Gay Erotic Stories

Chinese-POW-1

by Sha

I.

I can still clearly remember the day I was captured, even though it is now more than fifty years ago. I was just 18.

The summer rain had been pouring down heavily all morning and the ground had been transformed into a vast treacherous bog for miles around. By mid-afternoon our battalion’s tactical retreat, which had started the day before with such promise, had been halted as trucks, armour and horses had all been sucked into a hopeless struggle against the very earth itself. Neither I nor my comrades were in any position to help as we found that just the effort of walking exhausted us, the deep muddy earth clinging to our legs like the stinking arms of the dead pulling us down into hell.

What had started as a tactical manoeuvre had been transformed by the forces of nature into a dangerous trap. We were easy quarry for the Communists’ air power, and I prayed to heaven that the aircraft of the so-called People’s Liberation Army were out of range, or that they were unaware of our desperate situation. But heaven was either not listening that day, or it was too busy to bother with us.

I was vainly trying to pull my left leg from a knee-high muddy grip when I heard the engines. A faint distant drone at first, but my heart was already filling with a mortal dread. Then I saw them. There were six evil metal-clad vultures heading straight for us. Within seconds, I knew, their high-calibre machine guns would start spewing white hot death down upon my comrades and me. Within a minute or two I would be in the middle of a vast filthy abattoir, the brown mud united with the blood of men and horses - but would I be alive to see its horror?

I was sure my life would end on that turbid field in Hubei province. I threw myself face down onto the rancid ground and waited. The next minute seemed to last an hour and a million thoughts ran through my mind - I guess my life was flashing before me.

I recalled my infancy and childhood in Hong Kong, and my parents’ struggle to send their only son to a British-run school on my father’s modest salary as a clerk with a small American trading firm. I learned excellent English and did very well at school, winning the prize for the school’s best student. The Westerners, the ‘gwei-lo’, had given my family some modest degree of security in a China which had been in nightmarish turmoil from the day I was born. First the warlords, then the Japanese invasion, and now the struggle to keep the motherland free from the vast prison camp into which the Communists wanted to consign the whole Chinese people.

I talked about joining General Chiang Kai-Shek’s army the day after I completed my schooling. My mother begged me not to join the army. My father was trying to organise a scholarship for me to attend university in England - he wanted me to study engineering - and he told me that he did not want his only son killed in the endless Chinese wars.

But I was idealistic and full of patriotism, and I wanted to see China free, strong and independent. That was two years earlier and I had been 16 and I was immortal. I ran away to Shenzhen and joined General Chiang.

I was much better educated than the vast majority of General Chiang’s recruits and, notwithstanding my youth, I was made a lieutenant after a mere two week crash course at the officer training school. I was so proud. I remembered sending a photo to my parents of their 16 year old son in an officer’s uniform, hoping that I could bring a little happiness to them. I have that photograph still, which I recovered from my father’s estate. In a youthful hand I had written ‘Lieutenant Tam Hong-Sha, your loving son’. I knew that my parents would be angry, disappointed and, above all, fearful that I had run off to the army.

I grew up very fast. In the 18 months since joining the army I had seen things that a kid should never witness. Even now, I cannot bear to think or talk about them. Sometimes, though, I still dream. They are dreams which always cause me to wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and crying. On that day in 1948 in Hubei province, I was determined that I would either escape or die - I would not allow myself to be taken prisoner by the enemy.

I heard the terrifying roar of the aircraft engines bearing down on us and then the sound of their machine guns opening up. I pushed my face into the mud and covered my head and ears with my arms. There were scores of horrible human shrieks and the sound of hundreds or thousands of bullets tearing into the mud with an eerie oozing sound, followed by a satanic hissing as the mud boiled. I begged the gods to spare me. After that I remember that I lost control of my bladder and bowels. With hindsight’s benefit this was neither surprising nor a sign of cowardice. But I remember feeling deeply ashamed of myself at that moment - and then I passed out.

II.

I was awakened by a sharp pain in my ribs. I raised my head from the mud wiped the filth from my eyes, and saw the fuzzy image of a soldier standing over me. He was pointing his rifle at me and screaming something over and over. After a moment I heard what he was saying - ‘Stand up now and put your hands over your head!’.

I tried to raise myself up, but I was now stuck so fast in the mud that I couldn’t even lift my torso. The soldier’s screaming then became hysterical and he aimed the rifle straight at my head. I tried to explain my predicament, but my mouth was full of mud, and I could only sputter and cough. At that moment, another voice with a strange accent, called out in Chinese ‘Don’t shoot him, I want him alive’. I swivelled my head to get a glimpse of my saviour. He was a gwei-lo, but wearing a military uniform. I realised then, with sudden alarm, that the uniform belonged to the PLA.

