A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 91 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER

For the first time Mark tells the harrowing, long-ago story of his military interrogation. "I was chained by the neck to the wall of a cell, stripped to the waist in camouflage fatigues." His tormentor is the beautiful, exotic Hassan. "The soldier's muscular body writhed, shackled to the wall. Hassan pulled the head back like a trophy. It was the cum-soaked face of a broken man, once proud, handsome, now sobbing in defeat."

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A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - Chapter 91 -- "Military Interrogation -- Hassan"

Jamie burst into Bob's room in a panic. "Please, sir ... you've got to come. It's Mark. Something's wrong with Mark ... and I think it's my fault."

Bob had just settled down to spend the night with his boys but now he sprang into action. "Wait for me," he said to the twins. "I'll be back." As they ran to Mark's house Jamie explained that Mark had seemed to be having a nightmare so he tried to wake him gently by stroking his cock and balls. "His eyes opened kinda wild, he screamed and flailed his arms, hitting me across the room. He started pacing the room, like he was crazy or something, so I ran to get you, sir."

When they entered Mark's bedroom he was on his knees, head in his hands, sobbing. Bob stood over him and gently laid his hand on his shoulder. Mark spun round with terrified eyes, then seeing Bob, collapsed at his feet. "What was it, buddy?" Bob asked gently. "A nightmare or something?"

Mark's eyes were still wild, and so were his words, rambling, incoherent. "I was back there ... in that room, chained to the wall. I saw it so clear ... stripped to the waist ... fatigue pants ... chain round my neck ... two guys ... the enemy ... working me over ... interrogation. They had my balls, man ... torturing my balls ..." and he collapsed into Bob's arms.

Bob held him tight until his spasms grew still. "Mark, are you talking about your army days in the Middle East? I heard rumors you were taken prisoner there, but you've never talked about that ... ever."

Mark was pulling himself together and his handsome blonde face was beginning to relax. "God, man, I'm sorry. I was having that nightmare ... saw everything so clear, like I was back there. Then I felt someone touching my balls and I guess I freaked out. Oh, Jamie, my sweet boy. Did I hit you, kiddo?"

"It's OK, sir. I'm fine," said a frightened Jamie.

"Mark, the first thing you need is a drink," Bob said. "He brought him a large brandy and Mark swallowed it in one gulp. The heaving body grew calmer and Bob said quietly, "OK, now listen, buddy. Do you think you want to talk about it? You know you can trust me ... tell me anything. Maybe it would help ... purge those demons."

Mark looked into the calm, steady brown eyes and felt relief sweeping over him. "Yeah, man. You may be right. I've never told a soul. Couldn't face it ... kept it bottled up. But you, Bob ... I love you, man." Mark heaved a deep sigh. "Yeah, it's time. I want to tell you."

Bob looked over at the still nervous Jamie and said, "Jamie, do me a favor and go see the twins in my room. Let them know that I will come back to them but it might take a while." He smiled. "Be sure to tell them I'll make it up to them."

Hearing this Jamie smiled too, for the first time. "Right away, sir."

Mark raised his head. "But when you've done that, Jamie, come right back. You're my boy ... I want you to hear this too."

As soon as he had left Mark reached under the bed and pulled out a glossy black and white picture that he thrust at Bob. "I want you to look at this, Bob. It's something Jamie got from Darius, and I know he jerks off all the time looking at it. Darius must have ripped it from a book as it seems to be the third drawing in a series.

Bob's eyes grew wide with astonishment as he looked at the picture. It was a finely crafted piece of erotic art, a drawing of a soldier in bondage. It depicted some kind of military cell, where an interrogation was in progress. The prisoner, a Nordic-looking blonde, incredibly handsome, muscular physique, was stripped to the waist, chained to a metal grill. His eyes were wide with fear as he stared at his captors.

"Hell, man, I see why Jamie beats off so much looking at this drawing. It's amazing! The guy in it looks exactly like you."

There was anguish in Mark's voice as he said, "It doesn't just look like me, Bob. It could be me! That's exactly the way it was. The guy in the picture could have been me! Seeing that picture must have triggered the nightmare. " Mark closed his eyes and his body shuddered. Bob walked over to a chest of drawers and pulled out an old T-shirt and some sweat pants.

