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Jack had thought he had already accepted his destiny. That surviving in that place was worth sacrificing his pride, his dignity. That he’d given up.
The idea would have made him sick six months ago. When he was first taken to the isolated military base against his will, he fought fiercely with claws and teeth.
Because he knew what happened to prisoners chosen for such places. Not too muscular, not too skilled, usually fresh from drafting, with little military training.
Pretty faces.
He’d heard the rumors, and for once they turned out to be right.
So no matter how hopeless the fight seemed, he was so determined not to go down without someone’s blood on his teeth. Death before dishonor, one might say.
His belligerence didn’t last long, though; the pillory made sure of that.
The captain, a man in his thirties with a roughness that made him seem older, didn’t even flinch before ordering his soldiers to put him on the pillory in the courtyard.
Two days. Naked, without food or water, and available for anyone who wanted to use him.
That was all it took to shatter his resolve completely.
By the time they released him and let him recover in a small room, he was already broken in. Barely conscious and almost delirious from dehydration, all he could feel was the cold that had settled so deep in his bones it felt as if he would never feel warm again, the burning pain in his ass from how often and how roughly countless men had fucked him, and how easily his principles had been ground to dust. Gone.
The captain had come to see him and explained, without ceremony, that there would be no chance for him to escape. Whether his time there proved bearable or unbearable would depend entirely on him. In the end, he would be released—three years from that day.
That meant three years of slavery. Of being the soldiers’ fucktoy. Only a few months ago, he had been a free man. Now he would be pinned down and railed at another’s command, summoned whenever it pleased them, his body no longer his own but something to be used at will. As if he were nothing but a piece of meat.
The thought would have made him nauseous in the past, but now… well.
It was just that… it could be worse.
Maybe he had gotten somewhat used to most of it, but none of the men were exceptionally cruel—at least when he behaved, just rough.
Some of them were even nice.
The captain, thank god, wasn’t cruel either. He was just… cold, and impassive. He was also the one responsible for Jack’s compliance, so he wasn’t particularly fond of the man.
However, there were times…
There were times when the captain showed him kindness, however detached. When things got too tough, he let Jack rest in his room; he offered him comfort in a place where there was none. He set limits on his men regarding what they could do to him and when.
What’s more, he didn’t seem interested in fucking him himself.
Despite all this and the initial scare, he had tried to escape three times in the first few months. He never got very far, and the captain always made sure he regretted it deeply.
Jack still shivered at the thought.
However, his punishments were always dispassionate. Methodical. There was a protocol for them, and they seemed more a necessary chore to the captain than something personal, no matter how much Jack begged or how many insults he threw at him.
This time, though, it was different. Something had changed. There was a restrained fire behind the captain’s implacable eyes, and pure dread settled in Jack’s stomach.
Today, it seemed personal.
Jack had tried to escape again. Yes.
And he was going to be punished for it.
How stupid, he thought. After the last failed attempt, he had sworn he would never try again, that he had relinquished any claim to freedom.
But something had changed. Something he had not been prepared for.
The day before, the men had had a wicked idea. They wanted to test Jack’s limits and see how long they could torment him while not letting him cum.
They knew him well, by now, so it turned out to be a long, long time. By the time they were done with him, Jack still hadn’t had his release, and he was losing his mind.
The soldiers found his pleas terribly amusing, so they tied him up to prevent him from touching himself.
A while later, the captain had appeared and tsk’d at them. As always, he took pity on Jack and untied him, helping him up to possibly take him to his room.
Jack trembled the entire way, and the captain supported him with his arm, mistaking it for fear and exhaustion.
The wise thing would have been to touch himself to climax.
But the captain’s soft, comforting touch while he guided him to his room to rest turned out to be too much for his deprived body.
And he was a weak, weak man.
He had begged the captain to fuck him.
He was so desperate. He needed him, he needed his strong, calloused hands on his skin, his full lips on his mouth, and his cock inside him. He wanted someone who had not yet forced him against his will.
He needed to be pinned down onto his bed the way he knew the captain could, and fucked till he could no longer walk. And he desperately needed to cum.
The captain had turned him down, at first, but there was an undeniable desire behind his restraint, his tense muscles.
Finally, he had caved in. And when his careful control broke, there was no stopping it. He pinned Jack down harshly, just like he knew he could, and railed him hard.
Oh, god, he’d been so rough but oh so sweet. His warm touch eased the tension from the muscles in his back, his hands almost tender at times. His tongue, his lips. That hard but gentle fucking… it got to Jack.
