Rescued after a long month of captivity and horrendous torture in the desert, it's two years later and Corporal Dan Sorensen is now a lieutenant and visiting his mate in south London...

II. The Seduction of Lieutenant Sorensen

Dan Sorensen let loose a heavy sigh; of envy or simple admiration- who could tell? Momentarily distracted by the capering pug at his feet, he grimaced as the pooch commenced to fuck his shin and, with a swift kick of one booted foot, sent the creamy little ball of misguided zeal flying across the room. ‘Damn, Mick, you ought to do something about that dog!’ The rangy lieutenant lounged casually, one arm draped over the back of his friend’s sofa, long legs slightly splayed and stretched out in an attitude of utter relaxation. ‘I can’t believe you went through that...and came out sane, with the use of your body unimpaired,’ the tall lieutenant shot an appreciative look, sizing up his mate, wondering humorously if he could take his buddy in a fair fight; well, probably not. He smiled and Mick nodded, narrowed blue eyes lightly caressing the tendrils of fine bronze hair that crept from the young soldier’s unbuttoned collar. ‘Tell me again about that Slatkin bitch, Mick. Damn!! What a pity she had a face as wrinkled as my ball sack after fifty laps around the pool and a body as dry and shapeless as yesterday’s cigarette butts. Fuck, man!!! If it wasn’t for that I would have grabbed the slut and had a fast bang against the hospital wall- you know they all want it,’ he sighed again, waxing eloquent, ‘I mean, she made you strip off your clothes, man?’ The lieutenant had an idea of what that was like and the inevitable consequences. His own thick cock stirred lazily in the steamy confines of fresh white calvins. ‘Yeah, she might have been as ugly as that dog over there,’ he glanced at the pug sulking in a corner, supple corkscrew tail tucked impossibly between his legs and wrapped in sensuous coils around his velvety under parts, ‘but I’ll bet her pussy was tight as a seat on the Tube at rush hour and wetter than an English Winter.’ The pug perked up hearing the word ‘pussy’ and his tail slowly disengaged from its tantalizing embrace. He crept cautiously back toward the amused stud lounging on the sofa. ‘How old would you say she was, Mick?’

‘Huh?’ Mick looked distracted. ‘You know! That fuckin slatternly cunt that gave you such a rough ride over at the hospital.’ Mick was bored and slightly preoccupied. The trauma he had endured made for a macho story, but he had seen worse in his time and, no stranger to adventure, chalked it all up to living the fast life in rowdy south London. Besides, he was having a hard time concentrating on the young soldier’s remarks, considering, instead, how it might be possible to get at least some of his twenty three year old guest’s clothes off. ‘Hey, Mick!!! You still there?’ Sorensen laughed. ‘So, tell me, how old was she?’ His overworked and inexperienced imagination was reconciled to the fact that the hellish nurse was no beauty, but he reckoned he could always close his eyes. Besides, most deep drilling was done at night. ‘I dunno, maybe around a hundred and twenty or so.’ ‘Oh...’ the lieutenant seemed deflated. He glanced at the pug, now a foot in front of one scuffed, military boot and staring intently, then looked back at his mate and smiled; strong, even teeth, dazzling white, and charged with a potent mix of unself-conscious bravado. Mick’s hungry pecker perked in its own dark confines with an intent look not unlike the pug’s. Sorensen was surrounded, but remained oblivious. ‘Sure is hot today,’ Mick said languidly, trying hard not to stare at his guest’s crotch. The ageless gambit of talking ‘about the weather’ paid a fast dividend. Sorensen nodded and ran a hand under the collar of his shirt. ‘Shit, Dan, I don’t know how you can stand wearing that starched khaki in weather like this. Yeah, well, I guess they force you guys to obey regs at all hours. Funny, though, I never had you pegged as some kind of ass-licking conformist.’ Sorensen frowned. Normally, he wouldn’t take crap talk like that from anyone, but this was his mate, Mick Hargreave, a guy he hero worshipped; tough as a farkin gunny with twenty years under his belt. Yut! The callow stud mentally backed off in the presence of the stronger, slightly dangerous Alpha male, as the pug inched, un-noticed, six inches closer. He tried to save face, ‘Man, it’s damn hot in here. Mind if I strip off my shirt, Mick?’ Hargreave shrugged, willed his rock hard pecker under control, and said, ‘Sure, Dan, make yourself comfortable.’ He ambled over to the fridge. ‘Say, Danny, care for another Bud???’ Popping a can suggestively, Mick turned and smiled dangerously as the young buck nodded and resumed unbuttoning his shirt. Shifting his weight as he shrugged it off, Dan noticed the pug resting its head on the toe of his boot. ‘Cute little bugger,’ he thought and leaned back, shirtless, on the sofa.