"Here ... you're cold. Put these on."

As Mark pulled on the pants Bob looked up from the picture to him, then back again. The similarity was uncanny ... the same beautiful face, the same glorious body. Bob was mesmerized by the drawing, but his concentration was broken when the door opened and Jamie came back into the room. "The guys are fine, sir," he said to Bob. "They seemed exhausted. When I left they were almost asleep."

"I bet they were," Bob grinned. He slid the picture back under the bed, stood up and steered Jamie into a corner. "Now listen, Jamie. Just sit here and don't make a noise. If it all gets too much for you, you can leave quietly."

"I won't leave, sir," said Jamie resolutely. "He wants me to stay, so I will."

Bob tousled his hair. "Good boy."

Bob crossed the room and sat next to Mark on the bed. "OK, Mark. You ready?"

Mark had a faraway look in his eye as he started to relive his story.

"I was an army corporal near the end of my tour of duty in the Middle East. I was part of a small squad on a special mission to locate an enemy placement and get information on the ground that couldn't be seen from aerial surveillance.

We were on foot and we had trouble keeping together on the rough terrain. In the dark I got separated from the other guys and walked right into an enemy trap. I don't remember much except being grabbed from behind and something being clamped over my mouth. I must have lost consciousness right away.

I don't know how much later it was that my head slowly began to clear, and sensation returned in flashes. The first feeling was a tightness against my throat. It turned out to be a heavy chain securing my neck to something behind me. I raised my head and slowly things came swimming into focus. I wished they hadn't, because what I saw horrified me.

I was in a small room ... an interrogation cell ... and the opposite wall was fully mirrored. What I saw in the mirror was ... myself, chained to a metal grill behind me, with horizontal and vertical bars. There was a heavy chain round my neck, looped back round one of the vertical bars and padlocked. My arms had been pulled back behind me, over one of the horizontal bars, my wrists roped behind my waist. I was stripped to the waist, wearing military camouflage fatigue pants."

"Just like the drawing," Bob murmured.

"Yeah. Uncanny ... it was exactly like that." Mark took a deep breath. "You know, it's amazing. When fear and adrenaline run through your body your mind becomes crystal clear and you notice everything, every last detail. The first thing was a buzzing sound coming from a heavy black box on a table. I knew right away what it was, an electric device they used in interrogation torture. Wires ran from it out to terminal clamps in the hands of a soldier crouching on the floor. And every detail of that guy will be ingrained on my mind forever.

You won't believe the first thing I noticed about him, despite my fear ... how beautiful he was! He was young, about the same age as me, shirtless, muscular physique with dark, exotic features, high cheek bones, slanted dark eyes and jet black hair. He was concentrating on the serrated clamps at the end of the wires, but suddenly he looked up at me and our eyes met. There was cruelty in his eyes, but something else too. His gaze lingered on my face, then travelled down over my naked chest, stomach and waist, and finally settled on the bulge at my crotch.

In my heightened awareness I realized that he was feeling the same as me. Despite our hatred we both had an instinctive mutual respect for each other's beauty ... even more than just respect. We were both beautiful men, me Scandinavian blonde, he with his Middle-Eastern dark looks and perfectly sculpted body. Believe me, up to that point in my life I had never looked at another guy in that way, never felt anything. But this guy was something else. Had circumstances been different we might even ..."

Mark choked back his words and stared silently into some far distance. Bob let the silence drag on, then said, "You want to stop, Mark? You don't have to do this, you know."

"No buddy, I have to do it. But the hard part is what comes next. There was a second guy in the room, older than the other, an Arab military type in uniform, dark glasses, black moustache. He wore a kepi on his head, and his shirt was open to the waist displaying a hairy chest. His gaze went straight down to my crotch, he tore open the fly and put his hand around my cock. He snarled, `Aaah ... big ... good.'

I guess those were the only English words he knew `cause he spoke to the other guy in Arabic all the time, calling him Hassan. So that was his name ... Hassan. I had learned some Arabic over there and, even in this moment of extreme peril, I remembered what the name means in Arabic ... "handsome, beautiful." At that moment Hassan finally stood up and as I saw his tall, superbly muscular body I realized how well the name fit the man.

