Younger soldiers, emboldened by their shared camaraderie and lack of oversight, indulge in playful but often cruel behavior toward their captives. Their actions, though framed as jokes, are designed to reinforce power dynamics and humiliate them. Group behavior and peer pressure amplify acts of dominance, normalizing cruelty within the soldiers’ culture.
Chapter 10: The Playful Cruelty of Youth
The sun was high, casting a harsh light over the camp, illuminating the youthful energy of the younger soldiers. Their camaraderie was marked by a particular brand of cruelty, playful in nature but vicious in intent, directed especially at the captives who were seen as toys in their games.
The Games
The day's entertainment began with the selection of their playthings. Finn became the center of their attention today.
His youthful, almost delicate features were the perfect target for their games. His slender frame, the smooth skin of his chest, and the slight curve of his hips were subjects of their games. They decided on a game where Finn was made to serve drinks, his bare feet padding softly across the hard ground, his movements carefully watched.
They would spill drinks on purpose, forcing him to clean their boots, his hands lingering on their leather-clad feet, his face inches from their calves. They laughed as they made him reach high, his shirt lifting to reveal the pale skin of his lower back, their hands occasionally touching him, exploring the softness of his skin under the guise of helping.
Leif, with his strong build and simple mind, was next in line for their entertainment. His broad shoulders, powerful thighs and stunning buttocks were not just for labor; they became part of their play. They devised a game where Leif had to carry them on his back, his broad shoulders and big legs tested to their limits. They rode him like a beast of burden, their hands gripping his waist, slapping his muscular rear in both encouragement and punishment, comments about his physique filling the air.
They played a game where Leif had to stand still while they threw food at him, aiming for his broad chest, his abdomen, or even between his legs, laughing at his attempts to dodge, his body now a target for their amusement.
The Brutality
The games, however, were not merely playful; they had an undercurrent of brutality. A young soldier, eager to prove his dominance, pushed Finn down, his hands running along Finn's arms, feeling the slightness of his frame, before forcing his mouth open with a finger, mockingly teaching him the proper way to serve. His laughter was sharp, a mix of playfulness and aggression, his actions blurring the line between game and assault. So eager to cement his place among his peers
When Leif finally stumbled under the weight of the soldiers, he was met with a barrage of fists to his muscular back, their boots kicking at his shins. Their boots connecting with his meaty calves. They mocked his endurance, his dumbness, naivety, using his strength as a source of their joy.
The Intimate Dominance
The games often turned intimate. With Finn, they would pull him close, their hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the softness of his stomach, the slight definition of his youthful muscles. Their bodies would press against his, their touch a mockery of affection, each one trying to outdo the other in how far they could invade his personal space.
With Leif, they would sit him down, their hands on his big thighs. They were squeezing him, he was commented upon, his physicality a subject of their youthful fascination. Them their hands would roam higher.
The sun's light seemed to magnify it, each laugh, each touch, each game a testament to their youth, their power, and their desire to assert themselves.
The Young Soldiers' Camaraderie
These games were not just about the captives; they were about bonding among the soldiers. Their laughter, their shared looks of triumph, their physical interactions with each other while dominating the captives, all served to strengthen their newly formed brotherhood. They congratulated each other on their wins, their hands clapping, sometimes resting on each other's shoulders, the camaraderie forming itself.
Chapter 10.1: "Playful, but not merely playful; they had an undercurrent of brutality"
Hide and Seek
A group of young soldiers gathered, their laughter echoing off the tents. They had devised a new game. A captive, a boy with sun-bleached hair and a lean frame, was brought before them, his eyes wide with the fear.
They blindfolded him, his world plunging into darkness, the sounds of their laughter now his only guide. "Guess who, boy!" one soldier called out. The others chuckled, clapping each other on the back.
The game began. One by one, they approached, their hands guiding the captive to kneel, the touch deceptive in its gentleness. Then, without warning, the first soldier entered him, his movements quick, a laugh escaping his lips as he thrust. "Who am I?" he taunted, the question met with more laughter from his peers.
Each soldier took their turn.
The Ring
The soldiers gathered in a loose ring, their young bodies still lithe. They had found a new play and a new plaything. They called it "The Ring".
The captive stood in the center, his confusion evident, his body tense under their gazes. "Today, we teach you", one soldier announced, his voice jovial. They began to pass him around, each soldier taking a moment to instruct him.
One soldier, with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, pulled the captive close, his hands roaming with a feigned affection before guiding him down, whispering encouragements. "See how easy this is?" he laughed, as he penetrated the captive, his movements exaggerated for the amusement of his peers.
Another took his place, his approach different, his touch more aggressive, teaching with a harshness that belied the playful tone of his words. "You'll learn", he sneered, his body moving with a rhythm that was anything but gentle, the brutality of his act clear in the captive's stifled cries.
The soldiers rotated, each one adding their own to the lesson.
Chapter 10.2: "Playful, but not only playful"
The Wrestling Match
The sun hung low, casting long, golden rays over the makeshift wrestling ring in the center of the camp, where the ground was packed hard from countless feet, both brown and pale. The air was thick with anticipation and the smell of sweat as young soldiers gathered around, their youthful bodies tense with excitement.
