First time when I laid him I nearly killed him.

It was warm in the room - and he was not shivering of cold, he was shaking. I looked at his pale hands lined with bluish veins, clasping feverishly on his striped cap. There was another little nerve pulsing under his bruised jaw. His face, skimmed-milk white, didn't have any trace of beard.

He didn't meet my eyes. All I saw were two overturned arches of his lids fluttering with coal-dark lashes. His delicate brows were black, too, looking stunningly weird in comparison with his copper-red hair. Even though his hair was merely a couple-centimeter long this bright color was the first thing I had noticed about him.

I walked along my table while he stood in the center of the room - still and motionless - until I said to him:

"Take off your clothes."

There was no pause before he started unbuttoning his overall shirt. I watched him squatting to put the cap on the floor and then to put the shirt over it. He stepped out of his coarse wooden-sole boots at once getting even smaller. He pulled his pants down at last, laid them together with other things and straightened himself.

I darted my eyes over him, from head to toes. I didn't stop upon his genitals - I discerned them clearly today in the morning. God, he was so thin! The contours of his ribs were like withes under his colorless skin. He was marked. I could suppose what was left by the recent execution and the rough handling he went through after that. But still there were other purple-green patches on his chest, thighs and shoulders - looking slightly fresher than the string of finger-shaped bruises on his cheek-bone.

Between us there was about a meter and a half of space, with me resting against the edge of the table. His arms were placid along his sides without any attempt to cover himself. His belly was so hollow that his pubis stuck prominent, covered with red wispy hair, so short that it only curled on the ends.

"Turn around."

He obeyed. It gave me the full sight of his lashed backside, every bit of it decorated with ugly swollen welts, from his neck to the knees - white and red and raw. I could see how tense he was - his spine was almost vibrating like a tight string.

"Bend down," I said. When he did it I was able to see the tip of his penis between his legs. "Spread your ass-cheeks."

Again he didn't hesitate. I gazed at his bony fingers with bitten-off dirt-bordered nails pressing firmly into soft flesh of his buttocks, prying them open. His hole was displayed for me now - deformed, turned inside out and fiercely inflamed, with the long scab studded with blood dots in his crack. I was prepared to see his opening ravaged. The reason why I demanded to show it was that I wanted to know how much damage he acquired. But now I felt with faint amazement that the calmness inside me - the one I was nurturing so carefully - started chapping.

I still could rein myself. There didn't have to be any problem. He was just an object in front of me - and it was the only natural way for the things to go - with me getting what I wanted and with him providing me with it.

The pose I made him stand in was not too inconvenient. It was not exhaustion that caused his trembling. His hands were still in grip but now I could notice his knuckles getting white, his nails digging into the skin - as if he was going to injure himself. His hole was pulsating. I didn't see anything like this before; puffy, incredibly tender skin of the slipped out insides of his anus was fluctuating with blood and falling, as if a beating heart exposed.

My mouth was dry. When I caught the sensation it was already so dehydrated that my tongue seemed huge and sand-paper-like to me.

"You can stand straight," I rasped.

The door opened quietly. Katrine, the maid from Jehovah Witnesses - I asked her to bring the mug of coffee several minutes ago - and here she came in with the tray and the big cup on it, full of thick dark-brown liquid. She put the tray on the table and when I waved my hand at her walked out. Her eyes gaped at the naked prisoner standing quietly with his face to the door. I knew what made her jaw drop open. The man didn't shift.

"Look here."

When he turned to me I had the little bottle in my hands, pouring some of its content to the coffee. I was not sure about the dose. All I wanted was for him not to be so stiff, hoped that it would go smoother if he wasn't so tied up.

"Drink," I pushed the mug to him.

This was when his eyes looked back at me. It was like two hooks gnawing at my heart. His eyes were dark; darker than the coffee in my cup - huge and mournful openings, staring at me with the kind of predestination I couldn't puzzle out.

It was just a shortest spell of time before he reached his hand and took the cup. He didn't stop before bringing it to his lips - and I saw his throat working when he swallowed hastily gulp after gulp.

I paced around him when the sudden thought struck me. I turned back to him on my heels.

"But it's hot," I looked searchingly at him. "Isn't it too hot?"