He stode over to me, and ordered the Chinese soldier to help him lift me up. They each grabbed one of my shoulders, and with a loud squelching sound, I was ripped from the mud. I felt that I had been lifted from my grave.

I noticed that it was just getting dark, so I must have been lying there for about three hours.

The Chinese soldier frisked me for hidden weapons, and then the two of them half-dragged and half-carried me to a nearby vehicle which appeared to be a covered truck with tracks for handling the mud. They heaved me into the back of the truck where I fell with a painful thud. I struggled to my knees and looked around.

I was not alone. There were about twelve other survivors of the attack, some of whom I recognised. None of my friends were among them. They, too, were all covered in mud and most of them were wounded, some of them badly. There were also two vicious looking PLA guards armed with machine guns. One I guessed was about 25, short and muscular while the other was quite tall for a Chinese and about 30 years old and thin. By this time it was almost dark, and the truck roared to life and lurched forward causing me to topple over onto my back. One of the guards gestured me to seat myself on a long board on which the other uninjured prisoners were perched.

The guards told us there would be no talking, and the journey proceeded in silence for about one hour. On the way one of the wounded prisoners died, but the rest of us were forbidden from offering him any comfort.

When the truck finally stopped, it was dark. Those of us who were able to walk climbed out the back and I could see a long wooden hut with a light peeping through a window shutter. I was oddly reminded of a lighthouse.

There were four of us who could walk unassisted. All of us were very young, about 18 to 22. We were very frightened, though determined not to show it to each other or to our two guards. The guards ordered us into the hut.

We all walked over to the hut and through its open front door, the guards behind us pointing their guns at us. Inside was a large bare room lit by gas lamps. At the far end of the room was a plain table behind which was seated the same gwei-lo who had saved my life on the battlefield. He was still dressed in his PLA uniform, but I could now see that he was about 35 years old, very fair skinned with green eyes, high cheekbones and fair hair. I guessed he was a Russian, or perhaps from some other East European country.

He looked at the four of us who were made to line up in front of him. We were a pretty dismal sight. Four frightened young men, covered in filth, cold, hungry and thirsty. But we were the lucky ones. I also smelled like a sewer, and I found it difficult to walk or stand with any degree of dignity in my soiled trousers. I was grateful that the other three prisoners affected not to notice my condition; their pretence enabled me to salvage a little face. They were still my comrades after all.

The gwei-lo surveyed us. He addressed us softly in perfect, but strangely-accented, Chinese: “Remove your clothing”. We hesitated. He simply repeated the order, just as softly but this time with an element of quiet menace in his voice.We all began to take off our mud-caked uniforms. The gwei-lo looked at us intently and with an odd expression on his face - what seemed like a mixture of scientific detachment and enjoyment.

My three comrades stripped down to their underwear. I removed also my underpants (they had become unbearable) but left my undershirt on. I covered my sex organs with my hands. We were still filthy, the mud having seeped through to the skin.

The gwei-lo glared at us: “I meant ALL you clothing”, he hissed. We all hesitated again, just for a couple of seconds. But that was more than enough. One of the guards stepped forward, and with the butt of his rifle hit the lad next to me in the small of his back. He crumpled to the ground crying out in pain. The other guard ripped the boy’s underclothes off him, leaving him naked and writhing on the floor. The rest of us immediately removed our underwear, all covering our boyhood with our hands.

“That’s better”, said the gwei-lo. The guards lifted up the lad from the floor and made him stand upright back in line. “You will do exactly as I say without hesitation. Remember that your lives are completely in my hands”.

“Now, you are all to be cleaned up. After that you will learn what is to happen to you”.

III.

The guards led us into an adjoining room. There was located a makeshift shower consisting of a single canvas bag with a shower nozzle suspended from a hook on the ceiling. We were to take turns under this shower. When the water ran out one of the lads refilled it from a bucket. The guards watched us closely. The first lad under the shower looked about 22. He was given a bar of soap by the older of the two guards. The guard watched as the boy lathered himself.

“What’s your name?” demanded the older guard. “Private Wei Mun-Sim” answered the boy sheepishly. The guard said harshly, “wash behind your foreskin so that I can see you do it properly”. Sim blushed, but did as he was told. “That goes for all of you” barked the guard. I wondered why the guard had issued such a strange order, but I had no idea what lay in store for us.

I couldn’t help staring at Sim. I found myself thinking that there was a beauty in him. I had caught myself with such thoughts about other men from time to time in the Army, but had always brushed them aside. But there was someting really beautiful about Wei. He was about 5’7” tall, possessing a wiry frame and a smooth hairless body except for a small wispy pubic patch and traces of black hair on the lower legs. His eyes were especially beautiful - almond shaped. I remember staring at his flaccid cock as he cleaned it and noticed his small perfectly smooth balls. Just at that moment I started to have a powerful erection, and I quickly tried to cover myself with my hands.