The first to step into the ring was a soldier named Kareem, his body lean but corded with muscle, his skin a deep tan both from days under the sun and from his heritage. His opponent captive was pushed forward, his body slightly less defined but still showing the signs of hard labor.
Kareem's arms, strong and sinewy, reached out, grappling the captive's shoulders, the muscles in his back flexing under the strain. The captive, in turn, tried to resist, his own biceps bulging, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, highlighting his fear.
The wrestling was aggressive, each move a prelude to what was to come. Kareem managed to pin the captive down, their bodies pressed together, the heat of exertion turning their skin slick. The captive's chest heaved, his pectorals glistening, as Kareem's hands roamed, not just to hold but to claim. The soldiers around cheered, their own bodies showing the most obvious signs of arousal.
Kareem, with a grin, flipped the captive onto his stomach, his own body hovering over, the muscles of his thighs tight as he positioned himself. The captive's back was broad, marked by the scars of his new life, his buttocks firm under Kareem's grip. With a sudden move, Kareem penetrated the captive. The captive's body tensed, muscles straining against the invasion, his grunts of pain lost in the soldiers' cheers.
The soldiers took their turns, their bodies a parade of strength. Each one eager to prove themselves.
The Musical Chairs
The soldiers set up a circle of captives. As the music started, a crude melody played on simple instruments, the soldiers danced around, their laughter rising with each note. When the music stopped, it was a scramble to claim a captive and bend them over.
The game was short.
Chapter 10.3: "Celebrate the Energy"
Endurance Challenge
Their bodies were radiating the heat of anticipation. They had devised a game, calling it "Endurance Challenge". The captives, lined up, were to be the unwilling participants.
The first soldier, his body lean and muscular, chose his captive, a young man fueling his excitement. "Let's see how long you can last!" he declared with an arrogant laugh. He positioned himself, his erection hard against the captive's leg, the promise of what was to come.
He entered him with force. His movements were vigorous, each thrust energetic, his body moving with a fast rhythm. The captive, under him, could only endure.
The soldiers around cheered, each one waiting for their turn, eager to prove themselves. One after another, they took their place, their bodies glistening with sweat, their chocolate members hard with the excitement of the challenge. The captive was forced to bear the weight of their exuberance.
Laughter, crude comments, and the slap of flesh against flesh filled the air, each soldier trying to outlast the last, their energy not just physical but a force of dominance. The captive's cries were lost in their cheers, his endurance a silent part of the challenge. Each soldier's climax was a point of pride.
The Brawl
A group of young soldiers decided to engage in a game called "The Brawl." It was a combat and more, with captives caught in the middle.
The brawl started with playful shoves. Each soldier pushed, grappled, and wrestled, their muscles flexing under the sun's last rays. But soon, the game took a new turn. A captive, caught between two soldiers, became the focal point. One soldier pinned the captive down, his movements aggressive, his laughter turning to grunts of exertion.
The captive, his body tense under the soldier, felt the first violation, the soldier using his energy to penetrate him forcefully. The other soldiers, seeing this, joined in, not to fight each other but just to claim their turn. Each one, would wrestle him, their bodies glistening with sweat, their hands roaming with a mix of dominance and exploration.
The brawl wasn't about who was the strongest, but about who was strong.
Their judgment was swift.
Chapter 10.4: "Consensus"
The Rumor
In the camp, whispers spread like wildfire. A tale about one captive, said to have disrespected an older soldier, flew from mouth to mouth. Without question, they all agreed that he deserved punishment. They gathered around him, they began to strip him down, each one adding to his torment. No one stopped, they just acted because everyone else did.
The Consensus Conquest
One soldier shouted an idea for a new game, and the others nodded, their eyes alight with excitement. They didn't debate, they just followed. The game was simple: each took turns to fuck a captive in the identical way, with no variation. Their actions were common.
A Popular Play
A new form of humiliation was proposed by one, and like a wave, the others agreed. They decided the captive would wear a sign around his neck that read "whore" and be made to crawl from one soldier to another and suck them. They didn't ask why, they just wanted to be part of the excitement. The excitement was repetitive.
The Verdict
The soldiers surrounded the accused captive, agreeing on his punishment. They stripped him bare, forcing him onto a makeshift platform. One by one, they took turns penetrating him from behind. Their laughter filled the air as they jeered. They carried out the verdict well and their judgment was swift.
Chapter 10.5: "Taste of Anticipation"
Sign of Readiness
The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the camp where a group of young soldiers had gathered for entertainment. They encircled a captive, their laughter a harsh contrast to the captive's dread. Each soldier would show how much he could leak, and the captive was forced to clean it up with his tongue.
The first soldier stepped forward, his arousal evident by the clear, sticky fluid that began to ooze from the tip of his dark member. He positioned himself close to the captive's face, ensuring the fluid dripped onto the captive's cheeks and lips. "Clean it", he commanded. The captive, with no choice, used his tongue to lap up the warm, slippery substance, the taste both salty and bitter.
