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They had left him on the floor when they were done with him.
He knew an interrogation would never be easy, had been taught to expect as such, but never in his life would he have expected this. To be beaten, fists, boots, belts, whatever was on hand, then bound and used like a battalion’s whore.
He was barely conscious from the pain of it all when he had felt one of the soldiers fighting with his suspender buttons before wrenching them away and yanking his pants down. His mind hadn’t quite caught up to what was happening, still reeling from getting beaten like a child, from a questioning that was more enraged shouting than asking for answers. It was only the pain of the soldier forcing himself into him that made his realize what was happening.
He was pinned face down on the floor, his hands bound behind him and his knees trapped under him, giving the soldier a perfect platform to assault him. And what an assault it was, pain beyond pain as he was wrenched apart, forced open and vulnerable by the most hateful of men. The soldier’s hands were bruising as they held onto his hip and ground his face into the floor, the sickening dizziness from the probable concussion made only worse by the lightning rocking of the soldier’s thrusts. It seemed to go on forever, pain wearying into merely a steady discomfort as the soldier carried on and on, only to bring fresh agony as he shot off inside of him, laughing as he pulled out and told him of how good a fuck he was.
Then he invited the rest of his unit to join.
He had no idea how many men had had him, only that he had been flipped like a gymnast in men’s arms, pulled this way and that to suit their desires. It seemed to go on forever, the constantly changing hands, the ceaseless assault, the shameful pleasure as they played with him. At some point, one had joked about how, with all the men who had shot off inside him, they were bound to get at least a few eaglets from him. He couldn’t quite remember much after that.
When he came to, he was sticky, tacky blood dried onto his skin, sweat soaking into what was left of his uniform, and the sickening feeling of other men’s semen leaking out of him. He was still bound, lying on his side, head pounding against the cool concrete. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was anywhere else, not wanting them to see him cry as footsteps headed his way.