Jacob C. Lewis, Private, United States Army, was tied to a surgical table in what passed as a small infirmary in the country that was being occupied by President Roosevelt’s enemy. His hands were bound together and were tightly stretched over his head to the top of the table, and his legs were spread wide and secured under the table. His O.D. s and tee shirt had been forcefully removed, leaving him wearing only his underpants. A young enemy orderly had just secured a belt tightly around his abdomen, securing it to the table as well, preventing Jake from moving anything but his head, which he could raise only enough to see the orderly take a small pair of scissors and carefully cut away his only remaining article of clothing.

Jake and four other soldiers had been on a scouting and recon mission far behind enemy lines when they had blundered into an ambush. The lieutenant had been cut down in the murderous fire, and Jake, the sergeant, and two other privates had been easily captured once their meager supply of ammunition had been expended. They had been handcuffed and blindfolded, then escorted to what had once been a French jail, where they had spent a cold and hungry night before being visited by an enemy colonel.

Jake’s training had included stuff on what to do if captured: Name, rank, and serial number only. Any other talk, even though seemingly innocuous, could lead to the enemy gaining valuable information. It was also stressed that the enemy treated prisoners of war honorably, and that prisoners were seldom if ever punished for failure to talk. With that in mind Jake had successfully avoided divulging anything during the first few interrogations following his capture. Jake would have to admit that the Colonel had been persuasive. He had been offered to be placed on the exchange list, where he would only have to spend a few weeks in prison at the most before being repatriated, if only he would give the Colonel some information on the troop deployment. Of course, the real thing was that Jake didn’t know anything anyhow; he was just a lowly Private, and not some officer. What the hell was he supposed to know about troop deployments anyway? Nonetheless, he kept his mouth shut and revealed only his name, rank, and serial number, and although he had been threatened he had not been injured in any way. Now, the Colonel had apparently decided to bump things up a notch, as Jake had been summarily escorted into the infirmary, stripped of his clothing, and tied to the table.

“Oh My!” The orderly exclaimed in heavily accented English once Jakes crotch was laid bare. “Wery nice, wery nice indeed!” Jake glanced down across his well-muscled belly and surveyed his cock. It didn’t look a damn bit ‘nicer’ than any one else’s as far as he could see, in fact, he knew he wasn’t any where nearly as ‘nicely’ endowed as some of the other guys. Although he had the lean, hard body of a well-conditioned soldier he was still a beardless eightteen-year-old teenager and he hoped his cock wasn’t quite done growing. “It would be a real shame if you didn’t tell the Colonel what he wants to know, my friend,” the orderly whispered in Jakes ear. “It will be much better for you.”

The orderly then placed a covered metal tray on the counter beside the table, then went to the sink in the corner and filled a small basin with warm soapy water and proceeded to give Jakes genitals a sponge bath. Jake tried to calm himself while the orderly worked, after all, he was certain that this was all just a ruse to get him to talk. The orderly continued to make small talk as he washed Jake’s private parts, and Jake could see that the effeminate little jerk had an erection that was bulging out the front of his white hospital trousers. He finally finished scrubbing Jake, looked around, and then took Jake’s cock in his hand, not stroking, but just gently grasping the shaft. Although Jake tried his best to ignore it, he felt himself getting hard and that pissed him off. No guy had ever seen him with a boner, much less touched him that way, and now this faggoty little kraut was playing with his cock. “How many women have you enjoyed?” The orderly asked. “Ten? Fifty? A hundred? Well, no matter. It’s the last one you always remember best, isn’t it?”

Jake blushed. He didn’t like to talk about it, but he was technically still a virgin. The only action he had gotten during high school had been a few illicit hand jobs in the back seat of his dad’s ’38 Ford sedan. Back then, in the early 1940’s, sex was considered too risky for a teenager, not only on account of pregnancy, but also VD. Finally, two days after graduation, the night before he got on the train for boot camp, Betty opened up a little and knelt before him to lick his balls and the base and shaft of his cock. He had held out for less than a minute before erupting like a pent up volcano, sending four waves of white-hot lava spewing out into the darkness. Betty recoiled in fear to the farthest corner of the car seat. Her mother had warned her that even the mere sight of a boy’s product was enough to induce pregnancy.

After that had been eight weeks of boot camp and another month of advanced training, both of which contained scary multi-media presentations on the dangers of sex in general and unprotected sex in particular. Actually, there hadn’t been any real opportunities for him to lose his cherry anyway. The few times he was off base he was with thousands of other guys in town with few available girls, other than the camp follower whores that he had been warned about. After that had been a long train ride to the East coast, and then an even longer ride on a crowded troop ship to England, where all of the available girls seemed to have already been claimed by the Air Corps guys who were stationed there. He had been restricted to the base until after D-Day, and once they hit the beach they had been too busy simply staying alive to think about chasing pussy.

The silence was suddenly broken by a guttural shout in German from the hallway, which was answered by the orderly. “Too bad we had to stop,” he whispered to Jake, “The colonel is ready, so I must finish with you.” He then moved the cloth covering the tray he had placed on the counter and removed a small roll of adhesive tape, tore off a strip four inches long, and taped Jake’s cock up tight to his belly. Jake now see the gleaming stainless steel surgical items on the tray, plus another thing that suddenly caused him to once more test the bindings pinning his arms: A jar, about four inches in diameter and the same height with a screw-top lid half filled with a clear liquid, and more importantly adorned with a paper label bearing his name and serial number! He was still staring rigidly at the jar when the orderly removed a small length of latex tubing from the tray, stretched it a couple of times, and then retuned to Jake’s side. “I’ll try to be careful so as not to hurt you,” he apologized, and then proceeded to grab Jake by his balls and wind the tubing tightly several times around them up high, trapping Jake’s nuts in a fist sized bulge of stretched skin. “All done,” the orderly announced. “Please tell the Colonel what he wishes to know, then maybe we can have some happy times together.”

The Colonel strode purposely into the room, closed the door, and then shed his jacket to tie on a rubber protective apron. “In a few minutes I will ask you again about your troop movements, Private. I have tried to reason with you, and have even offered you much better deals than I should have, but now my patience is wearing thin.” He paused to pick up the labeled jar. “If you refuse to answer, or give me an answer that I know to be untruthful, I will castrate you and take your jewels back to your companions’ cell for them to ponder. You will also spend the night there, and then you will be transferred to a prison camp on the Eastern front. The guards there are ignorant and don’t know that most Americans have been circumcised, and will just naturally assume that you are a Jew. They hate Jews and they will make sure that you receive a daily ration their pork.”

The Colonel removed the lid from the jar and picked up a wicked looking scalpel prom the tray and placed the edge lightly against Jake’s rapidly darkening scrotum. “How many troops are in your unit and what are their locations?” he asked, increasing the pressure on the razor-sharp blade.

Trying to ignore the pain radiating through his belly from the constrictor around his balls, Jake took a deep breath, stared at a spot on the ceiling, and replied, “My name is Lewis, Jacob C., Private, United States Army, serial--------.” His mantra was suddenly replaced by a piercing, primal scream as the pain, both physical and mental, flooded through his body.