One by one, the soldiers followed, each one proud of the amount they could produce, their golden-brown members glistening with anticipation. The captive was pushed from one to another, his face smeared with their excitement. He was made to taste their readiness.
Acknowledgement
The question is clear and urgent. Who could make the captive the most aware of his arousal through the clear fluid that leaked from his brown dick?
The first soldier, his member already leaking, pressed it against the captive's head, leaving a trail of the viscous fluid on his neck. "Feel that?" he taunted, his voice full of pride. The others followed, each one ensuring their fluid marked the captive - on his face, in his hair, or making him taste it.
The captive was made to acknowledge each one. Their camaraderie was obvious in their shared act, each one trying to outdo the other in volume and visibility. Using for it this natural occurrence with pride.
The Fluid Challenge
The camp was alive with the sounds of youthful voices as the soldiers gathered for what they called the fluid challenge. The aim was to prove their virility by the amount of clear, slippery fluid they could produce. The captive stood in the middle, a reluctant participant in this display.
Each soldier took his turn, their erect brown members already leaking with the excitement of the game. One soldier, with a gleeful grin, showed off how much he could produce, the fluid dripping down his length, a testament to his eagerness. He then forced the captive to interact with it, making him use his hands to spread it, commenting on its stickiness, its warmth, its clearness - all markers of his youth and control.
The captive is forced to voice it with words dictated by the soldiers.
"See how much you can produce, master, it's clear you're the strongest, the most ready. Your... your excitement, it's overwhelming, showing your... power over me. Look at how it drips, so much, so clear, it's like you're marking me, showing everyone in the camp who's in control. I... I have to acknowledge it, acknowledge your strength, your readiness. It's... it's about how you're going to use me, how you're about to take me. I'm forced to say it, to see it, to feel it, to taste it, to be under you."
The others followed, each one trying to outdo the last, their fluid a measure of their readiness. The captive was made to deal with it - licking it, rubbing it on himself, even being smeared with it by the soldiers' hands.
"Yeah, taste that, you little slut, taste how much we're gonna give you. It's just the appetizer. You're loving every drop, aren't you? Admit it, you love being marked by us, by our fucking readiness. Each word from your mouth just gets our cocks harder, makes us to want even more. Keep talking, keep licking, because the more you are licking, the more we're gonna show you exactly how it goes."
Chapter 10.6: "Immature Behavior"
The Food Fight
The evening meal had turned into chaos, with plates flying and food scattering across the ground.
One soldier, with a mischievous glint in his eye, scooped a pile of mashed potatoes onto a captive's head, shaping it into a mock hat. Others joined in, using gravy as paint, drawing dicks on the captives' bodies.
The game escalated when one grabbed a sausage, waving it like a wand before forcing a captive to suck it in the most degrading manner.
Hear the Echo
As one soldier prepared to engage with a captive, another let out an unexpected, loud fart, breaking the tension of the moment.
The sound was met with immediate, uncontrollable laughter from the soldier beside him, his laugh high-pitched and infectious. "That was a good one!" he managed to say. The laughter spread like wildfire, each soldier trying to outdo the last by mimicking the sound, completely forgetting the captive who stood there, bewildered by the turn of events.
Another soldier made a burping noise, exaggerating it for effect. This set off another round of laughter, the soldiers doubling over, some even falling to the ground, their laughter echoing off the tents.
Drawings
They had decided to hold a drawing competition, where the canvas was the dirt ground. It occurred that the art was vulgar.
One soldier, with a stick in hand, began to sketch, his laughter already bubbling as he drew a phallus with exaggerated proportions. "Beat that!" he challenged, his voice cracking with amusement. His peers, caught up in the moment, gathered around in silence.
Another soldier took his turn, draw an even larger penis, but adding little eyes and a mouth to the tip, making it look like it was winking at the onlookers. They laughed at each other's attempts, some even drawing on their comrades' faces or dicks with dirt or whatever was at hand, the competition devolving into a free-for-all.
The next soldier took his turn, using a captive as his canvas'. He grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into the circle, his stick now drawing on the captive's skin rather than the ground. The image was simple, crude, but the soldier's laughter was infectious as he drew a faced penis with an exaggerated, leering expression right on the captive's back, turning him into a living drawing board.
One drew a caricature of a captive with an oversized rump, using another captive's face as his canvas, the captive standing still. The soldiers' laughter was loud, their focus on the art. Another soldier, not to be outdone, sketched a figure with an erection so large it appeared to be a third leg, complete with a tiny hat on the tip as if it were a person in its own right. A particularly good drawing was of a battle scene, but all the soldiers were depicted with their weapons replaced by phallic symbols.
The competition devolved into a wild mess where the soldiers would critique each other's work, or add to another's drawing, turning the captives into part of their game.
The Spit Game
In the heat of the day, with nothing better to do, the soldiers decided to engage in a spit game. They lined up captives, using them as targets for their spitting prowess. Each soldier took turns, trying to spit as far as they could, aiming for the captives' faces, laughing boisterously when they hit their mark.
