Chapter fifteen
‘Torture-boy’s made a box to put the cunt in’ said Eric.
‘Tell us, including the cunt listening there (because it hasn’t got a choice), about the box you’ve made, boy’.
I sat on the studded bondage chair, pincered, clamped and burnt, while Eric, the boy and the blond guard, all naked, looked up at me while lounging naked on the big comfortable bed.
The boy explained: ‘Mr Eric says the cunt has to have breaks from hard labour to avoid breaking down – me, I wouldn’t care if the cunt broke down – Mr Eric’s fucking kind-hearted – I’d just go on electrocuting the cunt’s cock and balls until it decided to work again …’
‘Alright, get the fuck on with it’, said Eric.
‘The cunt’, resumed the boy, ‘will spend 24 hours in a small box. It’s metal at the bottom and has a metal lid and it’s got transparent plastic sides. It’s got a lid with holes so the cunt inside it can breathe – although air’s not all the holes can be used for. The transparent sides mean that anyone outside can see the naked cunt suffering inside.
‘It’s a small box, but the cunt will fit in if we fold it and force it. No way will it be able to lie down or stand, and I’ve also made sitting uncomfortable by fixing on to the floor loads of nails and screws pointing upwards – the cunt won’t enjoy sitting in the box if it’s just been caned or fucking prison-strapped.
‘Basically, just keeping the cunt in there will be fucking torture for it after about ten minutes. It won’t be able to move much anyway but, just to be totally sure it gets massive cramp with no way of stretching or relieving the pain, we’ll put it in tight handcuffs and heavy leg-irons with little spikes on the inside which will torture its ankles if it tries to move even an inch.’
Eric took up the story of my upcoming punishment, talking directly to me – ‘You see, cunt, a lot of the inmates here are pretty sadistic and they all hate you – we’ve told them what you’ve done to me and the others, and they don’t think we’re punishing you harshly enough – so we’re giving them, led by the boy-torturer here, a chance to spice up your punishments a bit.’
I couldn’t help it. I started to shake and retch from fear as my ‘box’ punishment was being described, but Eric wasn’t finished.
‘The box can be used in all sorts of ways. We can stuff it with stinging nettles – and I mean stuff it, so you get stung everywhere from your toes to your head. Any inmate who wants to add to the punishment can pick up a barbed wire brush and use it to stroke your stings or push more nettles into your face or groin, or anywhere the inmate wants.’
The boy was eager to be next in this torture discussion and took over from Eric – ‘Nettles lose their sting after a few hours, so they can be pulled out and replaced with holly and brambles and rolled up strands of barbed wire. Mr Eric – fucking kind-hearted again – doesn’t want to destroy your face completely until you’ve been here for two or three years, so the barbed wire would go more to the bottom of the box and round your legs, but I’ll put brambles everywhere, even in your eyes, your ears, up your nose and in your fucking disgusting mouth.’
‘What about feeding the cunt?’ asked the blond guard lazily, more interested at that time in fondling Eric’s balls. ‘It’s supposed to get its medicated gruel and fresh-ish water, but it’s going to be in that box for 24 hours’.
‘We’ll feed it through the holes in the roof’, said Eric – ‘the boy can attach a feeding funnel which ends inside its mouth – anything we pour or push down that funnel, the cunt eats. If it spills its gruel or its pig-food, or shit or piss or sick or whatever we’re giving it, we take the funnel out and gag it with one of those open-mouth gags which makes the cunt fucking scream with pain whenever we force it into its mouth. Then we put the funnel back and pour a full slop-bucket from a random inmate down the cunt’s forced-open throat. And of course, if it had refused its food, it’ll get a session in the punishment room for disobedience as soon as we let it out of that box…
‘So it’ll probably eat what it’s given’, concluded Eric.
‘The lid of the box can be separated into two parts, so the big hole in the middle comes apart. This means that we can close the lid around the cunt’s neck if we want to – we can make the cunt sit in the box with its head sticking out the top’.
‘Think of the ways we can use that cunt’s head!’ said Eric, ‘while the rest of it is being tortured’, added the boy. All three of them lay on the bed and laughed – Eric started stroking himself a bit harder.
Yes, Eric was getting hard again, and he wanted me out of the way now. He stroked and smiled in his special self-satisfied way, and he asked the blond guard to call the hard-labour guard to come and get me. ‘I’m tired of looking at its cunt-face now. I want to do some fucking and relaxing and I want to think of the cunt working on its hard labour and getting punished at the same time!