And he had made him cum so beautifully.
The captain held him in his arms as he passed out.
When he woke up alone to the cold light of dusk, it all came crashing down.
What was he thinking? Was he really so far gone that he was so desperate to cling to any kind touch that could very well not even be sincere? What would be left of him when the three years were over?
He realized, to his absolute horror, that if he had had to choose between freedom or the captain’s touch in that exact moment, he would have chosen the latter.
That was his breaking point, what drove him to try to escape. It was more a desperate act by a man afraid of losing what was left of himself than a genuine attempt with any real chance of success, but he just couldn’t help it.
In the end, it was not cruelty that broke him. It was softness. The softness in the captain’s eyes.
The same eyes that now looked at him from above with an unreadable mixture of feelings.
Frustration. Bitterness. Remorse. Fury.
Jack didn’t want to think about what it meant. It didn’t matter anyway. He focused instead on the forceful hands holding him down on his knees, the pain from the scrapes and bruises he’d gotten while being dragged back, kicking and screaming, and the tangle of dread that twisted in his stomach.
Fuck. What was the captain even going to do to him, now that he was… angry? Disappointed?
The captain crouched before him and rubbed his face with one hand. He looked at him intently and asked,
“Why?”
Jack didn’t answer. It didn’t matter why.
“Answer me, Jack. Why now, what changed?” he continued, louder this time. “Is it because you enjoyed it? Because you chose it?”
Jack lowered his eyes. He supposed it was exactly that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say so out loud.
Besides, it didn’t matter why.
The captain sighed, exasperated.
“You know what I should do now, don’t you?” he asked.
Jack swallowed hard. Punishments for a fourth escape attempt were… more intense, with more long-lasting effects.
“Sir, the fourth step includes—” interrupted one of his men.
“I know what it includes,” cut in the captain, his voice somewhat strained. “And I don’t think it’s quite fitting. I have another idea in mind.”
“But, sir, the protocol—”
“Fuck the protocol,” he barked. The soldier clasped his mouth shut. “This stupid kid got himself into this situation because he couldn’t stand to enjoy himself. So now he’s going to take his punishment like a good boy, and I’ll make sure that when I let you all have a taste afterwards, he doesn’t enjoy it one bit. I’d say it’s a win-win situation, don’t you think, soldier?”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
Although Jack was mildly relieved that the captain had chosen not to use any of the conventional methods (if one could call them conventional), he was already trembling from head to toe, wondering what kind of ideas were brewing in the captain’s mind. He’d never seen him like this, so there was a sense of unpredictability that scared him.
The captain ordered his men to hold him in position, so he found himself on his knees on the couch, his chest shoved against its back and his hands pinned behind him. A boot spread his legs wider, and the hand holding his wrists pressed down, forcing him to arch his back.
A position he knew too well.
The mere memories were enough to turn his breathing shaky and erratic.
Someone shoved his head down, so he could only see what the captain was doing from behind his lashes.
He took his time, making sure Jack’s tense limbs were properly immobilized. Then, he slowly circled his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a crop.
Jack’s eyes widened, and he felt a pang of dread.
He felt as helpless as always, so easily overpowered, held down, and punished by men stronger than him, while all he could do was struggle and beg. But now, there was some sense of betrayal, too. The same man who had touched him so gently last night was the one holding the crop.
He thought that fact might hurt more than the beating.
He was wrong.
The captain walked over and bent down until they were at eye level, and their gazes met.
The captain looked at him as if he were defying him to beg for a mercy that would not come, while Jack glared at him from behind his lashes.
“You do understand you bought this upon yourself, right?” the captain asked.
Jack just kept glaring. As if he had asked for any of this.
“I hate you,” he snarled, lashing out like a cornered animal.
“Suit yourself,” said the captain with disdain. “Strip him, and hold him down.” He talked to his men now. “And you, spread his cheeks and keep them open.”
He straightened up and let Jack watch him snap the crop in the air a few times, cutting it, and making sharp sounds that travelled directly to the pit of Jack’s stomach.
His eyes widened with horror as the soldiers carried out the order, exposing him.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
His vision tunnelled as he struggled to breathe. He looked at the captain’s impassible expression with pleading eyes.
He was a weak, weak man.
“Please, please, Sir,” he said between sharp breaths. They hadn’t even started, and he was already begging. How pathetic. “Don’t do this, I won’t do it again. I promise I’ll behave. Just… please, not that.”
The captain snorted. “That’s exactly what you said last time. And look where it has gotten you.”
Jack’s eyes welled up with tears of rage and betrayal.