The older guard, however, noticed me. He walked over to me and knocked my hands away; I let them drop to my sides. He laughed loudly and shouted to his friend to look. They both looked at my naked groin with its rampant hard-on. The attention I was now receiving from everyone in the shower room didn’t cause my cock to go soft. On the contrary it got harder and jutted out engorged at sharp angle almost parallel to my torso, my cockhead fully released from its foreskin. I had never felt so embarrassed and confused. The older guard took hold of my cockhead with his thumb and forefinger, pulled it down so that it pointed at the floor, and then let go. My cock jumped back up so that it hit my abdomen with a loud smack, wobbled a couple of times and then resumed its earlier posture. Both the guards roared with laughter.

The younger guard then came over with a huge smirk on his face, told me to spread my feet apart, bend over and grab my ankles. I obeyed instantly, trembling. He walked around behind me and I felt him fondle my cock and balls for a second or two before placing something small in my arse. The two guards roared again. Looking up from between my ankles I could see that he had stuck the long stem of a yellow flower into my arsehole, so that it protruded about six inches from me.

“Stand up” the younger guard snapped. I did so, bringing my feet together at the same time. The older guard hurried out of the shower room while everyone else stared at me. My erection wouldn’t go away and, to make matters worse, I felt myself blushing all over. “He looks like a flower pot, all red and yellow!” guffawed the guard. The other naked boys didn’t laugh, they just stared slack-jawed.

The older guard then came back in with a camera, and ordered me to stand sideways to him. He then took about six or eight photos of me with my erect cock sticking out in one direction and the flower sticking out the other way. At one point my cock began to droop, but the younger guard grabbed my boyhood and, with a half dozen stokes, pumped it back up to full strength.

The older guard ordered the other three naked lads to continue showering and to do a good job. While they obeyed the younger guard grabbed Sim, soaking wet and shivering, by the elbow and dragged him over to me. “You like this one, huh?” the younger guard demanded.

I didn’t answer, but just stared at the floor for a couple of seconds. Just then, the younger guard struck me a powerful blow across the face with the back of his hand and I spun around falling onto the floor on my back. “Get up!”, he screamed furiously. I struggled to my feet. “Answer all my questions when I ask them, or next time it’ll be a bayonet!” he yelled. “You like this boy?” - it was a demand, not a question.

“Yes”, I answered - I could taste blood inside my mouth and the flower had fallen out of my arse, but my cock was still hard.

This time, the older guard grabbed my balls and twisted them violently, until I yelled in pain. “Yes, SIR” the older guard yelled. “Yes, SIR” I replied.

The younger guard seized Sim by the hair and forced him onto his knees in front of me. “Suck his cock!” the younger guard ordered. Sim didn’t hesitate; he was as fightened as I was. He swallowed my cock and began quickly sucking, while the older guard resumed taking photos from many different angles. Sim’s face was twisted into a grimace, but at first I wasn’t sure if it was because he was disgusted by his task, or because I had not yet showered and my cock was still covered in mud and dried piss. Then I noticed that his cock, too, was getting hard.

“Don’t cum in his mouth - pull out and cum onto his face” the older guard ordered. “Yes, sir” I gasped. After few few moments the younger guard inserted two of his fingers roughly into my arse, and I could feel myself coming quickly to climax, so I pushed Sim’s head away from my cock and instantly shot a load of cum onto his face, much of it landing in his wet hair. The older guard took a lot more pictures of us while my cock slowly went soft and my cum slid down Sim’s face. I was told to lick all the cum of Sim’s face and hair. He then ordered both of us to shower.

After we had all showered the two guards ordered the four us to line up and march back into the office where we had earlier been ordered to strip. Being marched around together naked like that made me feel even more humiliated.

The gwei-lo was still there, still seated behind his desk. We all lined up about six feet in front of him. The older guard ordered, “Put your hands behind your heads and place your feet wide apart“. We obeyed, and the gwei-lo gave us all a good long look, taking particular notice of our naked crotches. Sim, who had not cum inside the shower room, still had a partial erection which caused the gwei-lo to chuckle.

“Are they properly cleaned?” the gwei-lo asked the guards. The younger guard nodded, pointed to me, and said “this one likes having his cock sucked - the boy with the hard-on did him in the shower room”.

The gwei-lo nodded and smiled. “It seems we may have at least one, then”.

“Well, now” said the gwei-lo in his strangely accented Chinese, “the time has come for you boys to learn something about why you are here, and what will be expected of you”.

TO BE CONTINUED