The Armpit Orchestra
The soldiers, just for amusement, gathered for what they called the armpit orchestra. Each tried to make the loudest, most musical armpit noise, their laughter filling the camp. They then forced captives to lick their armpits, claiming it was to clean the instruments.
The Noodle Show
The soldiers started the noodle show, where they competed to make their members dance or move in the most absurd ways. Captives were forced to watch and mimic the movements with their own bodies.
The Singing Contest
The soldiers initiated the singing contest. They lined up captives, each one forced to take a soldier's penis in their mouth. The challenge was for the captives to hum popular tunes while deepthroating, the soldiers laughing uproariously at the muffled sounds that emerged. Each soldier cheered for their captive to hit the right notes.
Chapter 10.7: "The Buddy System"
The Cheerleader
They chose a captive and positioned him before them. One soldier, Hasan, would engage with the captive, while his buddy, Omar, took on the role of the cheerleader.
Hasan pushed the captive down, his movements deliberate, his eyes catching Omar's with a smirk. As Hasan began to penetrate the captive from behind, Omar started his cheer. "Go, Hasan, go! Show him who's the boss!" he shouted, his voice dripping with excitement. He clapped, his hands coming together with a sharp sound, each clap punctuating Hasan's thrusts.
Omar didn't just cheer; he assisted. He grabbed the captive's head, forcing it down further, making each movement deeper. "Harder, harder!" he cheered, his laughter mingling with the captive's grunts. Hasan responded, his thrusts becoming more forceful, the rhythm set by Omar's chants.
Their camaraderie was evident in their synchronized action. When Hasan decided to change positions, Omar was always there, helping to maneuver the captive, his hands roaming. They laughed together, celebrating with zeal of a sport victory.
Double Justice
When a captive, called Erik, dared to show defiance by not moving fast enough to serve, two friends, Khalil and Farid, decided to enact their own brand of justice.
Khalil started by grabbing Erik, his grip firm on the captive's arm. "You think you can be slow with us?" he taunted, his voice playful yet threatening. Farid joined in, his laughter echoing Khalil's as they positioned Erik between them, one in front, one behind.
Khalil forced Erik to his knees, his coffee-colored member already hard with anticipation, while Farid held Erik's head back, exposing his throat. "Time for a lesson," Khalil sneered, pushing his member into Erik's mouth, while Farid, from behind, began to penetrate Erik, their movements coordinated.
They swapped positions. Farid would thrust harder when Khalil encouraged him, their friendship turning the act into a game where they tried to outdo each other. "Don't let him breathe, Khalil", Farid would laugh, while Khalil would respond by holding Erik's head down longer, their bond celebrated.
The Buddy Ritual
After each play, whether it was a quick punishment or a prolonged session, Khalil and Farid would share a specific ritual. They'd clasp hands, their fingers interlocking, and then bump their shoulders together, a silent acknowledgment of their bond.
Chapter 10.8: "But it was just the beginning for Tariq"
Tariq was the young soldier whose name had become synonymous with prowess. He moved through the days with a vigor that belied his years. His body still fresh. His brown skin, a testament to his heritage, glowed with the sweat of exertion, his body lean yet muscular, the product of both his youth and the camp's harsh lifestyle. His brown dick, always at the ready, was both his weapon and his badge of honor among the soldiers.
From the moment the sun rose, Tariq was in motion. His first act of the day was to assert his dominance, his youthful energy making him an eager participant in the morning's rituals. He would choose a captive, often one he'd seen in his dreams, both his mind and his hand already playing out the scenes. With a smirk, he'd enter a tent, his presence a silent command. The captive, still groggy from sleep, would barely have time to react before Tariq was upon him. His dick, hard and relentless, would find its way. Then he'd move from one captive to another.
But it was just the beginning for Tariq, his brown dick never tiring. He saw every moment as an opportunity to further his reputation. Whether it was during the chores, where he'd pull a captive aside for a quick, public display, or at meals, where his hands would wander, he made sure everyone knew of his prowess. In the kitchens, where the captives worked, he'd spot one bent over a stove, his chocolate member already stirring. Without a word, he'd come up from behind, his hands gripping the captive's hips, pulling him back into the rhythm. His sincere laughter would mingle with the captive's grunts, his brown dick moving with agility that left no room for escape. His laughter would accompany each act, his peers watching with a mix of admiration and envy.
Evening gatherings became his stage. Here, Tariq would entertain others with tales of his day's conquests, his brown dick a central character in every story. He'd describe with pride how he'd used it, with an air of invincibility. His brown member, he'd boast, had been in every orifice, his tales filled with details of positions, of endurance, of how he'd made other men cry in pain. He'd challenge others to match him, not just in combat but in endurance, with a competitive edge, his brown dick the measure of his success.
As night fell, when most would seek rest, Tariq showed no signs of waning. He'd prowl the camp, his brown dick leading him to new or familiar captives. His acts in the darkness were slower, more deliberate. He'd find a captive, perhaps one he'd used in the morning, his hands guiding them to the ground or against a wall, his brown dick entering with a steady rhythm. His body, moved with a purpose, his brown member a constant presence, under the cover of night.