Mick stood next to his friend with an ice cold can of Bud in one hand and took a deep breath. The tall, sandy haired lieutenant gazed into space, head nodding to the plaintive wail of Janis Joplin on the stereo speakers as she belted out Ball and Chain. Mick noticed that the pug had shifted to the other boot and wondered what the little fucker was up to. The relaxed stud below him was a sight to behold, stripped to the waist, arms raised and resting parallel on the back of the sofa; his bronze skin looked as smooth as watered silk with just the finest sheen of sweat generated by the unusual humidity. Mostly smooth over well defined, rounded muscle; his broad chest was lightly dusted with fine gold hair running in a straight, thickening line bisecting tight, ridged abs. Mick noticed that the hair was denser on the buck’s belly, curling all soft and wiry before disappearing beneath the line of his loosely buckled belt. He playfully pressed the can of cold beer against Sorensen’s rib cage and laughed as the big buck jumped, jostling a healthy splash from the full can over his belly and onto his crotch. ‘Damn!!!’ Sorensen yelped and burst out laughing. He grabbed what was left of the Bud and chugged it all without pausing. ‘Grab me another, would ya buddy?’ ‘Looks like you pissed your trousers, Danny. What’s the matter? Can’t hold your brew?’ Mick laughed and, reaching down, pinched a handful of fabric at the bemused stud’s crotch, lightly nicking his dick in the process. Sorensen squirmed a little and Mick cuffed him lightly on the head and backed off.

‘Shit, Danny, look what Masco did!’ Mick was staring, a look of mock horror animating his handsome face, at Sorensen’s boots; both slicked with sticky pools of drool. The pug, un-noticed, had hopped onto the sofa and sat looking smug next to the outraged lieutenant. ‘Aw, man, I’m sorry about that,’ Mick lied. ‘Take em off, Dan, and we’ll get em cleaned up.’ Sorensen looked grim as he unlaced and pulled off his boots, while his delighted host watched, enraptured, by the play of flexed muscles on the stud’s broad back as he leaned forward. He noted the strong curve of Sorensen’s spine and followed the mighty bow to its tip as the back of the GI’s trousers gaped open. Mick noticed that Sorensen wore white calvins under his khakis and approved. ‘Hey, man, strip of your socks while you’re at it- they smell as rank as last year’s gouda.’ The young lieutenant grunted something unintelligible and finished the job, tossing the socks in a corner of the room, then straightened up, long fingered hands resting on his knees, glaring at the pug. ‘Hey, we’ll get your boots cleaned up, no problem, so don’t worry,’ Mick said, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

