Oberführer Turned My Life AroundbyCoxswain©
I'm old enough now that I can tell this story. I planned never to confess it, but now I'm 98, so what the hell.
In early 1944 I was 35, a US Army medic with our forces in Italy. I have Type AB-negative blood, the rarest type, and a flash message came in to our unit asking me to give blood for some government official injured in London in one of the V-2 rocket-bomb attacks. Sure, what the hell. They decided that, considering the problems of preserving the blood, keeping it safe, etc, etc, flying me to London for the donation would be simpler.
It was an adventure. A ride in a fast transport to London, a quick ride to the hospital, the blood donation -- I think they took a teense more than usual to be sure they had enough -- and, lightheaded, I was on my way to a barracks for a night's sleep. The next morning, still lightheaded -- and I was beginning to think, goddamn, what did they do to me? -- I was on my way back to my unit.
The return flight was different, though. As I waited to climb on the plane, the mass of military gathered around the place amazed me. Planes, trucks, jeeps, and a sea of soldiers crammed the airfield. Something is up.
When the crew put down the ladder for us to climb into the plane, a soldier with stars on his shoulders passed by me -- Damn, a general! -- but the strangest thing was that looking in the man's face was like looking in a mirror. He was about my age, my height, and my build. Wow. We looked at each other for only an instant before he climbed into the plane, but I stood there in amazement. I wondered if he might be some long-lost relative or somethin, somebody with some inherited family looks.
I was nervous. Don't like airplanes. When they're not firing machinegun bullets at you or dropping bombs on you, they're falling out of the sky for one reason or another and killing the occupants -- an observation plane in our unit fell out of the sky and killed the pilot just because of some glitch in the carburetor.
So I really shit when the plane suddenly started taking evasive maneuvers, swerving and jinking, throwing us all around -- and out the window I spotted a single ME-109, a rogue Messerschmidt in this part of the sky for God knows why but taking advantage of the coincidence.
The next thing I knew, cannon rounds ripped through the plane, it was on fire, and we were falling out of the sky! I hung on for dear life! With a loud explosion, the plane felt like it collapsed around me, and everything went black!
I learned later that I survived because on its way down, the plane struck a nearly vertical mountainside, then treetops and a gradually leveling-out mountain slope, slowing the wrecked plane rather than disintegrating it in a single, one-point smash.
I was in bad shape. Bleeding. Losing consciousness. I could hold on only long enough to drag myself out of the wreckage. I could smell gas, and I was afraid of burning to death -- which was funny. I knew I would be dead in a few minutes from loss of blood, anyway.
Everything went black again.
When I came to again, I was in a bed with clean, white sheets. I checked my arms and legs -- all there. My head ached, and I fingered a bandage over my forehead. I wonder who found me and how I got here.
Then I looked up at the wall. It held a flag with a swastika.
A nurse came into the room and placed a tea tray over me, and on it she placed an ornate china teapot, a matching cup and saucer, and a small pitcher of cream. To my astonishment, she carefully poured me a cup of tea, smiled, and left the room.
As I took my first sip of the tea, the door opened, and in stepped a man in a black SS uniform. The man was big. A tall guy a good 6' 6", and I guessed him a good 250 pounds. He had a square, handsome face with a broad forehead, blue eyes under shaggy blond eyebrows, and a narrow nose. He wore a monocle! -- god, he really is a German! -- Thin lips in a narrow jaw made his mouth look small and somehow cruel, like the mouth of a piranha.
"General Phillips! Welcome to Schloss MännerTor."
I blinked. What did he say?
"We were pleased, Herr General, to find you alive. Unfortunately, the other occupants of your airplane were not so lucky."
Ohmigod! He thinks I'm --
"We know the reason for your hurried flight to Nordafrika, Herr General." He smiled. "And we would be interested in whatever information a man who has attained such a distinguished rank at such a young age could share with us . . . about the Allied attack on the Reich in France."
"I know nothing." This will be easy. No matter what they do, I can't tell what I don't know.
"Of course. I would expect you to say nothing less, Herr General." He smiled. Like a rattlesnake. "Please accept our hospitality and enjoy your stay." He left the room.
What is this place? Where am I? I got out of bed and looked out the window. Woods. Forest all around. Hell, this could be anywhere from France to Greece. How am I going to get out of here?