He stood before me and looked into my eyes. He ran his hand over my face, over the chain at my neck, then down over my chest. He was stroking, caressing my body and even though I felt revulsion at his touch, the shudder that ran though me was caused by something else too, something I couldn't define.

Then I heard his voice ... a low voice, menacing but, strangely lilting at the same time. His English was almost perfect, with a slight Arabic accent.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"Corporal Matsen."

"Matsen ... Well, corporal, you are a very handsome man ... extremely handsome. I will enjoy torturing a soldier as beautiful as you, watching that perfect body writhe in agony, hearing you scream. That will give me much pleasure. I too am a beautiful young man as you can see. We are both magnificent specimens, and alike, I think, though you are fair and I am dark. I think you will enjoy having a man as beautiful as me working on your body, no?"

"Go fuck yourself," I snarled His eyes blazed with anger and he hit me hard across the face. Then he smiled.

"I think, corporal, you will learn to enjoy my company and do what I order you to. My colleague here speaks no English, but I learned your language at a school in America before I joined the army in my country. So I will be conducting the interrogation. But first I want you to look hard at your handsome reflection in the mirror. That is the man I will make suffer."

The mirror was part of their technique to make their prisoner watch himself suffer. But I was determined to use it to my advantage. There was a survival technique I had heard of. I would imagine the prisoner was another guy ... forget it was me. That way I hoped I could transfer some of the pain to the soldier in the mirror. So I examined him carefully, trying to objectify him, distance him from me. And he sure was beautiful.

Back at the base in our down time there was not much to do but work out in the gym, which I did a lot so my body was looking great, really ripped. We got a lot of sun in the desert so my body was heavily tanned, with a sharp tan line below the waist. And my short military haircut had grown out so my hair was longer now, disheveled, bleached by the sun.

So that was the man in the mirror, with his tousled blonde hair, chiseled features, prominent cheek bones and square jaw. He had a bodybuilder's physique ... rounded pecs, hard six-pack abs, and his shoulders and arms bulged as they were pulled back tight over the bars. The heavy chain looped round his muscled neck and his military dog tags hung down in the cleft between his pecs. I tried to forget it was me ... just some other terrified soldier waiting for his torture to begin.

And so it began. I looked up startled as the older guy began to squeeze my cock. Again he said, "Big ... good." The young guy ... Hassan ... grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. Despite his dark coloring he had astonishing pale brown eyes and they bored into mine. Again that low voice.

"You are so beautiful, Corporal Matsen, it is a great shame to spoil your looks, bring pain to that perfect body. But it does not have to be so. All you have to tell me is the destination and mission of your group. That is all. And then perhaps we can get to know each other in a more intimate way."

I spoke slowly and deliberately. "Go ... and ... fuck ... yourself. You will never make me talk."

Hassan sighed. "Well, we shall see." He crouched at my feet again and picked up the serrated clamps at the end of the wires. I felt the sharp bite of steel as he clamped them on either side of my scrotum, touching my balls. Then he stood and looked into my eyes with a slight smile. "Now we begin."

He reached down to the box, turned a dial slowly and the buzzing grew louder. At first all I felt was a tingling in my balls. But then suddenly he increased the current and it was as if my balls were on fire. I could never describe the pain as the current tore at my cock and balls, radiated up through my body and then made my head explode.

Instinctively I looked in the mirror and saw the chained soldier go rigid as he stared wildly back at me. His body shuddered and writhed, straining desperately against the bars, neck pulling against the chain. Veins stood out in his bulging muscles as he shook in tortured agony on the bars. Sweat began to pour from his face, streaming down over his gleaming chest and hissing on the hot clamps at his balls.

I saw tears stream from his eyes, saw the mouth open, and heard the piercing scream. The voice was mine, it was me screaming ... I was the half-naked soldier hanging, thrashing on the wall in helpless torment. I don't know how long I watched the beautiful body suffer and strain, the head flying wildly from side to side. But I was on the point of passing out when suddenly the buzzing stopped. My balls and cock still throbbed agonizingly as I looked at the prisoner in the mirror and watched his muscular body go limp on the bars, jerking with residual pain.

