fifteen or twenty seconds or so when the gear pulled at his ball sack. “You’re trying to get more sperm from him, too?”
The doctor laughed. “No. He’s just someone who made the commandant angry, a polish soldier who should have known better than to try to do the work of a German.” By now, Emmerson was scanning everywhere, trying his best to come up with ways to escape but there was really nothing he could do and he knew it. “He has no value to me except entertainment.” The doctor turned and looked directly at Emmerson and my grandfather told me that his eyes were filled with evil glee as he said, “Like the American. Just entertainment.”
My grandfather told me those words were a hell of a lot like ice water, like someone took a tube, stuck it into his neck, and just replaced all of his blood with ice cold water. Nonetheless, he remained defiant. “I think you’ll find American’s have brass balls, Kraut. You can do whatever the fuck you want but you won’t get me to scream for your entertainment!”
He’d intended to create at least some small amount of intimidation with the comment but instead the doctor just smiled in a patronizing and tolerant sort of way. “Karl,” the doctor said turning to the SS officer. “Would you like to have some fun with an American GI?”
Karl stepped up smiling in response and Emmerson saw the syringe in the doctor's hand but the confines of the cage prevented him from avoiding it. He felt the needle poke into his ass cheek and a moment later he passed out.
---------------------------------
When my grandfather awoke, it took him a moment to remember where he was and the disorientation only grew because he was in a strange and uncomfortable position. His arms and legs felt sore and restrained and yet air flowed around him in a way that suggested he was free. As his mind cleared of the fog of the drug, he realized he was hanging above the floor at about waist level. There were leather straps around each ankle and a chain connected to them, rising up to the ceiling in different directions so his legs were spread widely. His arms were similarly bound but straight up and joined at the wrists so the effect was to push his head forward, making him look at the rest of his body.
And god dammit - he had morning wood.
He willed his cock to fall back asleep but it didn’t listen, and to make matters worse, he heard doctor’s voice sound from behind him. “Well, GI” he said. “I suppose you will have just as much fun as Karl.
“I’m just remembering my night with your mom, you cunt.”
The doctor laughed and Karl walked around Emmerson and then stood directly in front of him, staring at him from between his legs. A moment later, Karl’s hand was on his cock, stroking slowly up and down. Emmerson almost moaned but fought the noise back. He wouldn’t give the assholes the satisfaction of a scream so he sure as hell wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a moan. He couldn’t help but gasp, though, when pain suddenly shot from his nipples. He limited it to a gasp though as he looked down and saw small triangular clips attached to his nipples. He had a good deal of hair on his chest, and the silver clamps stood out against the brownish pink on his nipples within the coarse patch of hair. The clips hurt like hell but he’d felt worse and was pretty sure he could avoid crying out from piddling shit like that.
But he also had to deal with the bastard’s hand on his cock, and there was something about the pain elsewhere that made the stroking feel better. My grandfather growled and said, “A queer at my cock and a wannabe electrician. My hound dogs back home are scarier than you two.”
“This is just for connectivity,” the doctor said as he leaned forward with what looked like an oil can, titled it, and let a clear substance fall over each clip. It felt cold to the touch and the temperature made the clips hurt more but Emmerson refused even to gasp. “But it’s also good for lubrication,” the doctor added as he moved the can over Karl’s hand and my grandfather’s cock and let it pour freely. The slickness was wonderful, which made it horrible.
“Karl!” the doctor said. “You work hard. It’s not fair you should only give and not receive.”
Emmerson grunted. “You gonna suck him off? You two get off on that.”
The doctor laughed. “I had something else in mind to stimulate him.” Karl laughed as well and removed his hand from Emmerson’s shaft. Emmerson watched as he unbuckled his pants and they fell to the ground. He almost made a comment because the man’s dick was so unnaturally large but he held back, afraid anything he’d say might come as a compliment. Karl began stroking his huge cock, and it glistened with the lubrication as it grew even larger. Emmerson looked around, trying to figure out his next move but when he did, Karl stepped forward and my grandfather suddenly understood where the man intended to put his dick. He turned his head back around and saw the head of that thing pressed up against his own asshole.