‘But this session has been good’ continued Eric, still stroking himself, and now getting his dick squeezed by the blond guard, ‘we need to keep reminding the cunt what life is like for normal people – all the stuff it’s missing, We could force it to watch us eat a nice meal in the staff dining area on a day when its pig-food has been more disgusting than ever. We we could force the cunt to watch me, its former fucking victim, take a long soak in hot water with nice soap in a luxurious bath with one of you guys, when it’s still freezing and wet from having had its balls smashed in a freezing jet-wash outside on a cold day. I don’t want the cunt to forget all the nice things which it’s never going to do ever again. I want the cunt to have mental torture as well as physical torture.’
‘It’s certainly not going to be short of physical torture with this boy-maniac box-maker around’, said the blond guard. They were all still laughing about that when the black trainee hard-labour guard arrived to collect me: ‘come on, you fucking heap of stinking garbage – you’d better fucking work today or I’ll electrocute your asshole till you shit, and then I’ll make you eat your shit’.
The trainee and the blond guard untied me and removed my gag, the pincers and the clamps, which all made me scream in agony again.
‘Get it out of here and back to fucking work’, said Eric in a tired languid way.
‘What about its pig-food?’ asked the trainee.
‘Oh, fuck, I forgot’, said Eric. Just give the cunt a bowl of vomit for its lunch and make it work an extra hour with ball-weights because it’s fucking late this morning’.
The black trainee escorted me out of the room – no allowance was made for my morning torture – in fact, I would have to work extra. And I had a lunch consisting of someone else’s vomit, an extra hour’s back-breaking work with massive ball-weights, and the boy’s terrifying box to think about as I did my hard labour.
The rest of that day was as bad as my time on the bondage chair in the morning. The black trainee guard belted my right hand before I started and then regularly cattle-prodded me when I dropped a tile or failed to move ‘at the double’ when instructed – ‘lazy cunt – open your legs so I can electrocute your bollocks – right now’.
The inmate who brought me my pig-food lunch actually vomited on the floor in disgust when he lifted the cover and saw what it was, so I had to eat his vomit as well as the pig-food vomit itself. With my stomach full of thrown-up bile and other people’s regurgitated food, I barely made it through the afternoon, only to be reminded that I had an extra hour’s hard labour with ball-weights. The trainee gave my ass half a dozen mighty hits with his paddle, making me scream and yelp in agony as that massive paddle slammed into my unprotected buttocks. Then he attached to my balls, just like before, the bag with two bricks (and a bottle half-filled with water he had thrown in for fun).
My balls had been clamped that morning and cattle-prodded for the rest of the day. The weighted bag was agony. I was made to carry heavy and sharp rubble here and there, high above my head for long stretches …
The evening was no improvement. The boy had arranged for three of the roughest and most perverted of his fellow-inmates to, as he put it, ‘use your holes, you filthy cunt – they’ve got some nice big sharp-edged home-made dildoes to try out on you, and they’ll fuck you raw, and take it in turns, while they’re waiting to fuck you, to twist and squeeze your tits, your caged dick and your bruised fucking balls.’
‘Funny’, said Eric to the boy with his big dimpled smile when he saw my horrified look, ‘the cunt used to enjoy sex’.
Of course, the inmates gave me a low score. I was exhausted and in terrible pain from beginning to end. They raped me mercilessly and played cruelly with the nasty, and absolutely huge, dildoes.
I expected an immediate punishment caning but then I got some news from a smiling Eric and the smirking boy, who took me back to my cell instead of down to the punishment room. They threw me into my cell and I banged my elbow on the floor and smashed my belted hand on the iron bed-frame. They couldn’t have cared less. Eric started one of his speeches.
‘Tomorrow’, Eric said, ‘is your first day of rest from your hard labour. After your gruel, we’ll take you to the punishment room and cane you for your bad whoring tonight – I expect I’ll use the whangee cane with all those sharp knobs, remember it?’ ‘Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I remember it, Sir. It was terribly painful, Sir, but I deserved it, Sir’. ‘I want you freshly caned for your rest-day punishment’ said Eric.
Then you’ll go in the box we told you about this morning. You’ll be brought up from the punishment room to the inmates’ recreation room where they’ve built a platform for your box. You’ll first of all be tied up in the middle of that room and the boy and some of his friends will use their hands to pull out your pubes, your ball-hair and the hair in your armpits, so the stinging nettles in the box will hurt you more. They’ll use the pepper-spray antiseptic on you as well, including up your asshole, cuff you and put you in spiked leg-irons. By then, your box will look like it’s full to the brim with nettles, big fresh juicy stingers.
