EXTRACT FOR
The Pilot's Surrender
(Jack Brighton)

     The pilot was manhandled into the dungeon which was illuminated by flaming torches fixed along the stone walls. He looked around the room with trepidation; his eyes first absorbing the wealth of equipment on display - scary looking stuff which may well have had a role to play in the Spanish Inquisition from the antiquity of its appearance. There were stocks of varying design and a rack which looked perfectly functional, a thick post with hooks that was clearly meant for whipping and an ominous looking large wheel.

      Beyond this the pilot noted that the walls were adorned with a range of instruments interspersed between the torches; hanging from wrought iron hooks were whips, canes, paddles, floggers, straps, and crops of every description. There were open shelves at the bottom of the walls containing even more hideous instruments of pain. One wall was different, however, for in the centre of that, with a torch to each side, was fixed a vertical X-frame rack which looked very frightening indeed. 

      Compelled by a morbid curiosity, the pilot glanced up to the ceiling. It was criss-crossed by thick wooden beams from which hung a variety of chains, shackles, hooks, ropes, and pulleys. There was also a metal bar on a chain with handcuffs at each end, and it was to here that the pilot was directed. 

      One after the other his wrists were cuffed to the bar. The soldiers kicked his legs apart and shackled them at the ankles to metal rings that were cemented in the floor. Then the bar was hoisted using a pulley so that the pilot's arms were stretched painfully upwards and the metal cuffs dug into his wrists. His feet were raised slightly off the ground so that only the toe of his boots made contact with the dungeon floor.   

      The German soldiers leered at him sadistically as they got him into position, and gratuitously groped his body as they set about their task. Hands clutched roughly at the swell of his firm buttocks and fingers prodded into the separating crack; his chest was viciously fondled, his nipples severely pinched; and his crotch was groped at, his balls agonisingly squeezed and his cock was thoroughly fondled ??" a cock that despite the roughness of his treatment, and the threat of much rougher to come, was straining within the confines of his RAF uniform trousers, standing to salute his foes.

      With eyes wide open, the pilot watched as the two soldiers finally backed away and the Captain came to stand before him; pure malice sat on his despicably handsome face. 

      WHACK!

      The blow came suddenly. Like a flash the pilot was struck hard across the cheek by the flat of the Captain's hand, his head jolted to the side. 

      WHACK!

      He was still reeling from the first strike when a second hit him equally as hard, a backhanded blow to the other side spinning his head in the opposite direction. He could feel a trickle of warm blood running down from his nose onto his lip then he tasted its ferric saltiness in his mouth.

      Then a hand grabbed hold of his shirt collar and pulled violently at the material ripping it apart. The Captain tore at the shirt pulling it from the pilot's body until the Englishman was left naked to the waist.

      The Captain burned his captive enemy with the intensity of his gaze as he leered at the pilot's naked torso ??" the smooth swell of his toned and rounded pectorals and the contoured rippled stomach with a thin band of dark hair that ran from his navel to disappear teasingly inside his air force trousers. The Captain traced this band downwards with the tip of his finger, continuing over the path which was hidden by material, enjoying the bulge that he found which so betrayed the pilot's deviant nature. Then the Captain grinned as he flicked another finger across a hardening English nipple, eliciting a soft moan of further betrayal.

      "Yes, English dog, who has dared to bomb our people; I think we shall start here with the exacting of revenge."

      Abandoning the pilot's bloated crotch, the Captain focused his attention fully on the nipples. He pulled and twisted the pilot's little buds until they were hard and ripe and jutting out from his pecs.

      "Bring me the clips!" the Captain ordered once satisfied with the effect. 

      One of the soldiers sprang to obey, fetching a box from one of the shelves which he held out for his superior. The Captain selected the first two items; a pair of long thin clips which he attached to the pilot's tender erect nipples, angling the clips outwards horizontally so they pointed away from each other. He pulled on the clips to test them for tightness, stretching the nipples to the sides as he yanked at the captured buds.

      The pilot yelped and grimaced, he clamped his jaws shut as he tried to embrace the pain, and maintain his dignity by not pleading for mercy. 

      "Oh yes, nice and tight," the Captain said as he continued to tug on the clips, to be sure beyond sure they would be up to the task he had in mind.

      Next he attached a thin chain to each of the clips. The weight was not great but still enough to pull the clips slightly downwards and twist the pilot's nipples around. He winced again at this added torment. 

      From the box, the Captain then brought out a shiny metal sphere about the size of a table tennis ball - small, but it was solid and looked alarmingly heavy. The sphere had a hook which the Captain held it by, raising it to the pilot's face for him to see before he lowered it to his chest. He then took the chains which hung from the nipple clips and linked them to the hook on the ball. 

      For a few moments the pilot experienced a little relief as the Captain bore the weight of the ball and chains in his hand. But that relief was short lived like so many things in war, as slowly the Captain lowered the hand that held the metal sphere, and the nipple clips started to take some of the combined weight of the chains and the ball. The pilot hissed his breath inwards as the chains pulled on his nipples and twisted the clips further and further round. The more the Captain lowered his metal supporting palm, the more weight the chains bore and the more the pilot's nipples were twisted by the clips. 

      Slowly, slowly, slowly the Captain lowered the metal ball; and he watched in delight as the pilot's handsome face become etched with agony as gravity worked its painful force on his torturous nipple clips, twisting his little buds as the clips dipped downwards and stretching the skin that covered his pectorals to an agonising degree. 

      Waves of pain flowed from the pilot's nipples to explode in his brain in a galaxy of sparkling light. He breathed in panting gasps as the Captain inched his palm lower and lower, past the navel and once again tracing the thin band of stomach hair. Then the palm was turned around; the full weight of the metal ball was now the pilot's to bear as his own balls were groped by a strong Germanic hand. The pilot let out another panting gasp at this agony and ecstasy combined.

      Seconds later, the German hand was removed from the young Englishman's crotch, and once again it took hold of the metal sphere. The pilot knew an agony of relief as the weight was removed then an agony of torment as the sphere was suddenly dropped and his balls were grasped and squeezed like in a vice. The combined pain was sharp and blinding and the pilot let out a mighty yell, then he bit his lip as he struggled with this new torture. It was agony, a torment of hellish creation; but the pilot valiantly struggled to overcome it and absorb the waves of hideous pain radiating from his nipples and his balls. He was an RAF pilot, and dignity and honour demanded it.