He stopped drinking when I began to speak. I watched him lowering the cup from his mouth. His lips looked scarlet and so very vulnerable.

"Yes, Herr Untersturmfuhrer," his voice was hardly a whisper. His stick-like fingers seemed translucent on the green glass of the mug. If it burnt his palms he didn't appear to react.

Looking at his mouth - the only soft thing on his thin angular face - just bones covered with skin - I stepped to him. I was thinking about putting my forefinger on his scalded lips, probing how hot and puffy they were. I wanted to touch his mouth, this was the thing - but I was not ready to do it with my lips.

Today in the morning I didn't know anything about his existence. Four weeks in Munich-Dachau seemed a gloom abyss behind me - and every day in my future was just falling down there, too - infinite number of them.

I was twenty-one when they kicked me out of Berlin University - from the second course of law, for my chronicle truancies. I dragged through the winter - with the name of my uncle whose complete name-sake I was guarding me. But then the inevitable happened - I got this call-up. I knew what was going to be with me - but I found out I was in some odd state of inner tranquility - as if I still couldn't believe the cold spaces of Russia were my destiny for real.

My mother was crying her eyes out. Eventually it was her pleas that decided the thing. I was not there when she kneeled before my uncle, I knew only the result of this meeting - I joined SS and got the assignment to the camp instead of Eastern front.

There was no question for me to choose. I was a failure, destitute of my rights by my own neglecting. And since I arrived here nothing changed in the apportionment.

It was not going alright. I even didn't make friends. Well, a guy from the medical block, close enough to share a drink with him. I didn't have any permanent place of work - maybe, this also was the reason why I was getting together with people so slowly, new faces so often.

For these weeks there was no three days I was not shifted from position to position. Sometimes it seemed to me it would be easier if I could stay on one place, get used to it, make it routine.

Sometimes it seemed to me I had to accept the offer of Rolf who kept repeating me that brandy was not efficacious enough and that he could find something for me in his medical box, something that would bring me to the whole new world. I rejected what he could give - until today. And even now it was not me who was going to use it.

It was at nine in the morning when I saw the man for the first time. And it still was not midnight as I stood face to face with him and struggled against the longing to stroke his mouth with my finger.

I put my hands on his wrists instead. Even this way the sensation of his paper-like skin over the singing of pulse was staggering. He seemed cold; even though he was sizzling himself with the coffee. I felt his faint breathing like my own now. Yes, he was cold - but on his temples I saw the thin film of sweat. I felt like touching it, wetting my fingers in it.

His fawn-like eyes glanced at me. Still clenching my hands on his wrists I pulled the cup to my face. I was only partly aware that I was doing it. His hands in my grip brought the mug to my lips and I made a swallow. Oh! My mouth got filled with almost unbearable bitterness. No sugar. He was looking at me. For once he didn't gaze at me reservedly, his eyes wide-opened and full of mistrust, as if he couldn't believe I had done it.

"It gets colder," I said. "Drink it."

His eyes still were on me while he sipped the coffee - a bit easier now, probably even enjoying the keen blend of it. I went back to my table and set against it.

They got me to supervise the floggings today, that's how I came to know him. By then I was experienced enough to have some tricks at my disposal. Not to look in the faces was one thing. All I saw was a blur of whiteness in front of my eyes. It was because of the voices when he stripped why I looked at him.

He was just a naked red-haired boy at first for me, he looked not older than eighteen - small and frail-limbed plus to the usual thinness. I didn't notice it at once because I didn't know where to look, because I didn't look there usually. It was the medical attendant who said:

"He's not the only one like this here. I saw... maybe, ten of them."

And when I followed the direction of the gaze I got it. It was about his private parts. That's why the guards and his fellow-sufferers got ghoulish. It was with his balls... no, not right. He didn't have balls at all.

His ball sac was emptied. At the first moment it looked to me like some repulsive deformation, the absence of his testicles behind his limp prick dangling between his thighs. Only a moment later I realized there were gashes in his scrotum - old sewn-up scars on the withered skin. I gasped.

He walked these meters to the flogging post in brisk steps, as quickly as it was necessary - and of course, 'cause if he slowed down he would be pushed by the kapo watching the procedure. It seemed he was not aware about every pair of eyes on him.