I moved to the door and tried the knob. It was not locked! I looked out. The hallway was empty. Damn, I can get out of here right now! But all I had on was my underwea. I went back into the room and searched the closet. Nothing. Under the bed. Nothing. In the drawers of a dresser near the window. Nothing.
Just then the door opened and Von Teuer walked in again. "Ah, I see you are feeling better, Herr General. Good to see you -- how you say -- 'up and about.'" He walked into the room, and six mammoth soldiers followed him.
I crawled back into the bed. Von Teuer took a seat in the chair and pulled it closer. "You are a very interesting case for us, Herr General. With you we do not wish to 'damage the goods,' as you say." He smiled and leaned back on the chair.
"With you we are going to use a more 'humane' technique. You will be turned into a homosexual. And as such a demented form, you will find yourself more . . . shall we say . . . "cooperative."
No! That's not possible! Turn me into a homosexual? No! I've got a wife at home! I have two children! I've never had a single interest in men! But I was scared. "You are making a mistake," I said carefully. "I am not a general. I am James Dotal, US Army medic, serial number 18815841."
"Of course, General. I, too, would say as much. But we are past such foolishness now, ja?" He turned to the big soldiers. "Nehmen Sie die Kleidung dieses Mannes heraus!"
With that, the soldiers grabbed my arms and legs, pinning me down. I struggled, but they had secured me well -- "Moment, bitte!" Von Teuer barked -- the soldiers froze.
He reached down and groped my crotch. "Ja, gut," he muttered. "You are a good subject, Herr General." He hefted my balls through the cloth. "A good -- how you say -- 'bulge,' nein?"
He stepped back and nodded at the soldiers, who yanked down the waistband, pulling my underwear down, over my knees, and off. I was naked. I glanced down and went beet-red with embarrassmen! Von Teuer's gropings had given me a partial erection! Damn, how humiliating!
"Ach, ja, you see? Already you have the little interest, nein?"
God, I was ashamed!
"Welcome to the world of der Naturalismus, the nudism, Herr General. From now on, this is your uniform -- the air. For your training, the soldaten assigned to you will wear the same uniform, ja?" He motioned to the guards, all of whom began to remove their uniforms.
I was stunned.
The guard nearest me was big. Easy 6' 1" and 200 pounds. He had a broad, handsome face with a smooth, boyish forehead and brown hair, but my attention was drawn to his body as he peeled away the layers of uniform -- the first time I'd ever seen a naked Nazi.
Big, broad shoulders. Powerful, like a weightlifter or somethin. A big, muscular chest covered with a thatch of coarse, brown hair. The guy was really built -- hard, rounded pecs with nipples maybe 3 inches across and sticking out like pencil erasers. Lats giving his torso a hooded-cobra look. The guy was a brick shit-house, and over everything was a dense snarl of brown hair.
I glanced down. He had a cock that made me blink. Damn! It was at least 6" still soft, a big, fat thing jutting out from a big, snarled, coarse thatch of brown hair. Veins and skin textures contoured it, making it bumpy, and it ended in a streamlining foreskin at the tip that almost covered his red cockhead -- but not quite -- forming a large, dark hole like a giant eye looking up at me.
I looked around. The other soldiers were rapidly getting naked, and every one of them was an incredible example of well-developed manhood. I wondered if they had assembled the German national soccer team to guard me.
I was naked in a room full of naked men. Only Von Teuer wore clothing, and when he left, I was alone in a sea of male flesh. This is not so bad. Just like being in a shower room. I can deal with this.
But it was a little harder than I thought. No doors were locked to me. I could wander anywhere I wanted. In fact, I had to walk to the German garrison mess hall for my meals, and I had to go to the German Army latrine and showers.
Always naked. Only shower shoes. Always accompanied by my six naked Supermen.
But something about it -- something about going naked all day, day after day, feeling my ramrod bouncing back and forth as I walked, desperately trying to hide an erection when one occurred -- grew too much to handle.
I finally gave it up as hopeless, and I relaxed, strutting about with a hard cock whenever one came to me -- and that kept me constantly thinking about sex. Day by day I grew hornier than I had ever been, and finally I was dying for a few moments of privacy so I could jack off.
My guards were much less restrained. They were constantly stroking themselves, very often stopping for a moment, rigid, panting, to shoot a jet of semen into the air. At any moment four of the six had a huge, magnificent erection. They were big. Bigger than mine. It got to the point I was a little sheepish. Although I was older, I felt like a little boy around them.