We’ll get you into that box somehow – when you see its size and shape, you’ll realise that it’s going to take some force. When you’re finally wedged inside it, another pile of fresh nettles will be forced into the box before we push the lid back on and padlock you in. Those nettles will get everywhere. They’ll sting your face and back, buttocks and hole, they’ll get under your cage and punish your hairless balls, they’ll sting your sensitive hairless armpits and the top and bottom of your feet. The nettles will drive you mad – we’ll open the holes in the lid and move the nettles around with sticks and barbed wire brushes so no part of you escapes the stings – and you won’t be able to move around or even scratch yourself because your hands will be cuffed. Your legs in heavy spiked leg-irons will drag your body down the box until eventually you’ll find yourself with your caned ass sitting on the nails and screws torture-boy here has attached to the bottom of your box.’
‘Lights out’, shouted Eric cheerfully as he slammed my cell door and flicked the switch outside, leaving me to grope my way off the floor on to my bed in pitch darkness. I only slept fitfully, and the morning came too soon …
Chapter sixteen
I have now been a prisoner for two years.
I am in a corridor, tied by my balls to a post so tightly that I am forced to stand on tiptoe or I’ll torture my own balls. I have been here for nearly an hour, waiting for Eric to give me ‘a severe caning, cunt, to make you bleed when they put you in that box’.
Eric’s reports keep me in this horrible prison with no outside contact. I am labelled as an ‘uncooperative prisoner’. I show ‘no remorse’. I can’t fight him – I have become a non-person, forgotten and alone except for my tormentors.
I was first put in the box a few weeks into my prison time here. They somehow forced me for the first time inside the boy’s horrible box. It took quite a bit of force – the boy threatened to break both my legs if I didn’t co-operate more. Finally, squashed into the box, forced to sit with my head bent between my knees and my legs folded tight, I was soon tortured by cramp. I was stung everywhere by selected 'juicy’ nettles shoved into the box under and over me and in my face until they almost stifled me. As the stings died down after a few hours, inmates replaced them with fresh nettles, branches of sharp brambles, clumps of pricking holly, and even some strands of barbed wire. I was forced to sit naked on nails and screws which the boy had embedded on the floor of the box, weighed down on to them by my leg-irons with spikes which made my ankles bleed.
That was the first of many days and nights in the box. For many of my fellow-inmates, it is still ‘the best way to punish the cunt’.
The boy, who devised the torture-box, encourages his friends among both the guards and inmates to use my feeding tube as a toilet, especially at night while I scream in pain from cramps and all the other agonies of the box. I know, when I am shoved into that box that plenty of piss and shit is going to make its way into my mouth, down my throat and into my stomach. But being a prison toilet is only part of this punishment.
The transparent sides of the box are like a cinema. I can see the boy and his friends and they can see me as they sit comfortably together and wank each other while they watch me writhe, scream and suffer.
Sometimes my whole body is forced into the box. Sometimes only my body from the neck downwards is actually in the box, while my head is stuck through the hole in the lid. My head is then available for whatever anyone wants to do to it. I can never get used to the varieties of incredible pain the box allowed both guards and inmates to inflict on me. They kick me in the face. They piss on me. They even whip my face with a small leather flogger. Two younger inmates especially enjoy torturing my face almost every time my head is left sticking out of the top of the box; they attach brutally tight clamps to my ears, nostrils, gums and tongue; their tongue-torture is the most extreme, as they attach half a dozen tight clamps to a rope which they pull, forcing my tongue to stick out of my mouth – then they stub out cigarettes on my tongue.
Eric has made it clear that are really no limits as far as I am concerned – I am the lowest, the dirties, the worst.
The boy loves to make me eat filth of all kinds, going beyond just making me a regular toilet for him and his friends. Sometimes it’s just floor sweepings, often it’s horse-shit or boot-mud, and sometimes I have to eat vomit from him or other inmates. He knows how I hate it. But his favourite, which he does often, is simply to attach my mouth-open gag to my feeding tube and then to shit into it.