‘Nice progress,’ Mick thought smugly as he took a seat and sipped a gin and tonic. Janis crooned her priceless rendition of Summer Time from the speakers and the mood was suddenly mellow, except for Sorensen warily eyeing the pug. ‘So, man, the bitch over at the hospital made you strip down just to get your ear flushed out???’ ‘That’s right,’ Mick arched a pale eyebrow as if daring his naive friend to reach the proper conclusions. ‘And then she forced you to lie, naked, on some farkin freezing steel table and rammed a probe down your ear?’ He sounded incredulous and mightily impressed at the same time. ‘Yep, she forced me down on the damn table and chuckled as she took a tube of shiny transparent plastic, stamped ‘MADE IN OMAHA’, and attached a fearsome-looking apparatus to it; sort of like a unicorn's head of plastic and yet more plastic.’ ‘Ah, fuck man!!’ Sorensen interrupted, ‘I thought I had it bad back in the Middle East! What happened then, Mick?’ ‘Well, I knew I had to get through this ordeal, had to somehow survive, so someday I could sit my grandchildren on my knee and tell them about my adventures in the barbaric hell of the National Health Service.’ Mick’s deep blue eyes took on a glazed look of mixed pain- at the traumatic memory- and pride, because he was a survivor. He continued the tale in a low, tense voice, ‘A foul wolf-like howl ripped from Nurse Slatkin's rancid mouth as she dropped a pill into some water contained in a plastic box attached to a slack tube and the leering unicorn's head.’ ‘What's that pill? I demanded.’ ‘Ah, wouldn't you like to know?’ she screamed and, grasping the unicorn's head in her bony, nicotine-stained fingers, switched on the juice. A wail of electric vibration filled the dingy room as the head came alive in her nimble grasp. I stared in horror as she stepped purposefully towards me. The head blazed with fury as I measured its approach toward the quivering pink flesh of my unprotected ear.’ ‘Damn!!!’ the lieutenant looked slightly queasy and popped another Bud.

‘Oh it gets worse, Dan,’ Mick shook his head in pained reverie and continued, ‘She plunged the wailing, vibrating little snake's head into my right ear. I screamed, Dan, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.’ ‘Hey, man, I know what you mean...really,’ The young American retreated into his own dark reverie and the atmosphere in the stuffy south London flat suddenly changed; charged with the leathery, pungent yet exhilarating ethos of two macho bucks bonding. Mick ploughed on, ‘The pain was intense: it was as if a massive pile-driver was raping my eardrum. Bang! Bang! Bang! My brain jolted, head spinning, images torn and shredded from a delirious consciousness ripped through my screaming mind; howling Chinese dragons, wet and slimy from stinking mud pools; white, stringy witches with pendulous breasts and greasy wisps of hair dangling from their upper lips straight from the nightmare landscape of a Boschian inferno; massed armies of yellowed, rotting molars marching in time to a mad dentist’s drumbeat... I could hear the wax in my violated ear beginning to crumble and feel gurglings of boiling sludge press toward eruption like an avalanche of lemmings on LSD.’ He paused and, shuddering, took a deep breath. Sorensen’s long naked torso was bathed in sweat. He absentmindedly inserted a hand beneath his black leather belt and slid it casually inside the front of his trousers, scratching a prickly itch. ‘Fuck, Mick, that sounds really bad, but you made it man!’ He beamed as he said it and looked at his mate; wide eyes brimming with respect and adoration. ‘Well,’ Mick said modestly, ‘you know how it is; hey, you’ve got some stories of your own, man!’

'Say,’ Dan broke the comfortable silence, chugged at his fifth Bud and said, ‘have you heard from Amalaric lately?’ Mick smiled dreamily and replied, ‘Oh yeah, just got a postcard from Marrakech; said he was shopping for some slaves in the famous souq.’ ‘That fucker!!’ Sorensen laughed, but it was slightly strained. He figured it must be a joke then wondered, oddly, what gender the slaves might be that Amalaric was looking for. ‘I’ll tell ya, that sucker sure gets around. Kind of a mysterious guy, don’t you think Mick? I mean, I like him and all, but sometimes the way he looks at me freaks me out. Yeah, Amalaric’s a real joker!’ he trailed off and Mick shot the handsome lieutenant an enigmatic glance that almost seemed like pity and changed the subject.

Dan Sorensen was clearly getting drunk. He lounged, unconcerned and utterly relaxed, on the sofa as Mick decided that it was time for the final gambit. So far, things had been going surprisingly well. ‘Tell me again about what happened to you over in the desert, mate. I never get tired of hearing those stories!’ Sorensen’s pale eyebrows knit with sudden tension. Compared to the fucking harrowing ordeal his buddy had just gone through, what happened out on the sand seemed pretty chicken shit, but it still gave him nightmares and he was no pussy! ‘They tortured me, man...long and hard. Tried to make me talk (he lied) and did...uh...all sorts of stuff to me. If I hadn’t been rescued by the recon guys, I’d probably be dead.’ ‘The first part wasn’t as bad as what happened over at the village doctor’s house, right?’ Mick probed, gently but firmly. Dan shivered. The memory of what had transpired in the month held captive by the turbaned little man still horrified him. ‘That’s right,’ Sorensen said and, against his instincts (maybe it was the five and half beers), began to warm to the subject. Besides, Mick had just told his own tale and Sorensen was a competitive male, loathe to be outdone ‘Goddam right,’ he thought, ‘I got some of my own stories to tell.’