A young man was cleaning weapons
In the cool shade of the camp's armory, where the scent of oil and steel mingled with the dust, Tariq found his next target. His brown skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat from the day's heat, his body lean. His brown dick was already hard, a silent promise of what was to come.
A young man was cleaning weapons. Tariq approached him silently, his smirk betraying his intent. He grabbed the captive by the hair, pulling him back from his work, his brown glans pressing against the captive's lips, a very clear command.
Tariq forced the captive's mouth open, his brown dick entering with a force. His hips moved rhythmically, his penis sliding in and out, the captive's lips stretched around it. Tariq's laughter filled the space, his hands gripping the captive's head, controlling the pace.
He didn't rush. He would pause, letting the captive catch his breath only to push deeper, his brown glans hitting the back of the throat, the captive's eyes watering, his body trembling under Tariq's firm grip. The act continued until Tariq was satisfied, his brown dick leaving the captive's mouth with a wet sound, the captive left gasping for air, his face smeared with the evidence of Tariq's presence. With a final smirk, Tariq adjusted his clothing, his brown member still hard.
Tariq found Leif at work, moving bales of straw
In the secluded area behind the camp's stables, where the smell of hay and horse mingled with the day's heat, Tariq found Leif at work, moving bales of straw. Tariq's brown skin was dark against the sun's glare, his body lean and muscular, his brown dick already stirring with anticipation.
Tariq approached from behind, his sincere smile a herald of his intentions. He grabbed Leif by the waist, pulling him back, his brown member pressing against Leif's big buttocks, a clear indicator of what was to come. Without hesitation, Tariq pushed Leif down over a stack of hay, his hands moving to undo Leif's trousers, exposing him.
His brown dick, hard and ready, entered Leif with force. He thrust deep, his laughter echoing off the wooden walls as Leif grunted in response. His hips moved, each thrust pushing Leif further into the hay, the sounds of their bodies colliding filling the air. He continued until he was satisfied, his brown dick pulling out with a slick sound, leaving Leif panting, his body marked by hay and semen.
Tariq didn't waste time; he pulled Sven's trousers down
In the dim light of the camp's laundry area, where the air was thick with the scent of soap and damp cloth, Tariq caught sight of Sven, his hands busy scrubbing uniforms. Tariq's brown skin was a contrast to the white linens, his body lean with the energy of youth, his brown dick already hardening at the sight.
He moved silently behind Sven, his smirk a prelude to his intent. Grabbing Sven by the shoulders, he spun him around, pushing him back against the rough wooden table used for folding clothes. His brown member, eager and hard, pressed against Sven's backside, a silent command.
Tariq didn't waste time; he pulled Sven's trousers down, exposing him to the cool air of the laundry. With one swift motion, his brown dick entered Sven, the sound of the table scraping against the floor mingling with Sven's gasp. Tariq's sincere laughter filled the space, a harsh counterpoint to the slap of skin against skin as he thrust deep.
His movements were rhythmic, his brown dick sliding in and out, the laundry around them forgotten. The clean smell of laundry now tainted by the scent of their exertion. He continued until he was satisfied, his brown dick withdrawing with a wet sound, leaving Sven bent over the table, his body marked by the table's edge and by Tariq's semen.
With Rashid's laughter as encouragement, Tariq entered Eadric
In the dim, golden light of Rashid's tent, where the air was heavy with the scent of incense and the musk of bodies, Tariq found Eadric, the once-proud prince. Rashid watched with an amused grin, his permission given with a nod, as Tariq approached, his brown skin bathed in the tent's golden glow, his body tense with anticipation. His brown dick was already stirring, forming a vibrant contrast against Eadric's lighter skin. The once-proud prince, now reduced to a captive, knelt on the plush cushions.
Tariq didn't hesitate; he moved behind Eadric, who now lay with a forced stoicism, his noble bearing now a mockery. With a smirk, Tariq pushed Eadric down, his hands quickly working to expose Eadric's rear. His brown member, hard and ready, pressed, a stark contrast to the prince's pale skin.
With Rashid's laughter as encouragement, Tariq entered Eadric, his brown dick sliding in with force. He felt the resistance, the sphincter muscles tensing, trying to deny him entry. But Tariq, with the relentless energy, pressed on. His penis, hot and throbbing, began to force its way, the sphincter giving it with a reluctant stretch. The sounds of their bodies meeting were punctuated by Tariq's laughter. His hips moved with an eager rhythm, each thrust a display of his dominance over the fallen prince.
Tariq's hands gripped Eadric's hips, pulling him back with each motion, his brown member a relentless invader. The warmth of Eadric's body enveloped his brown dick, the tight passage gripping him, creating a friction. Tariq's brown glans felt the pressure of Eadric's inner walls, the sensation sending shivers down his spine, his brown dick responding with a pulse of its own. He took his time, enjoying the play, his brown dick moving in and out, the act a performance for Rashid's amusement. Tariq's sincere laughter mixed with Eadric's stifled sounds, in the relentless pace he set.
