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An hour later Matt Hewlit stood rigidly- terrified, humiliated and, above all, angry- bound, stark naked and spread eagled, against parallel metal slats. The room buzzed with invited entrepreneurs, though Matt was naively unaware of their business. Dark hands roughly probed the rounded contours of his muscular body; lightly brushing his nipples to surprised erection, tweaking the pale treasure trail pooling in his thick bush of sandy pubes, and (the straight young soldier’s breath hitched with scandalized horror) shamelessly fondling his helplessly exposed dick and dangling balls. Strange rumours of what to expect if captured had swirled, almost undercover, in barrack and mess hall…but Matt had never really believed…still didn’t really believe…
A chuckling raghead slapped his testicles, making him gag, while another roughly twisted the erect nub of his left nipple, causing the humiliated young stud to cry out- as much in surprised shock as pain. ‘Let me go!!’ He shook his great head of close-cropped blond hair and grimaced- no way, dude, face it; you’re a POW. But they couldn’t treat him like this! ‘Fucking let me go! This is in violation of the Geneva Convention!!’ Ah, that sounded better, but his words flew back at him, bouncing off the peeling walls in a hollow-sounding echo even as one of his leering captors mustered a few words of broken English, ‘We no hear of Geneva, Yankee, must be very, very…far away.’ The helpless soldier bowed his head in bitter resignation, as the smiling entrepreneur thrust a groping hand roughly between his legs.