“Fuck you!” He snarled. “You motherfucker, you’re a fucking monster! This is all your fault; you’re the reason I’m here!”
With one hand, the captain fisted a hand in his hair and yanked his head back, and struck him across the face twice, palm and backhand.
With no less force, he drew their faces closer and stared at him, furious.
“Shut your damn mouth. You have no one to blame but yourself,” he said with barely restrained ire. “Today you’ll learn your damn place once and for all. I’ll make sure of it.”
He shoved his head down roughly and went to stand behind him.
Jack tried to close his legs and clench his buttocks desperately, but it was no use. The soldiers’ hands were too strong, and once again, the only thing Jack could do was stay down and take whatever the captain thought he deserved.
No matter how much it hurt, how much he begged or cried, it would not stop until the captain deemed it enough.
The mere thought was all it took to quicken his breath.
He tried to even it out, but it was of no use. The moment the crop touched his exposed hole, he started to tremble from head to toe, dread traveling from his nape all the way down his spine as he drew sharp, panicked breaths.
The captain tapped his hole a few times, each a touch harder than the last.
Tap, tap, tap.
When Jack felt it rise again, for a moment longer this time, he clenched his teeth, silently deciding not to give the captain the satisfaction of hearing him scream for as long as he could manage.
He didn’t even make it past the first hit.
Whatever pain he could have imagined…
It was so much worse.
When the first strike landed, he saw white. He choked mid-breath, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch, suspended.
Then, a ragged scream tore its way out from his throat.
Oh, how stupid he’d been.
He’d thought that he could take it, or perhaps that the captain would have mercy on him, the way he had the day before.
How stupid he’d been. How wrong.
The second time the captain hit his hole, time sped up again. He thrashed, desperate to get away, even though he knew there was no escape possible.
“Please,” he begged, panicking. “Please, please! Sir, please stop! I can’t—I can’t—”
Hit.
Another scream.
“Please, sir!” he panted, frantic. “I’ll never do it again, I promise I’ll be good, I’ll stay put, I’ll do whatever you want! Just—please!”
“You should have thought of that a few hours ago,” he heard the captain say, so calm in contrast to Jack’s crumbling dignity.
The next three strikes came in a rapid succession, and Jack really tried to break free, this time, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
He couldn’t take it. He was sure he wouldn’t survive it.
He somehow managed to straighten up halfway, though his abused hole burned in response.
“Please… oh, god. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Stop it, please, it hurts—it hurts too much,” he sobbed.
“Good.” The captain’s voice was cold, implacable. “I’m going to give you fifteen more.”
Jack exhaled shakily.
Fifteen?
“Think about what will happen if you try a stunt like this one again, and how much it will hurt when I let each of my men fuck you afterwards.”
All Jack could do was try to keep his ragged breathing under control.
Fifteen?
“And stay down. I swear to god, if you try to get away again, I’ll make that number double,” the captain said, between clenched teeth, and Jack sobbed. “So, be a good boy, arch your back, show me your hole, and take your punishment.”
It took all of Jack’s will to compel his trembling muscles to obey the command.
The captain started hitting again with precision, and Jack stayed down, as ordered. There was nothing he could do but take it, his sweating muscles flexing involuntarily with each hit.
The strikes blurred together, as did his screams, leaving him a whimpering mess.
By the sixth strike (he thought), fat tears were dropping down onto the carpet. His face was covered in snot, and he could barely breathe.
God, it hurt so, so bad.
Damned be the moment he crossed the door to the captain’s room for the first time. The moment he let those hands touch him to soothe instead of to inflict.
This had been simmering between them for a long time.
He could no longer ignore the fury concealed behind the captain’s eyes whenever he let another man take him.
So damn him too for thinking Jack had some choice in any of this. Damn him for taking his anger out on him instead of on whoever let Jack end up in that god-forsaken place.
By the tenth strike, he was incoherent.
“Please—I can’t—I can’t take more,” he sobbed. “Ahh... it—it hu-urtss…”
The captain, impassible to his pleas, kept hitting the same spot, over and over in an agonizing steady rhythm, until he reached fifteen and Jack’s throat felt raw from screaming.
If it weren’t because the hands that were restraining him before were now keeping him upright, he would have collapsed.
He was trembling so violently he felt nauseous, and he tried to even out his breathing while tears kept falling across his cheeks.
Some time passed like that, the soldiers supporting him while he fought to catch his breath through the all-consuming pain that burned between his legs and threatened to send him out of consciousness.