One evening as we sat in my room, my guards lolling on their bunks, some of them stroking big hardon, one of them said, "Why you not make the hand-pleasure? It is a long time now for you, nein? Go ahead. It is permitted. No one will look at you."
Something about that invitation turned me on. Yes, I was horny. I hadn't had sex with a woman or jacked off since before the flight to London. Feeling myself blush, I reached down to my long-unused battering ram.
"Ja, that is it! Go ahead. Make the hand-pleasure!"
I let myself go, stroking my grateful dong in short, sharp, violent strokes, banging against my groin with passion. I glanced around the room. Twelve eyes were riveted on me. No one will look at me, huh?
Something about those beady eyes, knowing a half-dozen big men were watching me like perverted voyeurs, made me even hotter. I closed my eyes in a rhapsody of pleasure as the blessed torture reached a peak. My foreskin flapped back and forth as I went over the falls, setting my whole body on fire. I spread my legs apart and could not hold back a blissful groan.
At the peak of my ecstasy, in the moment of insanity, a hand quickly pulled open my fingers, and a second hand gripped my cock, continuing my orgasm -- and lengthening it by the very sensation of a strange hand beating my meat. I opened my eyes.
"I am Privat Bayer, Herr General." He squeezed my still-buzzing cock. "This is gut, ja?"
What could I say? I let out a big sigh. "Ja, das ist gut."
That opened the can of worms -- that is, I was suddenly in a world of worms, hard worms that rubbed against me. From then on the guards stroked me every time I got even the beginning of an erection, keeping me constantly aroused, always inviting me to reciprocate.
Once again, I blushed to have a naked man jacking my crank while I stood in line in the mess hall with 50 or more German soldiers in uniform nearby. No one seemed to care, though, and after days of swatting their hands away, I gave up. I jacked off -- or was jacked off -- at all hours of the day and night, always in public. At least eight times a day.
Since all I had to do was be a prisoner -- wander here, wander there, go to meals, read a book in the library -- I was more and more unable to keep thoughts of sex out of my mind. The more my guards jacked me off, the more I came to have favorites, enjoying one's technique over another's.
Finally one afternoon I reciprocated. One of the guards walking beside me got a hardon. I glanced down at it, and as I did, it swelled big enough that his foreskin slid sinuously back, revealing a fat, glowing-red cockhead shiny from his juices. Somehow the image stuck in my head. I continued to look as he reached down to stroke it, moving his hand from the snarl of blond hair at its base, flopping the foreskin over the head again. I couldn't tear my eyes away. It was haunting, hypnotic . . . commanding.
He caught my look. "You like, ja? I am Corporal Ungefär." He took my hand and placed it on his prick. It was hot. Throbbing. God, I can't close my fingers around it!
Damn, I was hot! I let myself go. I stroked it the way I did myself: short, sharp strokes, and -- hey, I'm good! -- he closed his eyes, stood up stiff and straight, and bang! He shot some damned admirable spurts of cum. I was impressed. High in the air. As high as my chest. And far -- a good three or four feet!
I did that! I turned him on! I congratulated myself. Natural talent! I came by it honestly. I had been beating the meat since the age of seven, when I wandered into the garage and saw my father stroking himself with his right hand, a picture of a naked woman in the other. I tried it myself while I watched him, and to my astonishment, a feeling suddenly built up in me that I could not control, and overcome by a tidal wave of pleasure, I fell down, stumbling into a case of beer bottles.
When I crawled to my feet again, my father was gone. I never caught him masturbating again, but his legacy remained with me. From then on I choked my chicken at least once a day, even after I was married.
Corporal Ungefär was breathing hard. "Ach, ja," he sighed. "You make the good hand-pleasure! I want you for do me in future."
That gave me a strange pride, and that cut the ribbon for my debut as the house jacker. From then on all my guards wanted me to "do" them. Again, I was terribly embarrassed when the bastards put their hard cocks in my hands when we were out among the other German soldiers or the medical staff -- but no one paid much attention. The German soldiers looked on with mild interest, but no one stared.
I got used to it. Soon my days were almost nonstop masturbation -- either getting it or (more often) giving it. And the giving and getting grew together. While I was jacking off one guard, another was giving me the business.