"What?.." I started speaking before I grasped how naïve it would sound. The attendant was smarter than me. His spade-like nail stuck into the list of numbers in my hands.

"Pink triangle," he said. "But you have to know it was by law - about compulsory sterilization? Didn't you say you studied law?"

So, he was homosexual. It was the only thing I understood. I didn't have any notion about what he was speaking about. Was it called "sterilization"? It rather looked like "castration" for me.

"Himmler spoke about eradicating gays "root and branch", the attendant was reciting. "Well, it looks rather like "root" than "branch", doesn't it?"

I forced a smile on my lips - even though he didn't look at me. Yes, I was shocked. It took me out of surprise. I thought I was ready to everything I could see here. After the first days I was telling myself: I saw this and that and I went on - so, it's nothing. I didn't want to lose my mind, you see, and every means I could use to avoid it was appropriate.

"What did he do?" it was silly to ask. I'd better stop it as soon as I could, forget him even before he started getting his lot. I didn't even had to look where he was getting tied to the post, the loops for the wrists too high above his head which meant he would have to tiptoe while lashed.

"How can I know?" the attendant smiled curtly. "Stole something. Didn't do his chores. Touched another guy. They are not permitted to, you know. Advisable thing, to my mind - as long as the bum-fuckers have to exult being in the surroundings like this, with all these men around them."

"No..." I shrugged. "I meant he had to be really convinced - that's why they had done it to him. What could he do? Molested children? Raped somebody?"

Now the attendant glanced at me with a kind of ironic disbelief.

"But you can't be ignorant that in these cases they get green triangle, as usual criminals?"

I didn't think about it. The castrated red-haired man was hoisted up at the post and the lash swooshed in the hand of the executioner.

It was my own fault that I didn't switch off my perception by then. I could do it, really could, I did it before when other prisoners were writhing under the flogging.

The first lash cut him across his back, from the shoulder to his tailbone - clinging heavily to his skin, tearing off slowly, as if it had suckers on it. There was a long swollen trace on his back now. His whole body racked with the blow. It seemed his breath was caught in his throat, that's why he didn't scream. I saw his strained soles tiptoeing on the ground while he struggled to stay on his feet. There was no time for him to regroup before another blow caught him around his belly. He was so narrow, I realized, that the lash wrapped around him, licking his thigh from the other side. His head lolled back suddenly - as if he was passing out. But his body was too taut for it, vibrating of tension.

"Two," the kapo said.

I don't know. It always seemed going rather quickly for me, the sound of the lash falling just a swift whistling. I knew I brought it on myself. I didn't need to look, I just had to do everything as always. The third blow drew a stripe right under his ass-cheeks. Now I could hear his breath - fast and shallow, heaving all his body while his stiff fingers clawed into the rope that was holding him.

His gasp was more like a short cry when the lash stung him over his organ and where his balls had to be. After that he couldn't be silent any more. When he lost his feet and swayed on the ropes I felt getting sick.

The lash didn't break his skin with every blow. More than a half of them just left thick crimson traces, disgustingly puffy on his fleshless back. There was some blood, too, however, spilling in tiny drops on the ground under him. After the last blow was done the roped was untied.

He had twenty-five of them - usual punishment for slight misdemeanors.

It was in the morning. Now he finished the coffee and stood with the cup in his hands on the level of his midriff, glancing uncertainly at me. I slipped my eyes down to his tender belly sucking breath - and to his small soft organ pointing right downwards. I reached my hand and took the cup.

"Go there," I said beckoning him. He staggered a bit when he made the first steps. Because of his injuries? Or could the medicine start working already? I didn't know. He took himself under control.

"Get into the tub."

We were in the bathroom - and for a moment I saw him looking around as if it was something he never saw before. His mystified look was wary again - as if I could prepare something vicious to him here. He was filthy. Not simply smeared after today occasion but with the gray dirt eaten into his skin. I turned water on, checking its temperature with my hands. The sleeves of my shirt soaked almost to the elbows but I didn't pay attention.

When it was warm enough I pushed him under the shower. Again it was touching him - the sensibility dazzled me. I noticed I was panting. Perhaps it was the drug. too. I just made a gulp of it. My palms lay on his upper arms, holding him under the stream of warm water.