He barely registered the captain’s hands replacing his soldiers’, and suddenly they were alone, and Jack was on the couch, draped over the captain’s knees. One of the captain’s hands was on his hair, stroking it almost gently, while the other rested on his still untouched buttocks.
Jack let out a pained sound.
“It’s not over,” he stated.
“No, Jack. I’m not quite done with you yet,” the captain replied. “You took it well, but there are some things I need you to understand. Don’t worry, this will be easier.”
The captain started spanking him, with his hand this time.
Jack whimpered and held on to whatever he could grab—the edge of the couch and the captain’s leg. His muscles flexed with every strike—no longer trying to break free, just bracing himself for the next impact—but the captain hadn’t lied, this was easier.
If it weren’t for the terrible, burning pain he felt now deep in his flesh, the steady rhythm of the mild hits and the intimate position would have made it almost calming.
Almost.
It still hurt.
But Jack somehow didn’t mind as much.
The captain started speaking. He didn’t stop hitting or touching his hair.
“You understand I had to do this, right?”
Jack didn’t answer. The captain didn’t sound as angry as before, but Jack still was.
“I’m not a monster, Jack. I don’t enjoy seeing you in this situation, but you’ve made it so difficult for me not to be angry,” he sighed. Then, the next blows hardened slightly. “If you had let me take care of you like you obviously needed, none of this would have happened, but you had to go and… make me lose control.” He sounded angry again. Jack couldn’t care less. “You just… had to bite off more than you could chew, didn’t you? You had to beg me to fuck you, and then feel so sorry for yourself that you went on a little mission to get yourself in trouble.”
His hand stopped for a moment, just to brush his thumb over Jack’s surely swollen hole.
Jack hissed through gritted teeth.
“You know I’m the one responsible for punishing you,” the captain said, matter-of-factly. “You made me do this.”
“But you didn’t have to do that,” retorted Jack with a bitter voice.
“No, actually, I would have had to do something worse if I followed the protocol.”
Jack huffed out an incredulous laugh.
“So what, I'm supposed to be thankful?” He spat.
The captain paused for a moment, and then he resumed the spanking in the same steady cadence.
“It’s of no concern to me whether you are or not,” he said with a hard voice. “What concerns me, however, is that I am a jealous man, Jack. And now I have to give you to my men to fuck, while having tasted how you feel like wrapped around my cock. And that makes me so angry that if it were up to me, I’d spank you like this every day for a fucking week,” he punctuated every few words with increasingly hard blows, to the point that Jack had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out again.
Then, he stopped.
“But,” he said, softer this time, “if it were up to me, I’d also keep you all to myself.”
Jack’s breath caught, and his eyes widened.
He hadn’t imagined it, then.
The captain was… jealous.
“And…” Jack said, carefully, “You cannot do that.”
A pause.
“No,” he replied. “I can’t.”
A mixture of feelings exploded in his chest. There was a warming feeling, one he didn’t want to acknowledge or analyse, because a flaming anger overrode it.
The captain had no right to say such confusing things to him now, not after treating him so brutally.
The captain owned him. Jack had no control over what he could and could not do; it was so fucking unfair that he was being punished for it. That the captain could imply that somehow having to watch other men force him was equivalent to what Jack was going through…
It was fucking ridiculous.
Jack turned his head and glared up at him.
“You are fucking insane,” he said slowly. “And, despite your efforts,” he continued, voice dripping with spite, “I’m going to enjoy every cock that fucks my ass today, and every orgasm they force out of me. And I don’t want to see your damn face afterwards.”
The captain tightened his grip in Jack’s hair and inhaled slowly.
Then, he yanked back, forcing Jack to his knees and drawing their faces so close their lips almost brushed.
“We’ll see about that,” he snarled. “Then afterwards, when you’re a whimpering, crying mess, this time, don’t expect me to come save you.”
He stood up and started walking, dragging Jack along by the hair while he tried to keep up with the captain’s long strides.
They reached the door to the shared bedrooms, where the soldiers killed time. He opened it roughly and shoved Jack to the ground, not even bothering to glance in his direction.
“Don’t go easy on him. He’s still being punished.”
“Yes, sir!” the soldiers said in unison.
The door slammed shut, and Jack’s stomach dropped.
The soldiers approached him, curious.
“Hey, kid,” one of them said. “Go ahead and spread your cheeks for us, show us your hole.”
Jack sighed, his brow pinched, but he obeyed. He knelt, his back to the room, bent over, and spread himself open for them to see.
A mixture of winces, swear words, and whistles erupted from the crowd.
