The Interrogation
STRAIGHT, TESTICLES, MINOR
War is Hell.
` The raid on the farm yielded four prisoners. Two died of their injuries, but
the other two, a Rebel leader and a teenage boy, were captured unharmed. Major
Carl, the interrogator, believed that the man had useful information on troop
deployments, and he was sure that the boy knew nothing. `

Both prisoners were tied to posts ten feet apart in the barn. They had been
stripped naked and were tied with their feet behind the post and with their
arms stretched high over their heads. The man was about fifty, a little on the
heavy side, and had black, curly hair covering his body. Like most really
hairy men and apes his genitals were small, although fifty years of gravity
had pulled them low in his scrotum. His flaccid cock, veteran of thousands of
copulations, was nearly hidden in the dense mat of hair. That is, his balls
had been small when Carl started the interrogation, but during the course of
the questioning they had swollen to double their ordinary size. Carl had seen
many men naked, and had handled many of theri balls, and knew that hairy men
usually had small balls and cocks. The drugs and electro-shock machine at
headquarters would reveal the true extent of their manhood, as they both
brought out erections, but he didn't have these devices available in the field
so he had to rely on old-fashioned pain and torment, and this subject's
resistance was admirable. He had been beated, hit in his balls, and even
threatened with castration, and still had provided no information.

Castration was not a usual option for Carl, as a man who would surrender his
balls to keep a secret would die before revealing it. A man can only be
castrated once, Carl knew, but can have his bones broken many times and will
heal so that a resourceful interrogator can do it again. Castration was a
designated punishment for many crimes against the Federation, and Carl had
nutted his share of prisoners, but never during their interrogations.

The boy was tied to the opposite post in full view of the father. He obviously
favored his mother, as he was much lighter in complexion than the father. He
was still beardless, but a shadow of hair graced his upper lip and was
spreading outward from his crotch and sprouting from his armpits. He was
nearly as tall as the father, and his genitals were already larger than the
father's. Carl figured that the boy was a virgin, as the Rebels rarely had
girls with them. His only experience had probably been with his own hand
unless he fucked sheep. A thin trickle of dried blood adorned the youth's
hailess scrotum and slender teenage cock. Carl had grabbed the boy's balls two
hours ago and nicked them with his knife in his search for information. The
boy immediately pissed on ther floor and fainted, proving to Carl that he knew
nothing.

'Perhaps the boy is the key to the father.' Carl thought, as he once again
roughly grabbed the boy's nuts and unsheathed his knife.

"You are a brave man, Major, and although you don't fear death please consider
the fate of your son. He killed two of my men today," Carl said as he brought
the knife near the terrified boy's stretched scrotum. For that he should die.
He fought bravely this morning however, and he deserves a warrior's death by a
firing squad instead of spending the rest of his life as a castrated,
toothless field whore forced to lick his own shit from his enemies' cocks. I
offer a quick, merciful death for your son in exchange for some information."

The Major answered by spitting on Carl's shiney boots. Carl put the knife away
and savagely kneed both the man and the boy in the nuts. "Send in Fulber!" He
shouted to his aide.

Sergeant Fulber, or 'Full Bore' as he was nicknamed, was about thiry years old
and had been with Carl many years. He had been wounded in the head during a
skirmish four years ago, and that had resulted in a totally changed
personallity for the soldier. Before he had been shy and reserved. Now he was
completely uninhibited and would immediately obey any order. It was often said
that Fulber would shit in his own mess kit and cheerfully eat it if ordered by
Carl to do so. He was still a fearless, intelligent trooper, but he had lost
the ability to speak and now replied with had signals and grunts. While they
waited for Fulber to arrive the men released the boy from the post and trussed
him up on the floor.

Fulber entered the barn and smartly saluted.

"Fuck the boy, Fulber." Carl ordered. Fulber quickly undressed. When nude it
was obvious why he was called Full Bore. His seven inch penis wasn't
extaordinarily long for a big man, but it was a full three inches thick and
the sight of the naked boy had brought it to full attention. Before the head
wound Fulber would have never publicly masturbated or taken a women, much less
sodomized a boy, but the accident had unearthed some hidden penchant for boys
and now he was hot to trot no matter who was looking.

Another side effect of Fulber's wound was his endurance. Most sex-starved
troopers were only capable of a few minutes of copulation before they popped,
but Fulber was always good for a least a half hour in the saddle and often
twice that. He was soon putting all his heart into his command performance,
and the boy, face down in his own urine, had stopped screaming. The father
strained against his bonds, but still refused to speak even as he watched the
violation of the boy.

Fulber enjoyed a forty-five minute aerobic workout before he rolled off of the
boy spent, with his bloody cock rapidly deflating. The boy rolled onto his
side, revaling a white puddle of his own seed had been forced from him by
Fulber's prostate massage.

Carl opened his trousers and hosed the blood and semen from the boy's thighs
before training the stream of piss on his head. He then grabbed the boy for
the third time that day, unsheathed his knife, and then dragged the sceaming
boy by his balls over to the father.

"This is your last chance, Major." Carl had barely finished speaking when the
wad of phlegm hit him in his face. He didn't hesitate this time and ther knife
finished its slice.

"Call for the field surgeon." Carl commanded, wiping his face. "I want this
boy to live until he is old enough to execute."

Carl held the severed organs close to the Major's face. "Has the Rebellion
sunk so low as to allow beardless boys to be castra...." A volley of gunfire
interrupted his tirade, and then the door crashed in as the Rebel forces
recaptured the farm.

The major donned a fresh uniform and met with the Captain an hour later in the
barn.

"That was close." He told his subordinate. "You came just in time. By the way,
how is the Horton boy?"

"The doctor has stopped the bleeding and is dressing the wound. He should be
okay."

"I don't know how 'okay' he'll be." The Major said nudging the remains of the
boy's manhood with the toe of his boot.

Both men were silent awhile before the Captain spoke. "At least we won't have
to worry about him sniffing around our daughters anymore." The boy had lived
with several families since he had been orphaned, and many of the fathers were
starting to be concerned with the effect that the handsome teen had on their
daughters.

"What about the prisoners we captured?" The Captain asked, changing the
subject.

"Shoot them all except for Major Carl and Sergeant Fulber. The boy can deal
with them when he's feeling a little better."

"Yes Sir! That should cheer him up some."  

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