His brown skin shone with sweat. He continued until he was satisfied, his penis pulling out with a wet sound, leaving Eadric collapsed on the cushion, his breath ragged. Tariq stood back, his brown dick still hard, his sincere laughter shared with Rashid, their camaraderie strengthened.
Chapter 10.9 "Buddy Rituals"
The Friendship Tattoo
Tarek and Amir, the best of buddies in camp, decided to commemorate their shared conquests with ink. They chose a tattoo parlor within the camp, a tent owned by an old soldier who knew how to wield a needle with both ink and laughter. The design they chose was telling: a pair of crossed dicks, each one representing one of them.
As the needle buzzed against Tarek's skin, Amir held his hand, their fingers interlocked. "Look at this, man, it's like our dicks are forever together", Tarek laughed, his eyes watering not just from the pain but from the hilarity of the situation.
Afterward, they paraded around the camp, showing off their new tattoos, their pride in their bond as evident as the ink on their skin.
The Buddy Ballad
In the dim light of their tent, Rami and Youssef sat with a guitar, ready to compose their latest ballad. This wasn't just any song; it was about their day's exploits.
Youssef strummed a chord, setting the tone for their lewd lyrics. "So, today, we made that blond captive, what was his name? Bjorn, right? Sing for us," Rami said, his voice cracking with laughter as he recalled the scene.
"His voice was high-pitched, like this," Youssef mocked, hitting a high note on the guitar while Rami sang, "How sweet it was, his ass so tight, we fucked him all the night!"
They went on: "And when he cried, we laughed like hell, for we are buddies, can't you tell?" they sang in unison, their voices blending in harmony.
The Diary
Bilal and Fadi sat cross-legged in their tent, the diary open between them, a bottle of cheap wine passing back and forth. Their entries were about play and adventure, about acts they had performed together.
Bilal flipped to a page where a crude drawing of Leif with an exaggerated mouth full of semen was scribbled. Fadi laughed, taking a swig from the bottle. "Look at this one," he pointed to another entry, this one accompanied by a sketch of a captive bent over, with arrows pointing to each soldier's dick like trophies on a map. "We wrote how we took him, back and front, like a little toy."
They would add to their diary, sometimes using the captive's hair or clothing as markers for their page.
Chapter 10.10: "Eager to Prove"
Longer than anyone had ever done
A young, eager soldier named Youssef chose a formidable captive, known for his warrior's spirit, and declared a challenge before his peers: he would penetrate him longer than anyone had ever done. His laughter, filled with the thrill of the challenge, echoed around them as the night deepened.
Sweat glistened on the bodies with each passing hour. When he finally ceased, breathless and victorious, his reputation was sealed.
The Public Display
Samir, a young soldier with large ambitions, decided to make his mark by taking Finn in the most public and humiliating manner at the evening's communal fire. With all eyes on him, Samir positioned Finn in a way that left nothing to the imagination, performing acrobatic feats of penetration.
He began by forcing Finn into a handstand, his legs spread wide, while Samir penetrated him from below.
Next, he had Finn perform a one-armed handstand, balancing him precariously while he entered from behind, the angle so acute it looked like Finn might break at any moment. He then made Finn do a full split in the air, holding him high by the waist while penetrating him.
The finale was Samir suspending Finn by his ankles from a makeshift frame, his body hanging upside down, as Samir took him from below.
The Pain Game
A new recruit, named Rajid, decided to test pain through penetration. He selected Sven to be the subject of his game. With a grin that spoke of his intent, Rajid used everything from rough, wooden tools to extreme angles, ignoring Sven's cries. Rajid's final act was to use a series of knots tied around his member, each one creating a new sensation of pain as he thrust, the knots rubbing against Sven's insides. His peers gathered around in awe.
The Novelty Act
A young soldier named Faisal gathered a crowd by promising a performance unlike they'd seen before. A novelty act. He brought out a captive, tied him to a wheelbarrow, and positioned him in such a way that his buttocks were lifted into the air, his legs spread wide by the handles. Faisal then climbed onto the wheelbarrow, using the captive as a living, human saddle. With each soldier watching, he began to penetrate the captive while simultaneously pushing the wheelbarrow across the camp, creating a bizarre parade.
But Faisal didn't stop there; he decided to make it interactive. He invited his peers to line up and take turns pushing or pulling the wheelbarrow. Each soldier who took a turn at the wheel felt the direct connection to Faisal.
Chapter 10.11 "Like a Young Bull"
Mud Wrestling Ring
The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows over the camp where a patch of mud had become the arena for a different kind of combat. The soldiers, their uniforms stained with the day's dust, gathered around, their laughter rough as they dragged captives into the mud.
One young, broad-shouldered soldier, his hair unruly, leaped onto the captive. His grip was firm when he smeared mud across the captive's back. He shoved the captive down with a grunt. The mud splashed, coating the captive from head to toe.