“I told you guys,” said one of them. One of the men who had held Jack down while he was being punished. “He did a number on the kid. I’d never seen him so worked up.”
Jack didn’t comment. He just straightened up again, wincing.
“Hey, sweet,” one of them said (bless him), “you want any alcohol before we begin?”
Jack let himself go as various pairs of hands maneuvered him and poured whiskey down his throat. Sometimes from a glass, sometimes directly from their mouths.
Jack let it happen. The burning trace the alcohol left was kind of nice. It warmed him, distracted him from the other, much less pleasant burning sensation lower in his body.
The men were curious. Jack was clearly hurting, but he was also more pliant than usual. Like clay in their hands.
Their fingers roamed his body, experimenting with all sorts of sensations to see what kind of reaction they would get from Jack in this state.
They pinched, bit, and sucked on his nipples. One mouth wrapped around his hardening cock while other two took turns kissing him deeply, exploring the inside of his mouth with their insistent tongues.
He felt slick fingers opening him up, and the pain overrode the pleasure. It burned so much. He whimpered, but someone’s mouth quickly swallowed the sound.
He didn’t even want to imagine how it would feel to take all of their cocks, one after the other.
He was so dizzy from the alcohol and the mixture of sensations, all happening at the same time, that he barely registered being set down on all fours and the tip of a cock brushing against his entrance.
“Sorry, sweet,” someone said. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
Jack didn’t know if it would have mattered to his abused hole how gentle he was. The man pushed his cock inside Jack’s aching heat and, oh god—
How it burned.
Jack’s walls felt raw, and swollen, and too tight.
It felt like he was taking a cock up his ass for the first time. Each thrust was utter torture. Each agonizing slide in and out brought tears to his eyes, and he had to muffle his whines by biting down on the pillow.
He didn’t know how many men had fucked him, how many bodies had draped over his, when he started to cry, but now tears were dropping down onto the mattress. Sliding down his nose when they had him face down, and from the corners of his eyes when he was facing up.
Their cum burned inside him.
He knew it was futile, but he begged them to stop.
They didn’t.
Some of them, though, took pity on him. They tried to trick his body with pleasure. He didn’t know how many hands were on his body, how many mouths. All he knew was that the terrible, burning pain was mixing with the pleasant heat that coiled in the pit of his stomach until he couldn’t tell which was which.
The captain had done this to him. This ache was his doing; he could have done something worse, but he chose to do this. The reason it hurt so much was that the captain was jealous, that he wanted him for himself.
Jack didn’t have the energy to dread the wave of arousal that thought sent through his whole body.
He didn’t have it in him anymore.
Instead, he let the warm pressure in his belly build higher and higher, mixing with the deep, burning pain, turning it into something more intense, more intoxicating.
He was being forced open on countless men’s cocks, yes, but he felt claimed.
The captain had claimed him. He didn’t want him to enjoy this; he wanted Jack to be his, and only his.
That thought was, ironically, what sent him over the edge.
For the first time that night, at least. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.
After god knows how many hours and god knows how many men, the door slammed open.
Jack opened his eyes with some difficulty, from where he was sitting on someone’s lap, a particularly big cock buried inside him.
“Enough,” he heard the captain’s commanding voice say.
Jack looked up at him with hazy eyes, glinting in victory, and a small, smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
You said you wouldn’t come.
Their gazes met across the room, a hundred unsaid things sparking between them, and the soldier in whose lap he was sitting picked him up and laid him on the ground.
Jack’s arms could barely support his weight.
The captain walked over and bent down beside him. He was going to pick him up, and Jack considered refusing him. It would be so damn satisfying, not to give in after the captain had, but… no.
He wanted it too badly. He wanted to be taken care of. To see regret painted over the captain’s features as he treated his injuries.
He wanted his arms around him. He wanted to be cleaned up, soothed. A warm bed and a warm body.
He was a weak, weak man.
The captain picked him up and left without a word.
“It’s your choice now,” he said, after a while. “Do you want me to take you to another room, or do you want to come to mine?”
Jack’s body tensed involuntarily.
“Don’t worry,” the captain said. “I won’t fuck you. I want to take care of you. I won’t touch you again, if that’s what it takes for you not to risk it like this again.”
Jack felt warm at the thought.
He hesitated, but in the end, he nodded. Inside his exhausted mind and body, all of the reserves that had made him suffer the day before had been shattered to dust. They just didn’t matter as much anymore.
“Good boy,” he heard the captain say before passing out in his arms.
I’m sorry, Jack.