7/X

”Out? No, you’ll be grateful he gave it to you, and you’ll thank me afterwards too”, the Jones guy says, with a soft voice laced with malice. He’s given his position at holding the pilot’s quivering leg to someone else, and  stands above him, stroking simself through his uniform trousers.
”Respecting authority and the chain of command is the key, but I guess a Nazi dog like yourself would not understand that...” He unbuckles his belt and frees his member that, to the pilot’s horror, seems to be even larger than the first guy’s. He strokes it, slowly, relishing on the terror in the pilot’s eyes.
”A nation must submit to God, a man must submit to his nation, and a bitch must submit to a man. It is the natural order of things.”
”You’re… not a man, just… just a scared little son of a whore”, the pilot pants, terror making his voice shaky and breathless, but eyes turned towards the smirking bastard. That sparks a fresh flash of hatred in the man, and he strikes  his palm across the pilot’s cheek.
”Say that about my mother again and I’ll cut your godless tongue out,” he spits.
”But what more could I expect? You’re just a rabid animal, never been put to your place. Save the rod…” A new strike makes the pilot’s ears ring, and the soldier’s palm lingers on his face for a while longer. The pilot snaps his head to the side, trying to catch the bastard’s skin between his teeth, but misses by an inch.
”Enough with the preaching, Jones! Get into it already, your sermons won’t turn him into a sacred virgin!” someone hollers, and the man’s cheeks turn red with anger.
”Think I don’t…. know that?” He rubs the head of his cock against the pilot’s twitching hole, and the pilot whines audibly with pain and terror. It’s too big, it’s never going to fit without stretching and tearing him further. He can already feel his insides burning up with the nauseating wetness.
”You’re… a godless degenerate anyway… an invert whore, abominably eager to be violated... Ain’t a prayer that’d fix that”, he mutters, pushing inside. The entry is like a punch in the gut, making the pilot gasp and contract around the invasion.
”No”, he whines under his breath, eyes screwing shut. The only way to make the pain less searing seems to be to fight against his every instinct and relax his cramped muscles. The pilot tries to breathe, forget what’s happening between his legs and concentrate on the air that flows through his hoarse, burning throat.
”Oh yes…. Submission is a virtue”, the Jones bastard whispers and buries himself deep inside the pilot’s sticky, feverish heat, hands grasping the damp front of the pilot’s uniform. The pilot whimpers, feeling his soft, squishy insides giving way for the intrusion. The enemy’s cock is so deep inside him he can see the violent thrusts through his abdominal wall. He can’t even turn his gaze away from the terrible, hypnotic sight.
”Lo and behold, you’re right, sarge”, the asshole Jones moans, following the pilot’s gaze.
”A real freak of nature, an abomination. That’s not… That’s not how a man’s ought to work.” But whatever the bastard says, the pilot can tell the situation is just exciting him further, making him pound harder against his belly and stretching his aching insides.
”Why are you even doing this?” The pilot cries, an electric jolt of panic running through him again. He feels like he’s about to burst, a pressure building up inside him and making his muscles clench. He can feel the terrible sploshing inside him, a vile feeling that’s making him dirtier than all the blood, piss and bile on him.
”Why? To teach you a lesson, of course. To… make an honest bitch out of you”, the Jones bastard grunts, putting his hand on the pilot’s bulging belly. He’s taking it slow, relishing the moment, feeling the outlines of his cock through the quivering tissue.
”You brought this onto yourself, you invert Jezebel! You should thank the sarge and I, and ask for forgiveness.”
Tears are streaming down the pilot’s face. He doesn’t feel sorry, he doesn't even understand what he should apologize for. He was just sitting tied to a chair and these bastards came in and started hurting him, even though he’d done everything they asked before. He can just barely breathe, the bastard Jones stabbing him again and again to a place deep inside him that feels like a raw nerve end. Even though he doesn’t want to, he gasps out loud, unable to hide the discomfort any better. This seems to please his enemy, who starts to palm his sore belly again.
”What are you made of, anyway? No normal man fits on another man’s cock like that”, he  pants. The pilot doesn’t know what to say. He just knows that he feels very badly like passing out all the sudden, more so than ever in an accelerating plane. His skin turns slippery with sweat and the feel of the enemy’s cock violating his insides fills him with a hot, anticipating dread.
”No, no no no”, the pilot gasps, trashing against the horrible feeling, but it just gets worse. He can see his own skin turning mottled, with red spots blossoming on his exposed stomach like faint bruised. It’s not awfully painful, he notices distantly. More like heat. But the intensity of the feeling takes his breath away, and his head swims.
”See?! That ain’t God’s working! They are going against the natural order, these fascists and atheists and sodomites!” The bastard Jones has his hands on the pilot’s shivering body, pushing his coat and shirt out of the way to expose more of the reddening skin and shivering body.
”It’s told… It’s told to us in the Word that we’ll see this, all this and more... before the end comes. You should repent if there’s any decency left in you”, the soldier spits, striking his palm against the pilot’s cheek when his head is about to lull on the side. The pilot lifts his glassy gaze slowly, struggling to breathe.
”I’m… I’m sorry… you’re such an asshole”, he wheezes. The Jones bastard looks at him, comprehension and anger rising on his face.
”Truly you are an abomination!” He rams his cock to that one spot that makes the pilot’s spine feel like it’s catching fire, and grabs the pilot’s hair.
”The Devil must have… made you like that… to taunt us.” The soldier strokes himself roughly through the pilot’s abdomen, feeling the heat of the man’s displaced, tender guts along his member.
The pilot’s vision goes dark all the sudden. This must be death, he thinks. He doesn’t feel anything any more, he’s weightless and floating in space. He’s so thankful he could cry, he’s done it, he’s managed to die after all… His senses come back screaming. He can feel Everything. His skin dissolves, his limbs are on fire and his nerves are bursting like artillery fire. His insides clench so hard it hurts and he screams, a long wail that just keeps coming out against his will. And suddenly, it stops. He looks at his body slowly, just to find it more or less in the same condition it already was, but the red splotches are fading and his heart feels like beating again, and the Jones bastard is laughing at him. A disgusted, bitter laugh, before the man hits him yet again, hard enough to make blood splash from his nose.
”He’s… out of it… Beyond salvation… the fucking invert whore… likes it! How dare you do that? I’m a… christian man! I have… I have a fiancee, for God’s sake! Lord have mercy...” the Jones bastard grunts, ramming into the pilot’s slack body again and again. He continues muttering something under his breath, a prayer maybe.  The pilot shudders, fighting against his urge to curse and spit at the pathetic bastard. If he does, this will take longer, though. So he closes his eyes, derives the Yankees from the pleasure of seeing him struggle, and breathes, imagining the night sky.
”Goddamn you Nazi sodomite!” the Jones bastard exclaims, burying his cock deep in the pilot’s gut. The pilot lets out a broken little cry, feeling how the man spills inside him, filling him up further with the disgusting flood that burns in the cuts and tears like acid.
The Yankee gets up fast, tugging up his trousers and straightening his collar.
”Despicable”, he hisses, leaning to a wall and lighting a cigarette.
The pilot starts to cry. His belly hurts worse than before  and his nose is bleeding profusely again.
”What do you even want?” he whimpers.
”You really don’t know?” the mean-looking Yankee asks, patting the pilot’s cheek.
”We just want to see you break.”