continuation of Inpatient

lt took three attempts to break Erich. Then finally he lay perfectly still, like the body on the coroner’s table, his breath inaudible, his eyes glazed over, dazed and so very tired. His forehead was wet with sweat, strands of blond hair sticking to it, and his lips were crusted with milk and blood and puke. The guards were standing by, lined up like little school boys, as once again the doctor fed the tube down Erich’s throat. His gagging reflex gone, it slid over his sore flesh and down into his stomach. She poured milk into the funnel and removed the tube again. He was barely awake. The doctor looked at her watch and counted some minutes to ensure ingestion. Once she was satisfied by the amount of time passed, she nodded to her stout helpers.

“Very good, you sweet thing,” she said and squeezed Erich’s cheeks in a grandmotherly way, “that wasn’t so terrible now, was it?” And turning to the strongest guard, she ordered to return him to his cell.

The big one, who didn’t look very bright, picked Erich up and like a young bride he carried the light body in his arms, down empty corridors, past iron doors and back to the little rebel’s cell. In that tiny room the light was electrical and harsh, there were no windows, and no bed, and they were alone now, the guard and the prisoner. The Russian laid Erich down on the floor. He closed the heavy door and returned to the prisoner, who remained collapsed as he had placed him, too weak to move of his own accord. The Russian sat down, squatting next to Erich. He patted him on the head with his big heavy hand.

“You’re very pretty,” he said in broken German, “very little and very pretty.”

Erich slowly opened his eyes. There was an expression of uncertainty and unease in them. He was terribly exhausted, but he dimly understood that something was wrong, he was nauseous and it was not just due to the previous ordeal and the liquid in his stomach and guts. 

The Russian’s hand was still on his forehead, caressing him with heavy strokes like a good dog. “Pretty blond boy,” he said and smiled down on him and then he grabbed Erich by the shoulders and turned him on his stomach and straddled him with his big thighs. Now Erich understood the nature of the situation. He groaned under the weight of the man, he made an attempt to escape, but he could not make his body move and his muscles twitched weakly.

The Russian pulled down the prisoner’s slacks, which were much too big on his tiny, starved frame.

The Russian murmured, “pretty boy, good boy.” And he ran his hands over the exposed skin, the curve of his buttocks and the soft skin between them. An unreasonable, disproportionate panic got hold of Erich, when he felt the probing fingers, but his numb body wouldn’t obey him and the fear ran wild it, like electric current trapped within. Even speaking was terribly hard and he trembled with each word. “Please don’t,” he whispered, his voice coarse and breaking.

“Quiet,” the Russian said and he hit Erich on the back of the head so hard the sudden contact with the floor cracked one of his teeth and the taste of blood on his gums was fresh. As he lay panting and dizzy from the blow, the Russian unbuckled his own trousers. He was only half-hard and stroked himself to erection with one hand while his other proceeded to fondle Erich’s arse, squeezing the little fat that was left on it.

“So cute,” he said.

Erich could smell the pungent stench of his cock and then he felt it on his skin, thick and hot and slick with precum. For a moment he hoped that this would be enough to satisfy the guard, just to rub his need on him, to hump him a bit, a personal relief and gesture of humiliation, like pissing in his face. Then he pulled him up by the hips and thrust into him. Erich cried out. The Russian hit him again, like a misbehaving beast of burden. The small body wanted to resist his assault, it trembled, the limbs twitched, the mouth emitted low whines, but he broke him in, inch by inch, with cruel determination, somehow making that fat cock fit, stuffing his guts and tearing him open. He leaned over Erich’s shoulder, panting in his ear, embracing him, covering the small body whole, pressing him flat on the floor, like lovers. “Bubi, you’re so tight,” he said breathlessly and, grunting like a pig, he slid his cock in him all the way. Crushed and impaled and sick with pain, Erich threw up in spasms. The Russian moaned in pleasure and kissed him wetly on the neck, whispering words of endearment for the pretty boy. And he fucked him hard and ruthless for some excruciating minutes. Afterwards he left the priced prisoner lying flat on his face in a puddle of sick, noticing with some pride that his come too was running out of the man. It didn’t occur to him to cover up his crime as he thought anyone who could come across the evidence would take his own share.