He climbed atop the captive, his hands clamping down on the older boy's shoulders, forcing him deeper into the mud. His actions were less those of a wrestler and more of a brute staking a claim. He began to penetrate, his movements in the mud crude and forceful, each thrust accompanied by the sound of squelching mud, his laughter echoing as he reveled in this display.
As the captive lay there, sullied by the mud, the gathered youths, with their high spirits and unrefined laughter, forced him to speak. They made him repeat after them, "It is an honour to be in the mud."
It is indeed an honour to be in the mud. Oh, what a privilege it is to be in it, in this sacred ethernal mud, where the earth itself teaches us like the best teacher. This mud, this glorious, gritty mud, is not just dirt, it is a badge of honour. To be in the mud is to be closer to the very essence of what it means to struggle, to overcome. Here, in the mud, we are reminded daily of the honour it is to be in it, as this mud is endless. It's an honour to be smeared, to be covered, to be one with the mud, where the lowest can be elevated by the very earth we stand upon. No finer accolade could there be than to bear the mud, to wear it like a medal, for it is in this mud that we are tested and proven. This mud, this very mud, is where we find our true honour, or true purpose, our true place.
The Boot Camp
A circle of soldiers formed, their boots caked with the earth of the camp. Their laughter was a mix of high-pitched excitement and the deep tones of burgeoning manhood. They created a gauntlet with their boots, not yet worn by years of battle but eager for action. Captives were lined up, fear evident in their eyes as they faced it. One soldier, his voice a booming echo of his physicality, shouted commands, his words slurred with the roughness of his upbringing.
As the captive ran, these young men kicked out, not with precision of seasoned fighters but with recklessness. When one captive fell, a soldier grabbed him, his grip more enthusiastic than experienced, his laughter ringing out as he forced the captive into a submissive pose. Another soldier would grab him, his grip like iron, pulling him close. His penetration was hasty, lacking finesse, driven by the brute force. The soldiers around laughed, their voices harsh, their actions a cacophony of dominance, each one proud of their role in this crude, physical display.
The Lumberjack Game
In a clearing littered with wood chips and the scent of pine, young soldiers gathered with sticks, not sharp but thick and blunt, perfect for herding. Their sticks were blunt and their laughter was boorish as they eyed the captives. One soldier, his beard barely more than stubble, took charge, his movements lacking any grace as he used his stick to herd a captive.
The captive moved, but not fast enough, sending the soldier into a fit of rough laughter as he used his stick to push the captive down, his body sprawling in the dirt. With a grunt, the soldier positioned himself, not gently but with force. His penetration was like the felling of a tree, all power. The other soldiers, with their rough cheers, watched, their laughter rising like smoke from a fire, celebrating.
The Tug-of-War
In the open expanse of the camp young soldiers gathered, their laughter echoing with the wildness of a pack. They decided on a game, a human tug-of-war, where the captive would be the rope. Two groups formed, each grabbing an arm of the captive.
The shouts were an exuberant chaos as they pulled back and forth, the captive swaying like a pendulum between them. One side, led by a lanky youth with a broad grin, would yank with all the might of his frame, the other side, with a stockier man whose laughter was as loud as his pull, countered with equal force. With each pull, the captive was forced to declare, amidst the laughter, "It's an honour to be a tug-of-war!"
The Bear Hug
They called it the bear hug and there was nothing gentle about it. One by one, they took turns enveloping captives in their arms, their hugs about proving their might.
A young soldier, his chest broad, wrapped his arms around his captive, squeezing with the enthusiasm. His laughter was boisterous as he lifted the captive off the ground, his body arching back with the effort, his grip tight but less about hurting and more about dominating through sheer physicality. Each bear hug was a display of power, their camaraderie strengthened by each act of brute force.
The Stampede
In the heat of the day, when the ground was hard and dry, young soldiers gathered, their energy boundless. They devised a game they called the stampede, where they would charge at captives like young bulls.
One soldier led the charge, his shout a high-pitched battle cry. They ran, their steps uneven, their bodies colliding into the captives, knocking them down not with precision but with the chaotic force. As they swarmed over the captives, their laughter was a cacophony, each one proud of their part in this human avalanche. The captives, under this mass of youthful bodies, were made to shout, "It's an honour to be trampled!"
Chapter 10.12: "Rituals of Initiation"
The Ritual of Initiation
The sun had set, giving way to the night's cloak over the camp, where the newest recruits, barely men, stood eager and anxious. Tonight was not just any night; it was their official celebration of admittance into the army, a ritual that would mark their transition from boys to warriors in the eyes of their peers.
The senior soldiers had gathered, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of torches, creating a festive atmosphere. Among them was a captive, someone chosen specifically for this initiation, his face a mask of dread in the midst of the soldiers' excitement.
The ritual began with the senior soldiers presenting the recruits with a flask, passed from hand to hand, each taking a swig, the liquid burning down their throats, a symbol of the harshness they were about to embrace. "To our new brothers," one senior soldier bellowed, his voice carrying the weight of tradition.
The captive was brought forward, his body marked and prepared for the night's proceedings. The first recruit, his hands trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation, was guided by an older soldier. "Show us what you're made of," the senior soldier whispered, his voice hot with encouragement.