While the boy favours filth, Eric loves pain. He and the boy cane my ass to blood almost daily – I haven’t been able to sit properly since about my third day in prison – my ass has been constantly caned, prison-strapped and paddled. Eric likes to cane me especially hard before my sessions in the box because he knows how extra painful it is for me to sit with a brutally caned ass for hours, unable to move, on the nails and screws the boy attaches to the bottom of the box. Eric is turned on by my ass-torture more than anything else.
Others enjoy giving me their own special extra punishments; the blond guard likes to torment me in the box with a barbed wire brush, knowing I can’t move a muscle – he enjoys using it to push brambles and nettles into my face and scrapes the barbed wire between my legs making my thighs, balls and cock bleed.
Over the two years, the terrible hollowing-out of my penis, started on my first full day in prison, has continued relentlessly. My dick has been scraped out inside, and they constantly give it extra tortures with beatings, electrocution and penetration. Eric and the boy know exactly which parts of my dick to punish to give me the most pain – like the ridge around my circumcision where they attach the tightest clamps or push in sharp needles dipped in chilli oil. They often use matches or a candle to burn the underside of my dick just below that ridge and then they insert bigger needles right through the newly burned and blistering skin. They enjoy crushing my incredibly sensitive, balls in a severe crusher, and recently they have taken to piercing my balls more: I can’t begin to describe the horror of having my balls pierced by needles.
The boy and some of the inmates also regularly torture my ears, focussing on my sensitive lobes, and the boy has taken up the face-torture used on me when I’m in the box and has made it even worse in the Punishment Room. Most recently, he laughed while he sandpapered my lips until they bled. Then he rubbed my bleeding wounded lips with a thick oily super-hot chilli paste, making me scream desperately – while he fetched his friends to show them.
The boy often clamps my teeth which are now rotting painfully. He has also found some fierce long sharp-toothed alligator clips which he attaches directly on to my gums and tongue. Recently, he forced a hook right through my tongue and attached it to some wire with weights so it hung out, bleeding and painful; he told me what was next: ‘I’m going to attach the other end of your tongue-wire, cunt, really tight and stretched, to your disgusting fucking nipples which I’ll also pierce. Then, I’m going to drill holes in your fucking balls and attach your tortured fucking tongue to them. Do you deserve holes in your balls, cunt?’ He was getting like Eric so I knew the reply he expected: ‘Yes Sir, I deserve holes drilled in my balls. I am a worthless cunt, Sir, and I deserve all your punishments and tortures. Thank you, Sir’.
Eric has recently added thumbscrews and toe-screws to the Punishment Room collection and he likes to tighten them and make me keep them on during my hard labour, now supervised more sadistically than ever.
Eric’s canings are still horrible and utterly sadistic. He mainly canes my ass, which he loves, but he sometimes also canes my dick or balls. Occasionally, he enjoys administering a severe bastinado which he likes to follow up with making me run on the spot on gravel or in the hard labour yard on the sharpest rubble and, of course, with heavy ball-weights.
Now, at the end of two years, I am to move into a bungalow in the prison grounds with Eric and the boy. I am to become their slave and house-boy. This is part of the pattern Eric started when he made me watch him have sex while I was kept in extreme pain. It is never enough for Eric just to torture me physically. I have to see every day that my victim, whose life I thought I had left in traumatic ruins, now has everything I ever had or wanted, and more, whereas I now have nothing. Eric somehow even found pictures of my former home, family and friends, and joked about them before ripping them up in front of me. I am never to be allowed to settle into a new life as a prisoner, however vile that new life might be – Eric insists on the mental torture of forcing me to compare it with the life I could have if I had never met him.
As Eric’s house-boy, I will still be a prisoner and still be kept naked and regularly punished. In fact, it will be even worse than now. They are planning to keep me in a cramped torture-cellar under the bungalow instead of in a cell. I will still be regularly taken back to the raping cell to be whored out. I will still do hard labour every day. My tortures will continue, supplemented by more domestic chores and extra punishments.
They already told me that, as an example, one of my tasks will be to clean Eric’s doormat with my tongue; if it isn’t perfect, they’ll make me eat dog-shit and then they’ll bend me over a smaller but still effective spanking bench (which they have tried out on me) which Eric is going to keep at the bungalow, so he and the boy can give me ‘a hundred strokes of the cane if we want to, cunt’. When they feel I deserve it, which I know will be often, Eric and the boy will also make me crawl several hundred yards back to the prison Punishment Room for a more serious beating. So I will still have to spend hours on the ‘horse’ (my sitting ridge now had 3 rows of electrified barbed wire, as well as the original wooden splinters) and I will still be put in the boy’s horrible torturing box.