One day while I stood watching Privat Schmidt trembling, barely able to stand as I jacked him while we waited in line in the mess hall, suddenly I felt something wet and warm envelop my own erection. Astonished, I jerked my cock back out of Privat Bayer's mouth!
From kneeling on the mess hall floor between my legs, he looked up at me with surprise. He reached out and gripped my hard cock again and pressed his lips against it. I looked around. A few German soldiers were watching us. Most were intent on their food.
Modesty was futile. It was ridiculous to feel any shame here. For the hundredth time I let myself go.
Bayer opened his mouth wide and worked his lips over my grateful manhood. I relaxed and let him suck, one hand on his head, guiding him -- the other continuing my hand-job on Schmidt. Soon the magic began -- I was breathing in hot, rapid gasps, and I got one motherfucker of an orgasm! Every cell in my body was on fire.
Bayer's blowjob turned me into a statue of solid male exaltation. My only connection to solid earth was my throbbing ramrod plugged into the naked soldier's mouth. In a daze, seeing red, my dick sputtering my jism like I was cumming for the first time. I lost my balance and fell against Bayer, then to the floor.
When I got up, I heard applause from the entire mess hall. Then I really did blush! My guards smiled proudly, and uniformed soldiers clapped me on the back. Somehow I had reached a threshold.
Late that night, awake in my bunk, I couldn't stop thinking about Bayer's blowjob. Damn. Better than any woman's. He knew what to do and when. And where. My cockhead still buzzed from the electric tongue-swipes he gave me at the moment of takeoff.
I looked over at him. In the moonlight and the light from the hallway outside, I could see him. He lay on his bunk stroking his magnificent cock. At least 10". Like a hooded cobra rising from the grassy brown swamp of his cockhair, capped with a wide, flaring nail-head of a cockhead that made it look like a giant mushroom.
I was horny. Hungry. Craving.
Bayer looked back at me. His eyes sent me a message through the shadows, and I obeyed.
I arose silently from my cot and moved over to his. I squatted beside his cot and lowered my head to his crotch. I took the big thing into my mouth, licking it with my tongue, tasting it. I sucked him, trying to do him as he had done me, bobbing my head, at the same time jacking him sensually, hoping he got the same thrills of pleasure he gave me.
After a few minutes, "Ach, ja, mein guter," he murmured, and a spurt of hot liquid gushed into my mouth. My first taste of sperm. Damn, it's good! Tangy. I could imagine it as a sauce over a steak rare. I gulped it down.
When his cock softened, I backed off, licking it clean as it fell away. "Danke," he whispered. I went back to my cot.
I had passed another milestone. I knew it in my bones.
Sure enough, the next morning, SS Oberführer Von Teuer himself strode into the room. "You have enjoyed the hospitality of the Schoss MännerTor, ja? Now comes the time for some 'training.'"
This doesn't sound good.
With that, Von Teuer unbuttoned his tunic, pulling it open to bare his chest, covered with a thatch of the same gold that crowned his head. He looked at me and smiled. He unbuckled his belt and slipped if off with the diagonal strap over his shoulder. Dropping the tunic behind him, he stood before me, a glorious example of maleness, bare to the waist, wearing only the black riding breeches and the shiny black boots.
I didn't mean to, but I licked my lips. Big chest. Powerful chest. Hard, jutting pecs like Alpine cliffs. Big nipples. That mass of blond hair like a field of wheat. Again I licked my lips.
I looked up at Von Teuer's face. He was smiling. -- Oh, no! No, God, don't let me!! -- I bit my lip in shame. I was getting a hardon.
"Ja, I see you like this." Von Teuer pulled open the buttons of his fly, then shucked down his pants, leaving me to gape. -- It can't be!! -- Von Teuer's cock was gigantic! Still soft, the huge thing sagged halfway to his knee! --This can't be right! Nobody's that big! They must've drugged me! --
It jutted out from a big, snarled, coarse thatch of that shiny-gold hair, and a roadmap of red and blue veins filigreed the shaft. Von Teuer's magnificent cock ended in a shroud of foreskin that completely covered his cockhead, ending in a heathen, seductive tassel of soft skin. Couldn't see his piss-hole.
"I am pleased you like me, Herr General."
I looked down. Ohmigod! My own bayonet stood up rock-hard, throbbing, straight up and fuck-ready. My face instantly burned with shame.