I wanted to help him, give him courage, so I talked to him in gasping breaths. "Hold on, buddy ... you can do this ... you can beat the bastards ... they won't win ... they'll never make you talk."

Hassan grabbed my face and turned it to his. "No, corporal, you will talk to me not to him." He let go, took a step back and gazed at me, my tear-stained eyes staring back at him. I realized that he was stroking the bulge in his uniform pants. "Oh, man," he breathed. "You are so much more beautiful when you suffer. Your body is superb. I love watching that handsome face twisting in pain. You are perfect. I want you for my own."

He approached me again, rubbing his bulge faster and harder. I have never hated as much as I did then and I spat full in his face. He erupted in anger and turned the dial again, and once again my body jerked wildly, with the same eruption of pain tearing through me. But this time I kept looking at him and our eyes locked. It was the ultimate trial of strength between two beautiful men.

The pain made me scream at him, "You fucking bastard ... you pig ... coward. I'm better than you, stronger than you ... You'll never break me, asshole. I am the best!"

"No!" Hassan screamed. "I am the master ... I will break you. I will torture your beautiful body until you beg me for mercy. I will take you, I will own you."

Again the buzzing stopped and I felt the clamps ripped from my ball sac. Immediately he brought them to my chest and I howled as he clamped them to my tits. Against all reason my only thought at that point was how handsome he was. The face was stunningly beautiful, and I saw a smile cross it. It was a smile of cruelty, but there was admiration too.

"You are right, soldier. You are strong, you are magnificent. But you will talk. You will tell me what I need to know." He ran his hands over my chest and squeezed the clamps. "If you do not I will torture that perfect chest ... I will watch it shudder in pain."

I was near exhaustion but managed to gasp. "Fuck off, asshole."

His eyes glinted, his hand touched the dial, and I thought my chest would burst as pain ripped through it, flaring outward from my ravaged, searing nipples. I knew I was finished. The last thing I was aware of was my captor, his dusky beauty, magnificent shirtless body, his hand stroking his cock through his pants. I gazed into his exquisite, slanting brown eyes and saw there not hate but admiration ... and ravenous lust.

And before I passed out I managed to breathe one last word ... "Hassan ..."

Bob looked over at Jamie and saw him hunched in the corner, tears running down his face. Bob raised his eyes questioningly but Jamie shook his head. He would not leave, he would stay to hear it all.

Bob turned his head to Mark and wanted to touch him, but held back. Mark was staring into the distance, miles away, a continent away, as he went through the cathartic, harrowing ritual of remembering, seeing again, relating every last agonizing detail. Bob waited, wondering where the story would go next. Mark took a deep breath and resumed.

"Oddly, it was the feel of liquid running over my face and chest that began to bring me back to consciousness. It was thick, sweet smelling, something I had smelt before, though in my dazed condition I couldn't place it. Slowly I became aware of other sensations, especially the pain in my neck and arms. I realized that my head was hanging down pulling the chain tight against my throat, and my arms were still stretched back over the bar. As my head cleared I looked up. My last sight had been Hassan, and now it was my first. And we were alone.

He was sprawled in a chair, eyes fixed on me. He was no longer rubbing his crotch through the pants. He had pulled his cock out and was stroking it gently. The cock was huge, dark, and ramrod stiff. Our eyes met and again there was a flash of recognition ... two stunning men who could not help admiring each other's physical beauty, despite the adversarial extremes of their situation.

As I eased myself up into a less painful position I again heard the low cadence of his voice. "I have been sitting here watching you, corporal, waiting for you to rejoin me. I have been admiring the beauty of your body as you hung before me. And I have to tell you, the sight of you brought me to a state of arousal I have rarely felt before."

Suddenly I knew what the liquid was running down my face. It was the semen of this man, Hassan. It was as if he read my thoughts. "Yes, soldier, that is my juice running over your handsome face and muscular body. As I stood before you I could not hold back. I have never seen a man like you. So I pulled out my cock, as you see me now, and I pulled your face up by your hair. I did not even need to stroke myself. I just pointed my shaft at your face and it exploded with rivers of semen, the juice you now feel running down your face."