With the others watching, the young recruit approached the captive, his movements awkward but determined. He began with the act of penetration, the senior soldiers cheered him on, their laughter a mix of mockery and camaraderie, teaching him the rhythm, the force expected of him now.
One by one, the new recruits followed, each taking their turn under the watchful eyes of their new comrades, their laughter mixing with the captive's stifled cries. They shared whispered advice, crude comments, and laughter, each act of penetration a step further into their new camaraderie.
After each recruit had proven himself, they returned to the flask, now sharing it with a sense of belonging. This time, the drink tasted of victory, of brotherhood. They exchanged high fives, back slaps, and handshakes, their bond forged in these shared acts.
As the night wore on, the ritual concluded with the recruits now standing taller, their laughter no longer nervous but confident, their camaraderie sealed not just with words but with actions. From this night, they were no longer boys; they were warriors, brothers, unified under the banner of Al-Nur.
The Victory Dance
After a successful raid, the young soldiers gathered in a clearing, their bodies sweaty from battle, their laughter loud under the night sky. They started a victory dance, their movements synchronized, each step a celebration. One by one, they took turns with a captive at the center, their penetrations forceful, each thrust accompanied by a cheer from their peers. Their bodies moved with the rhythm of their conquest, sweat and exertion mingling, their bond strengthening.
The Storytelling Circle
Around the campfire, the air was thick with smoke and the scent of sweat from the day's exertions. Young soldiers took turns recounting their exploits, each story more obscene than the last. One described how he had penetrated a captive so deeply, his laughter echoing as he detailed the sounds and sensations. Another mimicked the act, showing how he had forced his captive into an extreme position, their laughter at the reenactment a bonding ritual. Their camaraderie cemented by these shared confessions.
The Collective Punishment
A captive had dared to show defiance, and the young soldiers decided on a collective punishment to set an example. They formed a circle, their laughter a harsh contrast to the captive's fear. One by one, they engaged, each bringing his own style. One thrust with a force that made the captive's body shake, his laughter sharp as he boasted about his strength. Another used a slower, more torturous pace, his peers cheering his endurance, their hands clapping in rhythm with his movements.
Chapter 10.13: "Feet bare and unburdened"
The young soldiers gathered, their boots discarded, feet bare and unburdened by the day's march, unceremoniously placed upon the ground. Their penises brown, varying in size and shape, ranged from thick and dark to long and curved.
Captives were brought forth, their faces a mix of dread and resignation. The soldiers made them lie down, turning their bodies into human footrests, their eyes fixed on the sky as the soldiers rested their feet upon them, soles up.
The soldiers, their skin ranging from deep bronze to olive hues, gathered around, their bodies lean from the rigors of training, their feet bare and unceremoniously placed upon the ground. The first one, his eyes gleaming with excitement, approached a captive, his feet leaving slight imprints in the soft earth. "Show your respect," he commanded, his foot raised, the toes slightly splayed, revealing the soft, warm underside. The captive, under duress, leaned, his lips meeting the soldier's foot.
Among the soldiers, whose skin tones varied from deep bronze to olive, one approached with an eager glint in his eye, his feet leaving slight imprints in the earth. "Show your respect," he commanded, extending his foot, toes splayed to reveal their soft, warm underside. The captive, compelled, kissed the foot, the taste of earth and sweat mingling on his tongue. The soldier laughed, enjoying the sensation of his toes being sucked.
Another soldier, his skin a rich tan, his feet calloused from days of marching, placed his sole on a captive's chest, his toes wiggling playfully. His penis, dark and thick, hung heavily, a stark contrast to the captive's pale, trembling form beneath him. "Look at this," he taunted, pressing his foot down slightly, "you're nothing but a mat for my feet."
Another, with a lighter complexion and surprisingly soft feet, moved forward, his semi-erect penis casting a lighter shade against his skin. He straddled a captive's face, his feet framing the scene as he sneered, "You know what to do," guiding the captive's head with his foot towards his long, well-formed member.
The game evolved into a competition of sorts, they used their toes to press, to pinch. One soldier, with an impish look, used the ball of his foot to rub against a captive, his toes working skillfully. Next, they made the captives lie on their backs, their feet in the air. The soldiers took turns, their feet exploring the captives' bodies, pressing against sensitive areas, sometimes even forcing their feet between the captives' legs.
The act of oral penetration commenced, the captives forced to take it into their mouths, the soldiers' laughter filling the air as they watched their penises disappear into the captives' mouths. Each soldier had his own way; one with a curved, lighter penis used his feet to control the captive's head movements, his toes curling with each thrust. Another, whose member was shorter but incredibly thick, used his feet to spread the captive's legs, his laughter blending with the sounds of gagging.
One soldier, his skin a warm brown, his feet dusted with the day's dirt, would press his toes into a captive's mouth alongside his penis. It was brown as brown as his feet. A soldier with a particularly dark, almost black penis, laughed about how it was like "the night sky in your mouth".
As the ritual drew to a close, the soldiers' feet were now clean.