He didn't move. His eyes screwed up shut because of the jets hitting on his lids - and after a while I saw how he tossed his head back, letting water run over his face. I let his arms go and slid my hands down fleetly, only for a split second touching his slicky thighs. I took the sponge and rubbed the soap against it. My hands submerged in the flakes of creamy foam. He opened his eyes when he heard the sound.

"Come here," I said pulling him slightly from under the shower. The expression of amazement in his eyes made me dizzy. I started with his hair, it was short and so soft that felt like sea-weeds against my palms. After I soaped it I moved down. I was careful. I didn't rub the sponge where it could hurt him, just covered him with the foam - and as soon as his body became slippery and smooth under the whipped soap I started feeling myself more and more free in touching him, in sliding my hands over his elf-like body.

He didn't do anything, just stood like that, with his eyes shut and the flows of melting foam slipping down over his face - while I was washing him and groping for his body - every part of it, his under-arms, his small hard nipples erected under the layers of foam, soft belly driving in slightly under my touches.

I drew my breath in when I felt his cock. He didn't try to clutch his hips together. I saw him reeling again - but it was probably because he had his eyes closed. The sense was stunning. His tender organ in my hand seemed warm and alive, like a sleeping creature. And I almost didn't wince when I felt the shriveled clots of his scrotum behind it.

He shuddered when I put him back under the shower.

"What?" I looked at him and he opened his bewitching eyes again. I kept my look, so, he realized he had to answer.

"The welts sting, Herr Untersturmfuhrer."

His voice faltered a little, slight clumsiness of a drunken man. He didn't give it out in anything else, just in straining I felt now.

"Yes," I said. I didn't know what to say. "Yes."

The foam was swirling and perishing around his ankles.

"Do you need to piss?" I thought he would, after all this coffee he had drunk. "Piss then."

It took a mite of time for him to bring himself to it under my eyes, even if he needed it urgently. The golden jet mixed with transparent jets of water. He looked straight in front of himself while I looked at it, feeling like breaking it with my palm, dumbfounded with my own desires.

He turned to me when I cut off the water and took the towel. He was so small! Even standing in the tub he was only centimeters taller than me. I wrapped him with the towel and took him around his rib-cage. I was stunned with what I was doing, hardly realizing it myself. He was as light as I thought he would be when I lifted him and put on the floor of the bathroom. As if his fragile bones were hollow inside, like bones of the birds.

The top of his head was right on the level of my mouth - and when he swayed again I opened my arms to him, feeling his wet short hair tickling on my lips. He shuddered again, long and heavily.

I rubbed the towel gently against his tilted up face that could seem so lifeless until his smoldering eyes looked up. When he was being flogged I couldn't look at his face.

When I saw him in the lock-up he couldn't face me. Later the same day I was accompanying Rolf in his short stop-by to the cells. It was not my obligation, we just had a small talk and I followed him. It got to my mind when we were in the block that the castrated guy had to be there, too - for some nights usually after the punishment.

"Did you see it?"

"Oh, sure," Rolf was not interested. "A simple surgery, being done for ages."

"But compulsory?"

He laughed. He said there was no difference from the medical point of view. Then he said:

"We can check him if you want."

No, I tried to say, I didn't want at all - why? - but he was already speaking to the kapo on duty, demanding to show us there. The guy with brown triangle seemed reluctant. Of course, he didn't argue. He just went too slowly to the cell. I got it soon why.

Now, several hours after that, I could hardly believe that it was happening this way. That the creature I saw then, crushed on the dirty floor of the lock-up, was now in my arms, almost leaning to me because his legs were letting him down.

He was not alone in the cell. At first I didn't comprehend what was going on. The only idea that came to my mind - and appalled me to the point of retching - was that they were fucking him. The pose was suitable, with him on his fours and two guys holding him and one behind him. But then I understood it was not a prick in his ass. It was somebody's hand.

The most flabbergasting for me in it was that he didn't scream. His mouth was not gagged - but all he gave out were just faint tearing sounds; the same as he had made when they were lashing him. And suddenly I realized why. I just understood it - as clearly as if he said it to me - there was no point in screaming for help. Nobody would help him.