I looked in the mirror and was horrified by what I saw ... the half-naked soldier chained to the wall, muscles pumped hard from the strain and exertion of his torture. His body was gleaming with sweat ... and something else. His face was running with a thick white liquid, streaming down onto his chest and dripping from his pecs onto the ridges of his stomach. It was the juice of the man Hassan.

My first feeling was revulsion. "You fucking pervert," I groaned. "You fucking sick bastard."

"I think not, corporal Matsen. You see ..."

He stood up and began to stretch. He raised his arms high in the air, flexed his shoulders, and tightened his stomach. Stripped to the waist, dark skinned, his huge cock hanging loose, a smile on his finely etched features, the man was magnificent. I ... I couldn't believe ... even as I hung there, still throbbing with pain ... I couldn't ... I can't ..."

Mark's voice faltered and Bob put his arm round him. "It's OK, buddy. I understand."

Breathing deeply Mark regained his composure and continued. "God dammit I felt my cock get hard as it hung out of my pants. I hated myself for it, but I got a fucking hard-on looking at the bastard, he was so fucking gorgeous. I watched my reflection in horror as my cock grew and stood out rigid before me. Hassan stood up with a broad smile on his handsome face, came forward and grabbed my cock.

"You see, soldier. I knew I could do that to you. I know how beautiful I am. No one can resist me ... man or woman. And neither can you. True, you are a superb, magnificent male, but even you cannot resist me. I knew I would win." He looked down and stroked my throbbing dick.

I lost it then and screamed, "Fuck you, man! I don't give a shit how gorgeous you are. I still hate your fucking guts. The only thing I feel for you is blinding hate."

"Hmm ... your cock says otherwise, Corporal Matsen. By the way, what is your first name?"

His eyes held mine and I heard myself say, "Mark ... Corporal Mark Matsen."

Hassan smiled. "Then I shall call you Mark, because we shall know each other very well. You see, Mark, your torture is over. I knew you would not talk. We are alike. Men like you and I are too strong to be broken. As you see, my older colleague is gone. He gets bored quickly and, besides, he wanted to go to his girl. I, however, have no need of a girl. You see, Mark Matsen, I have you."

He must have seen the look of panic in my eyes as I began to guess what he had in mind. "Don't worry my friend, you will like the plans I have for you. First we must stay here all night as my superiors think I am torturing you. But it will not be torture ... it will be pleasure for both of us. I will conduct ... how do you say in English? ... a trial run. I will test you and if, as I strongly believe, you live up to my expectations, I will take you out of this place."

The first flicker of hope dawned in my eyes. Getting out of here was maybe a first step to freedom, the end of this nightmare. But his next words dashed my hopes and brought a new depth of despair.

"Yes, Mark, I will tie you up, throw you in my truck and smuggle you out. It will be a long drive as I live far out in the desert. I live alone in a house that is so remote nobody can get away. They would never survive on foot. And you and I, my beautiful Mark, will live alone, pleasuring each other day after day. You will be ... again my English deserts me ... ah yes, you will be my sex slave." I gasped at the sound of that hideous phrase.

"My basement is very comfortable and you will live there, always naked. Mostly you will be chained as you look so magnificent in chains. I will visit often and I will use your beautiful body for my sexual pleasure. Sometimes I will hurt you, torture you, even, as we have done here, because I love to see you in pain. But mostly I will give you the pleasure of feeling my muscular body against you, my huge cock inside you, and my handsome face pressed against yours. That is your fate, my beautiful Mark ... to be with me always."

My head swam as an image of my future flashed before me. The nightmare he described, enslaved by this man, used by him, feeling his naked body against mine, his cock inside me, day and night, was too horrific to contemplate. I knew that all I could do was stay alert and take it one step at a time. Now was not the time for heroics, so I said nothing. First I had to get through that night, and then take my chances if we ever got out of this hell.