Mick got up and stretched. ‘You were just a grunt corporal back then, huh? What was it- two years ago now? Say, Danny, show me how it was.’ ‘What do you mean?’ Sorensen was perplexed. ‘I mean, how were you situated when the villager worked you over? I’m just, ah, curious.’ Sorensen lumbered to his feet, swayed a bit under the influence of six (and counting) beers and stood in the middle of the room. ‘Like this,’ he said, and raised both arms over his head. Mick felt a hot tsunami of raw lust wash over him at the close proximity of the young American GI, naked chest streaked with beery sweat, hairy belly sucked in by the pull of raised arms and an inch of white calvins peeking over the rims of his black belt. ‘Amazing!’ he said and Sorensen swelled with pride. ‘OK, that’s good. You can lower your arms,’ he paused as if in thought. ‘You know, it’d be cool to get a realistic idea of what you went through, man. Hold out your hands.’ Sorensen frowned; he wanted to tell the story but had never been invited to act it out. ‘Where the hell did you find those??!!!’ He stared in amazement at the metal cuffs twirling around Mick’s forefinger. ‘Picked em up at a local flea market. Now, hold out your hands, Danny.’ The tall stud reluctantly obeyed, shaking his head in dubious good cheer. ‘Fuckin Mick’s kind of a joker too, but what the hell?’ The cuffs fit snugly around his hairy wrists and snicked shut. Mick hoisted his mate’s arms back into position and secured them to an upright column. He stepped back and surveyed his buck; grinning stupidly, sweating profusely, broad chest heaving with a mix of drunken exhilaration and rising anxiety. He lightly fingered the lieutenant’s belt buckle then stroked the line of white elastic rising over the sagging trousers. ‘The guy in the village really worked you over, huh? All the way over?’ ‘Don’t know what you mean,’ Sorensen replied as Mick unfastened the buck’s belt and unzipped his trousers. ‘Shit, man!!!’ Dan twisted a little and cut loose with a nervous sigh. ‘Yeah...uh, you know...’ he blushed as his trousers were jerked down, shifting in unaccustomed embarrassment from one foot to the other. Mick laughed and tousled his friend’s sweat-spiked hair. ‘Come on mate! What’s this?? Damn, I do believe you’re blushing!’ He snapped the waist band of the calvins against the soldier’s taut belly then grabbed the damp bulge at his crotch and squeezed. ‘Awwwarrrgh’ Sorensen let out a healthy yell and the dumb grin vanished.

‘Hey, man, you’ve had your joke. Now, get these cuffs off of me.’ The American tried to sound dangerous, masking a rising tide of fear. Mick ignored his buddy’s request and roughly pulled the calvins down around the lieutenant’s muscular thighs. ‘Whew!!! Hot stuff, Dan!’ He hefted the stud’s big swinging balls in one hand. Sorensen twisted against his bonds suddenly re-living an old nightmare. ‘What are you going to do, Mick?’ He was getting desperate and, making his voice light, tried for some perspective; to keep what was happening reasonable...it had to be just a game. ‘Well, I remember you told me once that one of the worst things in that little shit’s arsenal of toys was the prod. Right?’ Sorensen stared, speechless, brow knit in horrific concentration. Mick reached into a drawer and pulled out a long butane lighter. He fingered the trigger and said, ‘Don’t have a prod, Dan. Guess this will just have to do,’ and pulled the trigger. Yellow-blue flame licked out of the tip. Mick grinned and stooped to scratch the pug behind its ears as the handsome lieutenant’s eyes widened with terror.