"Hey," Rolf was the first to regain his composure. "What the fuck?.."

They got up at his voice - all except him. The hand was driven out in one sharp motion - and he jerked clumsily, trying to stand up, his thighs slicky and covered in whitish fluids. His face was practically blank, as if the only feeling he had was tiredness.

The kapo who brought us stepped to him hurriedly and before I could say anything yanked him up. His gasp was short. He was listless in the arms of the kapo, with his feet slack on the floor. He didn't have his pants on - so, Rolf had an unobstructed look of his chopped genitals. The only bit of clothes he had was his striped overall shirt with the number on it.

"So, he is not allowed to touch other men?!" I walked two paces faster than Rolf, farther form the block. I hadn't done anything, just told to move him to a normal cell. Rolf was giggling.

"Oh, come on. Everyone is not allowed. But you know what's the difference? You, and me, and these pigs - we all prefer to eat a pretty girl's pussy instead of choking on another guy's cock - and these fuck-holes - just on the contrary. And if we do fuck a guy - it is so-called "emergency outlet".

"I don't understand it," I said stiffly.

"Oh," Rolf stopped. "Immaculate Max Vallenberg! You know what people say about you? That you're either a saint or an impotent."

His words bit. It made me grin crookedly - the incongruity of a person who came to the idea of calling a saint somebody in this place, even if the alternative to it was rather venomous.

I felt Rolf's eyes crawling over my face. Then they slipped lower. He smirked.

"Oh, no," his voice, usually sharp, became almost a drawl. "You are not an impotent, are you? We know it."

I jerked catching myself on the verge of the most obscene movement I was about to do. Rolf laughed.

"You know Obersturmfuhrer Frentz, that one, with sleazy moustaches? He lives with a Polish slut. And Hauptsturmfuhrer Krause? Everybody knows he prefers Gypsy girls - baby-girls, actually - "able to walk - able to fuck". I always wondered what's your kink, Max, and you know - I think you have taste. At least it's exotic."

I was speechless. I knew I had to stop him, to cut him short telling that I already forgot all the dangerous obscenities he had said just now. But I couldn't force myself to squeezing a word out of me. And he was going on.

"Why don't you order to bring him to your place after the check-up? Nobody will mind, believe me, I'll tell you more - some brains will calm down. It's what everybody can understand. At least people will stop thinking about your uncle and your inability to do any job properly."

I winced at the hint.

"Whom..." I realized I was saying it. "Whom do I have to order?"

"The same kapo," Rolf's hand patted my shoulder casually. "Have fun, Max. Aren't we here for it? And my advice - use the enema."

It was almost eleven until I managed to bring myself to speak to the kapo.

Rolf didn't only tell me to use the enema, he provided me with the device - together with the bottle of medicine - 'He won't look like a pissed rag then, at least.' I used the drug - and I had the rubber bag in my hands now. I wasn't sure I would make myself really use it until the last moment. But now, together with distaste and realization of necessity, I felt I could do it. I wanted to do it.

I let the man wrapped in the towel loose, just with my hands stayed on his shoulders.

"Please turn around."

I helped him - I made him stoned, by God, I knew he didn't need much, like he was, constantly starved, so light-weighted and all on his nerves. The towel dropped on the floor, revealing his brutalized back. The welts were swollen after the water on them, looking awfully fresh. I was shocked with the keenest desire to touch, to run my nails over them.

I took his brittle hands instead and put them on the edge of the sink, making him stoop. He was not still, rocking on his heels while I was filling the enema bag with the water. There was such pathetic agitation in him, with the drug increasing its effect. He was tossing his head from side to side, with his breath broken and little funny gasps escaping him. My heart jumped suddenly when I saw another violent shudder racking him.

There was a mirror on the wall over the sink. But with his head lowered the only thing I could see in it was my own drawn face, eyes like bullet-holes, black and bewildered. I found his soft entering with my fingers and pushed the pipe in.

"Does it hurt?" my own voice seemed distorted.

"No," together with this pitiful tipsiness there was tightness in his answer. "Not too much."

