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Corporal Matt Hewlit was having a series of days that had to be the worst in his very short life and things were about to get a hell of a lot worse. Taken, with the rest of his troop, in a surprise ambush, the corporal had assumed that the Geneva conventions would be observed and, so, was bitterly scandalized (and more than a little terrified) when they were not. Stripped naked and roughly fondled, the young soldier was deeply humiliated, not realizing that the men appraising him were not simply there to demoralize; on the contrary, each was an entrepreneur seriously interested in the handsome young American as exotic goods to be traded on the market. Matt had yet to realize it but he had crossed the threshold from freedom to slavery, from humanity to a prized head of livestock. His muscular body was his only asset and so it could be fairly said that the corporal had become nothing more than a piece of meat.
Perhaps it was in the spirit of the frightened soldier’s new status as a ‘piece of meat’ that the next phase of his captivity was euphemistically called ‘tenderizing’. Though Matt was unaware, he had been purchased, for a very high price, by an enterprising dealer who hoped, in turn, to realize a handsome profit on the studly young American soldier with hair the color of corn silk in a Nebraska sunset. First, however, some rapid training was in order.
Matt shrieked as the club jacked hard, straight up against his testicles; every muscle in his lean body contracting in nauseous agony. The second hit in the same place took him to a place beyond any energy to scream, doubled up (if he were able- splayed spread eagle and naked against rope anchored to floor and ceiling) in quivering agony so intense that a mewling whimper uttered around a mouthful of bloody drool was all the panting corporal could manage. Whatever the case, it seemed to be enough as his tormentors suddenly shifted tactics, if not weapons, pummelling the slabbed muscles of his tight abs until his lower torso glowed bright red. Tears streamed from Matt’s gray-blue, uncomprehending, eyes as he writhed against his bonds, giving the nodding spectators a fine demonstration of the young soldier’s honed physique. Eventually, one of the grinning handlers wiped his sweaty forehead and backed away as if to take a break. Matt exhaled loudly, eager for the dubious respite of his filthy cell, but it wasn’t to be. The handler strolled over to a cracked wood cupboard and, opening it, revealed a large selection of devices all centered on a single purpose; to inflict pain on the likes of Corporal Matt Hewlit. ‘Please, no…please…I’m fucking begging you…’ Matt’s garbled remarks were commented on with tittering laughter and then ignored. The handler selected a supple wooden switch almost a meter long and tested it with a snapping woosh in the still air. ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed in perfect English, ‘This one will do nicely on other, more delicate, parts of his fine, young body.’ Eyeing the dangling head of Matt’s arcing cock, he moved purposely forward, licking oily lips. Matt, understanding his captor’s intent, tried to steel himself for more…of the worst day of his life.