Content Warning: This story contains graphic depictions of torture, sexual violence, humiliation, extreme physical harm, animal cruelty, and forced consumption of human tissue, as well as themes of relationship strain and body image issues. It is intended for mature audiences and may be highly disturbing or triggering. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Captain Ethan Caldwell’s F-15 blazed through the Iranian sky, shredded by enemy missiles. Ejecting into the night, he crashed into the desert, his parachute barely slowing the fall. Before he could escape, Iranian soldiers surrounded him, rifles glinting under moonlight. Bound and blindfolded, he was dragged to a concrete bunker, the air thick with mildew and dread.

In the interrogation room, fluorescent lights buzzed harshly. Ethan, stripped to his underwear, sat chained to a metal chair. Colonel Reza Farhadi, a lean man with a sadistic grin, loomed over him. “Talk, American,” he snarled. Ethan’s silence was defiance itself. Farhadi signaled his men, who tore off Ethan’s underwear, exposing his uncircumcised penis. The soldiers froze, then erupted in mocking laughter, noticing his foreskin, a rarity in their culture where circumcision was universal. “What filth is this?” Farhadi sneered. “An American, uncircumcised like a boy?” A soldier jabbed Ethan’s groin with a rifle butt, jeering, “No man keeps this! You’re a savage!” Another spat, “Weak, unclean dog!” Their laughter echoed, cultural disdain cutting into Ethan’s pride, though his face remained stone.

Farhadi’s eyes gleamed with cruel intent. “We’ll use this to break you.” The torture began with a rusted metal clamp fastened around the base of Ethan’s foreskin, its jagged edges biting the skin. A thin chain linked to a pulley system held a small weight, pulling the foreskin upward until it stretched painfully, the tissue thinning to a translucent sheen. Ethan clenched his jaw, sweat beading as pain seared through him. For six weeks, three times daily, they intensified the torment. Soldiers added heavier weights, starting at one pound, then two, then five, stretching the foreskin relentlessly. Each session lasted hours, the chain yanked to extend the skin further, causing micro tears that bled and swelled. They doused the wounds with saline, the sting forcing choked gasps, but Ethan refused to speak.

Over the weeks, the relentless stretching transformed Ethan’s foreskin. From an average flaccid length of 5.5 inches, the foreskin was grotesquely elongated, hanging 5 inches past the glans, a full 10.5 inches of tortured, thin tissue when fully extended. Morning sessions used a crude winch, slowly cranking the chain to pull the foreskin until it burned, the skin stretching like taut rubber. Noon brought a leather strap tied to the clamp, tugged rhythmically by a soldier who mocked, “Let’s make it longer, pig!” Evening sessions employed a weighted pulley hung from the ceiling, the foreskin dangling obscenely, its length increasing with each agonizing pull. The tissue, once tight and elastic, became a thin, pendulous membrane, permanently altered, sagging unnaturally even when unbound. They laughed, calling it “the American’s shameful flag,” humiliating him further for his uncircumcised state.

Infuriated by his silence, Farhadi escalated the cruelty. They bound Ethan spread eagle on a table, pinning his elongated foreskin to a wooden board with sharp needles. A soldier twisted the skin with pliers, tearing it slightly, blood seeping as the room filled with jeers. “Uncircumcised filth!” they chanted, their scorn relentless. They poured alcohol over the wounds, the burn nearly breaking Ethan’s resolve, but he held firm.

Enraged, Farhadi ordered Ethan tied naked to a post in a crowded neighborhood square. Under the blistering sun, his stretched foreskin, now 5 inches beyond the glans, became a public spectacle. For several days, the torment stretched on, the townspeople’s cruelty drawn out to prolong his suffering. Passersby, encouraged by soldiers, hurled insults. “Look at the uncircumcised dog!” a man shouted, spitting. “Not even a man!” Women pointed, children laughed, and some grew sadistic. One tugged the elongated skin, stretching it further until it tore, the crowd cheering. Another sliced off a small piece with a dull knife, the lack of anesthesia making Ethan tremble, though he bit back screams. A teenager used rusted shears to snip a strip, the jagged cut leaving raw edges. Some women, with cruel amusement, collected the severed scraps of foreskin and tossed them to local starving dogs, which snapped at the bloody bits, their growls mixing with the crowd’s laughter. “Feed the dogs his shame!” one woman cackled, as the animals devoured the tissue. Each day, different townspeople took turns, cutting small pieces over the course of a week, ensuring the agony was prolonged. To keep Ethan alive, they force fed him scraps of moldy bread, rancid meat, and, in a perverse act of cruelty, small pieces of his own severed foreskin, mixed into the foul gruel. They poured tepid, dirty water down his throat, just enough to sustain him, the taste of his own flesh lingering as he gagged but swallowed to survive. Each act was laced with taunts about his “unclean” body, the humiliation as searing as the pain.

The barbaric circumcisions continued daily in the square. One soldier used a heated blade, its glow searing through small sections of foreskin, the burnt flesh smell mingling with cries of “Fix the savage!” Another used a guillotine like device, its blade shearing slivers with agonizing precision. A guard bit off a piece with his teeth, drawing cheers as Ethan writhed, the scraps again thrown to the dogs or forced into Ethan’s mouth with the food. They removed the outer foreskin, then the inner, and finally the frenulum, each cut shallow to prolong the agony, the crowd mocking his “boyish” state.

When no foreskin remained, their cruelty deepened. They flayed the shaft skin with scalpels, jagged stones, and heated wire loops. One carved spirals down the shaft, each cut a burning agony. Another burned off strips with a red hot wire, searing into muscle. They peeled the penis to the base, then the scrotum, leaving a raw mass of exposed nerve and muscle. Ethan’s body shook, vision fading, but he never broke, denying them secrets.

On the forty second night, U.S. Army Rangers, guided by precise intel, descended in HH-60 Pave Hawks. Under moonlight, they stormed the square, neutralizing guards. They found Ethan, barely conscious, tied to the post, his mutilated body a testament to his ordeal. Wrapping him in a blanket, they airlifted him to a field hospital.

Surgeons grafted skin from his thigh to rebuild his penis and scrotum, the procedures grueling. The grafts took, but restoring his foreskin was impossible; medical science couldn’t regenerate it. Ethan emerged permanently circumcised, his penis a patchwork of scarred, grafted skin, a stark contrast to its former state.

Back home in America, Ethan’s British born wife, Diana, struggled with the change. A blonde woman with a playful spirit, Diana had only been with uncircumcised men, cherishing the foreskin’s sensitivity and versatility in their intimate moments. She loved its natural glide, the way it heightened pleasure for both, and the playful exploration it allowed in their candlelit bedroom encounters. To her, it was a vital part of their connection, a source of joy in their marriage. Seeing Ethan’s mutilated, skin grafted penis, stripped of its foreskin and left raw and scarred, shattered her. She tried to stay by his side, sitting at his hospital bedside, her hand squeezing his through the pain of recovery. But in private, she wept, mourning the loss of what had been a cherished part of their intimacy. The grafted skin, rough and unnatural, couldn’t replicate the sensations she adored. Each attempt at intimacy felt like a reminder of his trauma, and her own loss gnawed at her resolve. Despite her love for Ethan, the change was too much. Unable to reconcile her desires with his altered body, Diana left, her departure a quiet wound that deepened Ethan’s scars.

In his room, Ethan stared out the window, the taunts of his captors, the dogs’ growls, the taste of his own flesh, and Diana’s absence echoing. His foreskin, stretched to 10.5 inches over weeks of torment, was gone, and with it, a part of his identity and marriage. Yet his silence had protected his country, his spirit unbroken despite the cost.