I opened the clamp. This moment I pained him, I knew it. His body flinched hugely and I saw how his nails became white clasping into the white enamel of the sink. I folded my arm around him, trying not to touch his marked back, and put my palm on his belly while the stream of water continued to be forced inside him. Wasn't it too fast? I didn't know if it could harm him - I was frightened. It was like a series of cramps going through his body - and under my palm I felt something stirring in his guts. His unbearably flat belly was swelling under my hand, bloating with water. I looked at my watch. Ten minutes, Rolf said.

When I turned him to me there was no torment on his face. I looked at his blinking eyes, pressing him to myself as tight as I could with my hand stroking over his rounded belly. His head nestled limply upon my elbow.

"Are you in pain?'

His breath was sharp, as if he was on the verge of choking.

"No, Herr..."

"Don't call me like this."

When I lowered him on the pot he had to set his hands against the wall. I felt ashamed; I didn't have to stupefy him, not with this heavy effect it turned out to have on him. I released the device - and suddenly, unexpectedly for myself, I was kneeling in front of him, supporting him while he was expelling the water, shit, blood and sperm out of his rectum. I saw him pissing again, right like this, sitting.

He was flexible and marionette-like unresisting in my hands when I wiped him. I sat him on the edge of the tub and took the toothbrush. His hand moved weakly when he tried to take it - and fell down. I cradled his head in my palm while cleaning his teeth, his soft lips so warm when he was taking water from my palm.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Johann," his voice was a whisper.

I put his arm around my neck and raised him up, taking him under his knees. Again I was stricken with the feeling of having him in my arms, and how light and bony he was. I brought him to my room and put on his side, in the center of the bed. I never left him with my eyes while taking off my clothes.

He looked so tiny lying like this - pretty and helpless as a girl, with his emaciated body curled up. One of his longish thin arms was stretched plainly along his side and the other lay inertly on the sheets, his skin whiter than the sheets. His dark thick lashes were quivering over his wild, too much glimmering eyes.

In one motion I pulled down my underpants, baring my tormented erection. Every time I looked at him I had hard-on, that was the thing. At first when I saw his destroyed manhood at the flogging posts, in the morning. And this I tried to cover when Rolf teased me. And I never lost it since he was in my room.

My cock looked ugly - so engorged with blood that it seemed inflamed. It stopped seeping pre-cum a while ago - now it was hot and throbbing, so sensitive that even the draft of air hurt it. His eyes were sliding over me, without stopping at any part of me, as if without registering my piercing rod. Well, he had to see a lot of that, both outside and here - and did he ever doubt why I wanted him with me?

I lay down on the bed. He straightened his knees smoothly, giving me place to be closer to him. Suddenly I noticed my fingers were trembling when I reached to his face. The pulse on his temple was beating so fast as if it was indicating a sparrow's heart. I closed my face to his and put my mouth on his lips. I sighed when kissing him.

The taste of his mouth was mint of the tooth-paste. My tongue was exploring the insides of it - in the rhythm as my hand was searching over his face. In a short period of time he started responding. Soft flickering motions of his tongue around mine. I rubbed my thumb against his cheek-bone. There was a whirl of thoughts and desires in my brain. I wanted to jam my mouth harder against his, to crush his lips in kiss, to dry every bit of wetness inside his mouth. And at the same time I just savored the languid mildness of what he was giving to me. He was not passionate, he didn't try to pretend. All he was doing was to answer me, to let me feel him as I wanted it.

I wanted to grasp him, too. Clench him in my arms and put him on his back, so that he was all the way opened for me - and crush him under my weight, imprint my own body into his frail form.

"Please, Johann," I whispered. I broke the kiss. I pushed him slightly.

He understood what I wanted. I saw his body getting tense when he turned flatter, without lying on his sore back. The vein was visible on his neck and I pressed my fingers to it, circled around the ripped beginning of the welt on his collar-bone. Both his nipples were surrounded with shapeless bruises, so much that I couldn't see if they were pink or brownish before. I slid down, touching them with my tongue in turn. They were soft. I licked them and blew on them, making them erect, rolling them with the tip of my tongue, nibbling with my lips. I did it to one of them and then to the other, and back again, for so much time that I couldn't say. It didn't matter. My darkened dick lay across the inside of his thigh - throbbing every second.