Hassan was still smiling and holding my cock. I was horrified to realize that it was still rock hard. It must have been his closeness, the sight of him, I thought. But there at the back of my mind I had to admit that the thought of this gorgeous, powerful man sexually abusing my naked body day after day sent a shiver though me that went straight to my rigid cock.

"But," Hassan said, "I have not been fair to you, Mark. I have poured my juice all over you and here is your hard cock waiting for release. As I said, I know you cannot resist me and I will prove it to you. This is your first test, my friend ... a trial of your strength. I challenge you to resist."

He dropped to his knees before me, held my cock in front of his face and smiled up at me. God his face was beautiful. I saw it come closer, saw the sensuous lips open wide and I took a deep breath as his mouth touched the head of my cock, then slowly, slowly slid over it, further and further until my cock rested at the back of his throat.

My eyes opened wide and I looked at the mirror, saw the muscular soldier helplessly chained by the neck to the wall, his body still running with cum. I saw the broad back of the man kneeling at his feet and felt ... felt one of the most incredible sensations of my life.

I stared into the eyes of at the beautiful blonde prisoner and pleaded with him. "Hold on, man, don't give up. You've gotta resist. Don't let his beauty seduce you. You cannot submit to him. He's a magnificent stud, sure, but don't let him humiliate you." Hassan's warm, velvet mouth was sliding back and forth on my cock ... the sensation was incredible. I looked again at the tortured face. "Don't let him win, man," I breathed. "Oh God, please, man. You're so fucking gorgeous, better than him ... don't let him break you."

I glanced down at Hassan and gasped at the stunning, dark face rising and falling on my cock. And that did it. I looked back up at the chained soldier, saw the body shudder, saw the mouth open and scream one word... "Hassan!" I felt my cock explode in his mouth, felt the muscles of his throat clamp my rod in a vise as he swallowed my cum pouring into him.

He had beaten me. He had won. Where brutal torture had failed, the magnetism of this stunning male had forced me surrender my manhood to him. I hung my head in total defeat and humiliation.

"Now you are mine." I raised my head and stared into the exotic eyes of the man who now owned me. "I knew I was stronger than you, Mark. You are superb, magnificent, but I have won, and tonight, all night, I will show you how I treat a man like you. Now we begin.

He pressed his naked torso against mine, and I saw his muscles flex as he reached up to the bars and pulled himself up until he was standing on a horizontal bar level with my thighs. His legs were astride and his cock hung out of his pants level with my face. I glimpsed in the mirror the incredible sight of the broken soldier, in chains, helpless before the man spread-eagled before him. I gazed at Hassan's powerful back, his arms stretched up gripping the bars, his lats flaring, tapering down to the slim waist of his uniform pants. And, unbelievably, I saw that the prisoner's cock was still rigid.

Before my eyes was Hassan's thick, dark cock, hard as a rod. I knew what he intended, knew what I had to do. Like a beaten animal I obediently opened my mouth and stared in horror as the cock came closer and touched my lips. Then for the first time in my life I felt a man's cock enter my mouth and slide quickly to the back of my throat. I choked, gagged, as the monster tool filled my mouth. It pulled back, then slammed again, and again, deeper and deeper.

I looked up and saw Hassan, stripped to the waist, legs astride me, his gorgeous body pounding into me, his stunning face smiling down at me in triumph. I tried to move, but my head was pressed back against the bars, neck held tight by the chain, so I had to endure the onslaught. I felt his black pubic hair slam against my face. My face was buried in his stinking crotch. I smelt him, choked on the pungent taste of the sweat of his balls. The steel grill was shaking as Hassan used all his strength to hammer my helpless face against the bars.

This level of intensity couldn't last long ... for either one of us. I needed it to end so I clamped my throat round his cock. I felt his cock grow bigger, thicker, felt it shudder, heard Hassan's guttural scream as he erupted in my mouth. I gagged, swallowing desperately to drink the torrents of cum that blasted into me. When it seemed I would choke the cock suddenly pulled out, Hassan aimed it at my face, and more juice poured from it, slamming into my face like a full-force hose, blinding me.

