The Two Hundredth and Eighty First of One Thousand and One Nights – by Amalaric

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The young marine was paraded, naked, through the dusty streets of the enemy-held town. Still vaguely unaware of his looming fate, the corporal, nevertheless, harboured a sense of raging anxiety to complement the deep feelings of shamed humiliation as his nude, sweat-slick physique was ogled and commented on by curious passersby. Matt Hewlit had been barely twenty two when he had joined the Corps and now, pushing twenty five, would have nearly completed his three year stint serving Uncle Sam. Though a jock through and through- Matt had been the star quarterback on his high school football team- he hadn’t joined the military with any sense of attaining macho glory but, rather, to get the fuck out of his small Iowa town and the surrounding fields of corn that seemed to go on forever. Now, he would have given anything he had to get back to the slow-moving rhythms of his sleepy hometown and (the wistful daydream brought a small tremor of pleasure even as the captive was marched through the twisting streets of a faraway foreign town) the soft embrace (in more ways than one) of his first love way back (it seemed like a thousand years) when he was seventeen. Hewlit grimaced at the irony; he had nothing to trade for his freedom, not even his dusty camouflage kit- probably a souvenir nailed to the wall in one or more of his captors’ mud shitholes that passed for houses.

The wide concrete enclosure was close to the center of town and, though open to the unyielding blue sky, was nevertheless ringed by a high wall topped by chained link fence and liberal coils of barbed wire. The single wide entrance was casually guarded and neither women or children were allowed to enter. The strapping young marine, however, was briskly herded over the threshold, cock and balls flopping and in a fine sweaty lather from his exertion. The first thing Matt noticed was the presence of twenty or more other men- all young, fit, and stripped completely naked. Recognizing a few soldiers from his ambushed platoon, the young corporal cried out in surprised alarm; his comrades- guys he had loved as brothers- were also stripped, hard bodies on full display, variously tethered to sturdy posts in the wide space of the enclosure. Though one or two of the dejected POWs glanced his way, none returned a greeting and Matt’s reward was a sharp rap across the rippling muscles of his naked back with a riding crop. ‘Quiet, dog!’ in heavily accented English, ‘Banter between animals is forbidden in the market.’ Market? What the fark…???! Matt was similarly tethered between two uprights by wrists and ankles, his arms spread wide and legs less so with, nevertheless, the desired effect of maximum display of his superb physique. Grimacing with both fear and humiliated displeasure, he made a fine sight- especially as he reflexively tested the chain that bound him to the stakes causing his muscles to flex suggestively. A few more nude young men followed Matt Hewlit into the enclosure and were similarly immobilized with care for maximum eye appeal and, at promptly 10:20 AM, the first prospective buyers were allowed into the enclosure that functioned as the town’s open-air slave market.

Though Corporal Matt Hewlit was far from the only attraction that was garnering increasingly frenzied notice, he was, nevertheless, a magnet of tremendous interest. This came as no surprise to his grinning groomers who had ticked off his multiple assets almost from the day of the young marine’s capture. A healthy male in his prime, six feet two inches tall, beautifully proportioned with well-honed muscle; his blond hair caused quite a stir as fair captives were rare and much-sought after. Finally, the undoubted prowess of the nude soldier’s large yet shapely manhood riding between muscled thighs signalled a fine investment and (perhaps) a thousand interesting delights.

Prodded and poked for the better part of two hours, the handsome young marine was eventually sold for an astronomical fixed price after a prolonged period of heated haggling- all conducted in the incomprehensible (to Matt) local patois, which was probably a good thing for the anxious young soldier, newly enslaved. Translated into English, the dealer’s final words to the grinning buyer were, ‘We left his training half complete, as we know what a joy it is for a new owner to personally acquaint a half-wild young male with proper supervision and, ah, liberal amounts of discipline.’


1 thought on “The Two Hundredth and Eighty First of One Thousand and One Nights – by Amalaric

  1. Simply impossible. It’s simply impossible, Amalaric. No man, outside a committed nudist, can endure the situation you’ve put Cpl. Hewlit in. Only literal unconsciousness or copious amounts of drugs could rescue him from the level of body-blushing, lightheaded humiliation he finds himself in, and neither of those is in prospect. He’s restrained in such a way that even the option of suicide is denied him. No anti-torture training can help, either, because his treatment is focused on physical duress and (for now at least), that is not the type of duress he faces. Any man’s man of his type would far rather be secured and beaten with a hail of fists than denuded publicly and displayed. The former would at least preserve a level of masculine dignity, without which he can never again see himself as the same man he was just hours before his capture.
    Once one of his captors has rudely fingered his hole, albeit without the slightest injury or even any serious pain but also clearly without any legitimate need to do so, all the assailant need do is walk around in front of him, face to face, look him in the eye and point out (helpfully, as if the corporal did not know), “I have just inserted my index finger into your publicly naked asshole in front of dozens of laughing, lusting men, and there is nothing you can do about it. It was planned that way. You can never undo it. If you could escape and kill me where I stand — which you can’t — you cannot change the fact that I’ve stolen your manhood for life. Other than your physician for strictly medical reasons, there is no situation in which you’d have willingly allowed another man to enter your hole, but I just did in full view of all these observers, many of whom are entirely straight, by the way, but nonetheless are erect with power hards at seeing another man taken down in humiliation this way. You have been gently fucked by a man. BY A MAN. A male. Another human being with a (modestly clothed) penis and testicles. And I did it specifically because you didn’t want me to. A gay man would have radically more dignity at this moment than you will ever again achieve in the rest of your permanently naked life. I see your eyes smarting trying to fight back tears. Don’t worry: It’s only an illusion. If you cry, if you don’t cry (though in time you surely will), your dignity is utterly and permanently gone, and every man here as well as countless more who will observe it uploaded to the internet knows that holding back tears doesn’t change what has been done to you. We stripped you of your pride as surely as we stripped you of your uniform after chloroforming you in the field of battle. Do you remember how my men laughed and told you you were going to awake nude in public and violated in a way no straight man would ever willingly permit? You unleashed an almost girlish cry of dread and incredulity just before you lost consciousness as the first of many hands slipped under your pants and clutched your shapely penis and balls.”
    As I say, Amalaric, simply impossible. Unbearable. Incapable of being processed mentally and emotionally, and yet he agonizingly retains his full faculties so that he cannot even escape into the sweet release of madness in his naked state.

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