He tried to struggle but all it took was one hand on one leg to end that. Emmerson was suspended in the air and there was no way to keep it from happening. Karl thrust forward and my grandfather opened his mouth to scream but the pain was so damned breathtaking that he couldn’t get any noise out.
My family comes from a long line of trappers and hunters, and when my grandfather was a boy he spent a whole night in a deer blind waiting for game. When he finally saw a buck, he shot it but he was so excited he ended up falling from the tree. He broke his leg, and if that wasn’t enough he landed right on traps they’d planned to set for raccoons, opossums, and other small game. He’d foolishly set some up around the base of the tree just to make sure none of the animals would climb up and disturb him while he was in the blind. When he fell on them, they snapped. One broke two fingers, one clamped onto his elbow, and one clamped onto his broken leg, right at the break.
My grandfather said the pain from that hunting trip was a walk in the park compared to the agony that shot through his body when Karl forced that over-sized dick into his asshole. The worst thing was that he got to see the damned thing disappear inside, and when the first wave of pain melded into the second, he realized the cock had only entered about a third of the way. He caught his breath and somehow managed not to give the doctor and his assistant the satisfaction of a scream as he stared at his tiny abused hole stretched around that massive tool. Thankfully, Karl’s hand moved back to Emmerson’s cock so he couldn’t see the abuse of his asshole any more.
Karl began fucking my grandfather and every thrust sent horrible shards of pain but my grandfather clenched his teeth and ignored it. Suddenly, his body exploded with new pain and it seemed like every muscle seized up. He counted that a blessing because it meant he couldn’t scream. When that second strange wave of pain disappeared so that it was just the ass-fucking hurting him, his vision cleared a bit and he saw there were wires attached to the clamps on his nipple. “Well,” the doctor said. “Are you still so brave, Mr. American Soldier?”
He wasn’t. He wasn’t brave at all and he was also getting frantic because despite the pain he realized the stroking on his cock was driving him toward an inevitable outcome. Still, he gritted his teeth again and said, “Hell. I’ve been in this position before. It’s just usually the shit doesn’t try to get back inside.”
The statement was rewarded with another burst of electric shock that made his entire body seize up again. The doctor laughed and Karl moaned. Emmerson realized in a moment of clarity that seizing up from the electricity made his ass tighter, making him a better fuck for the officer. It infuriated him but the thought of breaking infuriated him more so when the doctor turned off the juice, he muttered with a strained voice, “You fucking pansies. You don’t know torture at all. You wouldn’t last a week in West Virginia. Hillbillies there know what it means—”
Again came the juice and again Emmerson kept himself from crying out but by then that had to do with physical weakness as much as self-will. By then, Karl fucked him furiously and moved his hand just as furiously, and when my grandfather finally realized he couldn’t keep it from happening, he almost wept. As his cock began spurting giant eruptions of white from his cock, the only thing that kept him silent was the refusal to allow the men the satisfaction. He seemed to cum forever. He told me once it was like seven or eight orgasms at once and he didn’t know if it was because of how his whole body tightened up with the electricity or something else. He knew that he kept cumming for what seemed like forever and he was still cumming when Karl suddenly pulled out and rushed around so that he could spurt over Emmerson’s face. Emmerson couldn’t try to avoid the spray because the electricity still paralyzed him. He said every drop of cum on his face was like fire, like some kind of humiliating fire he’d never escape.
The electricity stopped a few minutes later and the doctor taunted him but he still didn’t respond with anything other than sarcasm. Karl fucked him every day for six weeks and the other tortures got more and more intense but he still wouldn’t let them believe there was anything special about their torments. In fact, the only time he mentioned it to them was when he put a bullet in Karl’s head and then turned the gun on the doctor. Before he blew the asshole’s head off, he said, “What makes us different from you is that you’re going easy even if you don’t deserve it.” The doctor opened his mouth to say something but my grandfather shot him before he could get any words out.
***
After a minute or so of silence, it became apparent to Hunt that Paine considered the story over. “But how did your grandpa escape, Sergeant? I mean how did he get out?”
He couldn’t see it through the blindfold but Hunt almost sensed that Paine shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” Paine said. “He would have kept his honor if they’d tortured him for two years. The people who die are the people who break. Remember that.” There was silence again and then Paine added, “My father remembered that in Vietnam.”