I heard his manic laughter as his cock came to rest. "Now, my beautiful stallion, the final humiliation. There was a pause, and then more liquid blasted into my face, but this time the smell, the taste was rancid. Hassan was pissing into my face, into my open mouth. I gulped hard, gagging on the acrid taste of his urine as I felt it pouring deep inside me. As I swallowed, the stench filled my nostrils. It didn't stop. I felt I was drowning in the man's hot piss as it gushed over my entire body.

I was sobbing now as I felt Hassan jump down from the bars and heard his triumphant laughter. "I am Hassan. I am the best. I have broken and humiliated the beautiful American soldier. Look at this, Mark, and remember it. This is what Hassan has done to you."

He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, and as the semen drained from my eyes the image in the mirror came into focus. The soldier's heaving muscles gleamed with sweat in the harsh lights of the cell, the body still shuddered, shackled to the wall. Hassan was holding the head back like a trophy. It was the face of a broken man, once proud, handsome, now sobbing in defeat, streaming with cum and piss. The mouth hung open, with the victor's cum pouring from it, over the chin, down onto the chest, blending with the piss soaking his fatigue pants.

I gazed at the incredible sight of the beautiful, shattered wreck of a man. I saw Hassan, in all his muscular glory triumph over him. "And now ..." he shouted. "Your final surrender. Show me you belong to me, Mark. Submit to your master."

The image was too much ... the two gorgeous men ... one, dark skinned, glorious in victory ... the other, fair haired, his broken slave. I watched in horror as my cock grew harder, saw my ravaged body shudder, felt the heat rising from my groin. I watched helpless as my cock pulsed and blasted the cum of total humiliation in a high arc, across the room onto the mirror that bore witness to the soldier's agonizing degradation and defeat.

In my desolation I heard the low voice. "I am the best! I have destroyed you, soldier. You are mine. And this is only the beginning."

Mark slumped against Bob exhausted, his energy completely drained by the effort of recounting his harrowing story. His eyes were empty, his mind still reeling from the vivid image of the chained, half-naked soldier broken by the beautiful Hassan.

Bob wrapped his arms round him and let Mark bury his head in his shoulder. He glanced over at Jamie who sat silently in the corner, tears running down his cheeks. That sight made Bob's decision for him, and he spoke in a calm, resolute voice.

"That's enough for tonight, Mark. You have to stop for a while, regain your strength."

Mark pulled back and gazed at his friend. "Believe it or not, there's not too much more ... the rest of that terrible night ... how he used my body. And then ... it becomes a story of revenge. I need to finish telling you, Bob. I have to."

"And so you will," Bob said firmly, "but later, after a rest. For now, you sleep. Early in the morning I'll come back and we'll hear the end of your story. And then we will forget ... forget it all ... and you will lay your demons to rest."

Mark looked at him and managed a weak smile. "God, I love you, man." He kissed him hard on the lips and clung to him, feeling Bob's reassuring strength flow between them. "But, you're right. I need sleep."

"And so does someone else," Bob said looking over at the corner.

"Thank God for you, Jamie," Mark said, and smiled at his boy. Then exhaustion overwhelmed him. His clothes were soaked with sweat, so he stripped and fell back on the bed, his eyes closed.

Suddenly Bob felt an intense need to be with his boys. The experience had been shattering for him. He stood up, walked over to Jamie and squeezed his shoulder. "Take care of him, Jamie. Only you can give him what he needs now."

"Thank you, sir. I know that."

Quietly Bob left the room and went back to his own bed, where he gazed down at the sleeping twins. After the horrific tale he had heard he needed their innocence, their purity. He slipped carefully in between them and sighed deeply. They both stirred and draped their arms over him without waking up. It was only minutes before Bob fell into a dream-filled sleep.

In Mark's bedroom Jamie gazed at Mark lying still with his eyes closed. He had listened in disbelief as the horrific story unfolded. He thought of how often he had looked at the drawing Darius had given him, how often he had jerked off over it because the man chained to the wall looked so much like the man he loved.

But what he had heard that night was the brutal reality behind the fantasy art. And he had wept as he heard how his master had been sexually abused, broken, by this man ... Hassan. But if he had been honest with himself, (which he didn't dare to be) he would have to admit that his cock was hard as he heard the words that brought the drawing to life.