They will definitely continue to torture my ruined penis until it finally drops off. The urethra scraping won’t end. Eric says: ‘we’re going to carry on hollowing out the inside of your dick now, cunt: what do you say?’ ‘Thank you, Sirs, please torture me by hollowing out my penis, I don’t deserve a proper penis, please make me scream with pain when you scrape my urethra. Please use hot chilli and scrape it hard, Sirs’. The pain from that punishment is always unbearable. My urethra is mostly scraped away now and they are just scraping raw penis flesh; they have to use two extra straps to keep me still because the pain is so intense.
As an extra punishment for the inmates to use on me instead of the box, Eric got a cock-and-ball pillory a few weeks ago. The cock-and-ball pillory is a heavy metal upright with a horizontal genital crusher at groin-level. The crusher can be adjusted like an adjustable spanner over the chosen parts of the sex organs.
The inmates, especially the younger and really sadistic boys, love it. They put me in a collar and cuff my hands to it so they’re out of the way, when I’m to be put in the cock-and-ball pillory. They then strap my ankles to the bottom of the horrible heavy contraption. In this way, I’m completely exposed, back and front, for whatever my sadistic fellow-inmates choose to do with me, which the inmates take in turns.
Most of the inmates choose to screw the crusher tightly over the back of my ball-sack and the root of my dick, crushing them painfully, so my dick and balls both stick out obscenely in front of me, perfect for their punishment. Some choose to squash my balls behind the crusher and only to display my dick for torture. Others, again, prefer to bend my dick back behind the crusher and just expose my balls. A specialist variation of the balls-only tendency is to make me stand with my back to the pillory and then to pull my balls through the crusher, closing it over the top of my ballsack – this forces my exposed balls really tightly to the bottom of my ballsack, ideal for beating, kicking, slapping or whatever they have in mind – and this position also forces me to stay bent right forward which soon itself becomes excruciatingly painful. Once, only once so far, a real sadist used the crusher directly on my balls themselves, leaving me in agony for the whole three hours I was standing there, especially as he tightened it slightly every quarter of an hour: I spasmed and screamed for the whole of the last hour.
Having chosen my display position, the inmates can then choose the punishment instruments and the punishments themselves. They hit my trapped genitals with canes and floggers, and a special sharp-twigged birch which I have come to hate more than anything. The boy always also provides needles and tacks which are enthusiastically used not just to go through the top layers of my genital skin but actually to penetrate my dick and balls. There is no feeling which combines humiliation and pain as much as when a teenage inmate takes a needle or tack and gradually pushes it through your scrotum and into an actual testicle. I can’t even scream when they do that to me – and they have started doing it quite often when they saw how scared I looked and when they heard me plead and beg the first time they did it. The other favourite is to criss-cross my dick-head with needles – last time they even played a game to see if one needle going through my dick head could block another one going at right angles. The agony of these tortures is impossible to describe.
Eric has promised me extra horrors with my move to the bungalow. ‘I’m going to punish you with the help of the boy’s dog. The boy likes dogs and he’s trained one specially for you. The boy’s dog is unfriendly. We could, in fact, just tie you up and watch him tear you to pieces, but that would be too quick.
‘So we’ve devised a special project just for you with the boy’s dog’. ‘Tell the cunt what we’ve got planned for his dog-days’, said Eric to the boy. The boy told me about how, in the course of this year, the dog would actually eat bits of my body. ‘You’ll lose fingers and toes and one of your ears near the beginning. You’ll often have to eat the dog’s shit and we’ll make you kiss and lick its ass! The dog will probably fuck you from time to time too – those will be the final sex experiences, if that’s what you’d like to call them, of your life, cunt.’
‘Me’, smiled Eric with his beautiful dimpled smile in his immaculate uniform, ‘I’ll watch the boy’s dog tear off and eat bits of your body while you stand there, tied up, fully conscious, screaming and begging pointlessly. I’ll take out my dick and stroke it. I’ll laugh out loud when you lick up the dog’s shit while the boy and the dog both watch you. I’ll enjoy it when the dog fucks you – I can assure you that’s something you’ll hate so much. I’ll wank myself in front of you as you scream and shriek – and I’ll cum when the dog finally rips off, and eats, your dick and balls.’
‘There won’t be much left of you when we finally dispose of you, cunt’, said Eric.