I licked his bruises, so many of them on his gaunt body. His navel was small and deep and I poked my tongue there and kissed his smooth belly all over and down to his pubis.

His soft prick lay awry, a little tender thing that made my heart contracting when I was looking at it. I smiled lopsidedly. I recalled Rolf's words about eating pussies and sucking cocks. He would be abominated if he saw me now. I didn't care. I kissed and kissed the fluffy nest of short hair on Johann's pubis, now and then giving a peck to his soft organ. I pressed my cheek to it, feeling how mellow and warm it was. There was no any motion from him, no attempt to hinder me - and there couldn't be, I knew it, whether he minded or not. His thighs were spread enough to give me full access. I took his flabby penis in my mouth.

It was not him whom I wanted to please - and I was aware of it every moment while I kept his prick in my mouth. Maybe, I was hurting him on its sore places - even though I tried not to. My fingers were stroking and stroking the rough scars of his shrunk ball sac under my lips.

When I let him go his cock was glistening with my spat - dainty tender thing. His doe eyes opened to me; still too bright, the drug wearing out so slowly.

"Johann," I whispered.

I sat on my heels and reached for his face. He understood. With broken clumsy grace he got up. The room was spinning in front of me. The only thing I saw clearly was his glowing face, his lips he wetted with his tongue before he lowered his head to my crotch. I gasped.

I kept making these noisy inhales - with every thrust of my phallus going deep into his soft warm mouth - more accepting than any pussy I've ever got into. He let me in freely - I felt his moist palate upon the tip of my prick - and then he changed the angle - and I slid farther, past the back of his trembling tongue. His throat was quivering. There was some sound in his breath - close to moan - but he didn't back. I pulled out - and slammed back again - into warm honey of his gullet. I put both my hands on his short-trimmed head. I patted him - I didn't press on him, I didn't have to.

The waves of my frictions were raising and lowering me. Johann's hot breath on my groin, his open throat - it was heaven. It was what I was born for. I sobbed when speeding up - and then I climaxed all of a sudden. My balls felt like shooting boiling liquid - so painful that I groaned - and leaving pangs through my body long after it was over. Johann's head stopped moving under my palms. His tongue was stirring, however - lapping hastily over my cock. I knew he was swallowing what I gave him, all of that.

He had my dick in his mouth after that, too, while it was losing its hardness. Perhaps he waited for my directions. I tried to push down the great clot in my throat - and couldn't do it. Then I took him by his upper arms and pulled to me. We lay down together.

His face again was just in centimeters from mine. I lay flat - and he lay over my chest - so weightless that only his crisp bones and silky skin proved me I still had him. His heart was beating so fast and heavy that I wondered how he could stand it. I kissed him once more; devoured his lips, inhaled his breath.

"Was it bad?" I asked. "When they did it?"

His voice was plain - he was not looking at me:

"No. Not then. They chloroformed me. I just slept - and when I woke it was gone."

He was concentrated on overpowering the awkwardness of his tongue - not on covering his emotions.

"I didn't believe they would do it, you know. Even when they read me the sentence. It seemed absurd."

"Why did they do it just to you?"

"I don't know," his shoulders moved in a slight shrug. "The man I was arrested with didn't get it. He died lately here..."

His head lay down again. I couldn't stop my hands from handling his terribly thin body. His slightly moist hands were still on the sides of my rib-cage.

"How long are you here?"

"Ten months."

His breath was tickling me when he spoke.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

So, he was older than me. He just looked boyish. I wondered if it was smoothness of his skin that made him look so.

"Where are you from?"

"From Berlin. Studied at the University."

I felt the little hair on the back of my neck lifting. I knew my hands slid over his cheek and shoulder in curt caressing movements - as if I tried to reassure him - but at the same time I knew how silly it was.

I bit my lip thinking how to say what I wanted to ask. At least I dared.

"Do you often... get hurt?"

"As much as today - never," his voice was almost casual, "I thought they would finish me off."

Was it a shadow of chuckle in his words? I went on petting him, even if I was ridiculous doing it.

"Why did they do it?"

"But you know," he answered levelly. "Because they can. Because I'm not like them. Because it gets their rocks off."

The clot in my throat was smothering me. I was still, just groping for him as he lay with me, just sensing the short shudders going through his body.