Jamie stood up, walked over to the bed and fell to his knees. He gazed down at the magnificent naked body that had been so abused all that time ago. He looked at the handsome face, calm now in repose. What could he do? What could he do bring comfort to the man, make him forget the horrors of the past?

Mark was not asleep, but his eyes were shut tight to blot out the images that still tormented him. They would not subside ... would he always be plagued by them? His mind ran on the agonies he still had to relate. And then he felt a touch on his chest. Not a hand, not fingers ... a tongue. He felt the tongue caress his flesh, soothe him, bring him comfort.

Mark opened his eyes a little and saw his boy, his beautiful young face, licking his body. He took a sharp intake of breath, then closed his eyes again and relaxed, letting his boy do his work. He felt the warm tongue travel all over his naked body, over the flesh that had been tortured in that faraway place.

Now it was caressing his face, kissing his eyes. From there it travelled down, over the cleft between his pecs, over the ridges of his abs, and down to his pubic hair. He felt the warm moist touch on his cock, then move lower and ... he jumped and almost cried out as the tongue touched his balls, the balls that still bore the memory of searing pain. He heard the soft voice ... "Sshhh." Then he gave in to his boy's touch, let him softly lick the balls that had been so brutally tortured.

The pain, the fear, the demons, all dissipated as his boy brought a healing balm to his body. When it stopped Mark opened his eyes and saw his boy standing over him, slowly taking off his clothes. He watched the lithe young body emerge and he smiled. "Jamie ... my Jamie. I love you, kid. I need you more than you know."

Jamie lay carefully on the bed beside his master and was instantly folded in his powerful arms. With his boy's soft, smooth flesh pressed against him Mark finally felt safe. And he fell asleep.

But sleep would not come to Jamie. The story had been traumatic for him and his mind still whirled with the images of that room and the two magnificent men in their fight for sexual supremacy. Jamie had to have release, and he eased himself carefully away from Mark's arms. As he slipped off the bed he pulled from under it the picture he knew so well and he crept into the bathroom and shut the door.

He looked at the drawing that Mark's words had brought so painfully to life. In the past, whenever he had gazed at the beautiful, blonde, shirtless soldier chained to the wall his cock had reared up ... and it was no different now. But now he knew the story behind it, had heard what really happened in the victim's own words. He stroked his cock as he looked at the muscular prisoner, helpless in chains.

He looked at his balls, and imagined them enduring the agonies of the electric current. He gazed at the huge cock and imagined it helpless as it erupted in the mouth of the beautiful Hassan. He eyes moved down to the corner of the picture and he saw the crouching muscle-stud that must be Hassan. He imagined him standing spread eagled on the grill forcing his cock into the soldier's mouth.

The picture came alive and Jamie spoke softly to the prisoner. "You can take it, man. Feel that chain round your neck, man. Feel that huge cock in your mouth. Oh, man, Hassan looks so fucking beautiful pounding your face. He's shooting his load in your mouth, man. He's won!"

Jamie heart was beating hard as he imagined the final vision of the muscular soldier hanging sobbing in chains on the wall. He saw the sculpted muscles streaming with sweat, semen and piss, saw the mouth hanging open with cum pouring from it. The proud soldier had been defeated, broken, humiliated by the magnificent Hassan.

It was painful to see, but intensely erotic. "So fucking hot, man," Jamie whispered. "Yeah it's making me cum, making me shoot my load. Here it comes, sir, you're making me cum." And his cock erupted with a stream of hot juice that splashed onto the bathroom floor.

Jamie did not feel ashamed. He had needed to cum, to purge his own demons ... to rid himself of this erotic drawing that looked so much like Mark and had made him cum so often. And now he knew the story behind the picture, knew how much his master had endured, and he knew that he would devote his life to bringing comfort to the man he worshipped. He would never look at the picture again.

He cleaned himself off, crept back to the bed and lay beside his master, his head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall in sleep. But as he lay there his cock remained hard. Erotic images still haunted his mind, and he knew there was more to come tomorrow when Mark would resume his tale.

Jamie could hardly wait. He was impatient to hear how the story would end.

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength ... Part 92"