"Are you cold, Johann?"

"No."

I knew he was not. It was the same drug - the after-effect. I smoothed him with my palms - as if like this I could blew off the painful work the medicine was doing inside his body. He trembled again.

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you," I whispered. "If I fuck you."

My sore dick was hard again, lay upright against my belly. He didn't answer. Surely, what could he say? We both knew I would do it - it was what I wanted, it was what I cleaned him out for.

"I'll try to be gentle," I added. He moved. I spat on my palm and rubbed it around my cock. He was setting into position - on his knees, with his head on the pillow. His vertebrae were like a sharp-edged arch in the middle of his back. His knees were spread for me to sit between them.

I wetted and wetted my cock until my saliva was leaking from it. I wetted his anus, too, raw skin around it. Then I put the blunt tip of my prick against his tender hot opening.

When I rammed in he jerked. I hurt him badly - he expected it - but he was too sore, just too sore. I froze - half-way in him - I could see the scarlet ring of his anus around my prick, between his small ass-cheeks. I patted his hip. His breath was panting. He didn't moan when I pulled out. I smashed back, lifting his light body up with the strike.

And then it all overloaded me. I couldn't think clearly what I felt. There was so much in battering his soft burning hole, in having his famished body so close to me. I forgot everything. I just thrust and thrust furiously - until the tide wave of delight washed me out.

It was only after I came - only after another shocking orgasm I had - when I started realizing things again. My dick it him was getting flaccid and I dragged it out slowly. And then I understood how badly he was messed.

At first, when I perceived how he was shaking I thought it was my fault. I thought I pained him unbearably - I destroyed him with my ruthless fucking. But then I got to know it was not that. Yes, it was my doing. But not what I had done right now.

It was the drug.

Rolf didn't tell me. But I had to know. How could I not think about it?! After it worked on him so violently, almost bringing him fits. And now it was breaking him in continual convulsions - so much that they looked like epileptic. Perhaps he didn't even feel my fucking. Perhaps it was just something minor - in comparison to the long cruel cramps that were twisting his body.

"Johann," I breathed out.

He didn't answer. His skin was cold and sweaty when I touched him - and he didn't react to my touch at all. I stirred him - he stretched - without a sound - the shudders were going through his body on and on. It seemed I could see how his heart was beating horribly fast under his rib-cage. He was losing his breath.

And then I realized he could die.

I was mouth-opened. My own shivering started. He was so weak, so exhausted - it was the easiest thing to harm him irreparably. And I did it. Damned drug!

He was so cold. I took his face. I kissed him feeling how he was thrashing, with his eyes tight shut, with his lips pressed together in a grim bracket. I stroked his temples with my fingers. He didn't feel what I was doing. He was away from me. He didn't feel how I was patting over his poor trembling chest, as if it could make his heart beat slower. My tears were warm drops falling on him.

"Johann, please..." I didn't know what I whispered. "Don't, please, don't..."

When he was brought to me I thought only about making him more lively - my plaything, my human toy. I made him drink it - and he thought I was giving him poison. Was I to see now how he would die?

His hands lay feeble and sweaty at my thighs. It was minutes more before I felt that he was not shaking any more. Well, he was - but it was not constant now. His mouth half-opened - and when I stooped to it I felt his breath easier, lighter. I drew my teeth into my knuckles. Was it that he was getting better? I was afraid to hope for it.

But he was. More time passed - in silence, with me rubbing his fingers in my palms, kissing them - before he relaxed almost completely, motionless. I bent to him, touching his eye-lashes with my lips. They fluttered just a little.

"Johann," I whispered - and felt how they flew up.

He looked at me. His stare was terribly tired. I felt I was smiling pitifully through my tears.

"Please, I'm sorry," I whispered. "Please..."

He fell asleep practically at once - he couldn't do anything against it, he was just too worn out. I put my arms around his neck. And I held him like this, without stirring, feeling how he was getting warm from the heat of my body. His breath was so noiseless.

I thought. I didn't know what I was going to do - what I could do. I didn't know if there was any chance for me to spare him, to protect him. At least I could try - as long as it would depend on me, as long as I would be able to. I hoped. I was afraid.

The End