I crawled out of the bungalow gate, heading for another day’s hard labour.
Eric put a dog-lead round my neck: ‘we want the boy’s vicious fucking dog to get the scent of the cunt’, he explained to the two young inmates. Then he handed the dark-haired kid the lead and told him to ‘Pull it to the hard-labour yard, Jez – don't let it slack on the way’. It was the first time I heard another inmate called by his name. ‘Jonny’, he addressed the other boy, tall, pimply, gormless and definitely cruel, ‘Here’s a whip if you need it – it's only small but it hurts – use it anywhere on the cunt’.
The kids chose a stony route. At one place, Jez, who had my lead and never slowed his pace, dragged me off the main path so I’d have to go over some bigger rocks. I tried to lift myself on all fours to avoid cutting my knees on some sharp ones. Jonny yelled in my face ‘You’re supposed to fucking crawl, pig; I’m giving you a whipping for that – hold the pig still, Jez.’ Jonny went to work with that small whip, cutting it into my shoulders, back, buttocks, thighs and smacking it between my legs – drops of my blood fell on to those sharp rocks. This sadistic kid enjoyed teaching me a lesson on those rocks for a good five minutes.
The day of hard labour was as terrible as usual. The boy had told my guard to belt both of my hands before work that day - ‘I reckon the cunt’s been slacking’ - instead of just belting one of them as normal, and the guard cut clean through a fingernail when he was belting the knuckles on my right hand. I got no recovery time. In fact, my first few loads were bigger than usual and, when I dropped some of the rubble, I saw the guard turn up the power before cattle-prodding my balls.
I had expected – and was dreading – the front half of the rat when Eric and the boy brought my pig-food lunch. I knew that somehow I would have to force myself to eat it. But I was wrong. The boy said cheerfully ‘The rest of the rat’s going to rot for another day or two, cunt – don't worry, you’ll get it in the end.’ So my pig-food that day was the usual sludge and gristle waste and three rotten apples – one of them squashed and clearly trodden on because you could see the boot-marks. When I looked more closely, I could see that there were live maggots crawling around on the apples and in the usual leftover lumps of vomit at the bottom of the bowl. I forced it down. I forced the maggots down. I forced the vomit down. I drank inmate-piss from the tank. This is what I was reduced to. I was grateful because I hadn’t been forced to eat pieces of a dead rat. ‘Thank you for my meal, Sir. The maggots were a good idea, Sir. I’m learning my lesson, Sir.’
I looked up and saw Jonny, the spotty kid who had whipped me earlier - ‘I need a shit, Sir’ he said to the boy as he looked directly at me. ‘Cunt’, the boy said to me, ‘Lie down on your back and open your mouth. Jonny here is going to shit into it. Eat it all’, he ordered. ‘Anything left and you’ll be caned’, added Eric with a dimpled smile.
Several inmates gathered. I lay on my back on the rubble. Jonny lowered his shorts and regulation boxers and squatted over my face. ‘Beg him, cunt’, said the boy. I looked around and I looked up at the grinning teenager preparing to shit on me – he even had acne on his ass. I couldn’t do it. I started to get up. I yelled it out: ‘I’ve fucking had enough – I'm not a fucking animal – I'm a fucking person, a human being ..’
Before I could actually get up, Eric stomped so hard on my balls that I thought he’d burst them.
I rolled on the rubble on the concrete floor in ball-agony. Eric stepped firmly on my chest to keep me still, looked me in the eyes and spoke to me quietly - ‘The guard will bring you straight to the prison Punishment Room after your hard labour today, cunt. Young Jonny and his friend will be there too. First, we’ll make sure you do actually eat Jonny’s shit – all of it and probably more unpleasant stuff. Then we’ll have a session with one of the boy’s cigars – it’ll teach you a lesson.’ He turned to Jonny - ‘Shit in its feeding bowl, kid, and come to the Punishment Room after work. Tell Jez to come too’.
Jonny took his shit in my feeding bowl.
Eric turned back to me and smiled; ‘You’ll regret your little outburst so much and for so long, cunt’.
‘Put ball-weights on the cunt for the whole of its afternoon’s hard-labour session’ Eric told the guard. ‘I want its balls hurting like fucking crazy when it’s punishment time later’.
After a terrible afternoon of hard labour with ball-weights, my labour guard cuffed me and escorted me to the prison Punishment Room. Another inmate was already inside getting the prison strap - I could hear his screams - and one was waiting outside handcuffed and tied by his balls to a hook on a post so high that he had to stand on tiptoe. The guard tied me to the next post, also by my aching swollen balls. The hook he attached me to was even higher than the young inmate tied up and waiting, so high in fact that I was almost swinging by my balls – my toes just about balanced on the ground if I stayed completely still. There I waited until the strapped boy shuffled out and the next boy was caned. Finally, my two new young inmate-masters, Jonny and Jez, went into the Punishment Room with Eric, and the boy came and untied me, uncuffed me, pushed me into the Punishment Room and tied me into the toilet box.
Now I was face up in the toilet box, Eric lent over me smiling. He loved seeing me in the toilet box and he started by spitting a few times on my trapped face. ‘You were screaming about being human, cunt. You’re not fucking human. You’re not even a pig. Look at you in that box! You’ll eat our shit, drink our piss and you’ll thank us every time. We’ll torture every bit of your disgusting body and you’ll beg for more. You’ll suffer every day for what you did to me and you’ll thank me for making you suffer.’
The boy, Jonny, whose spotty ass was about to deliver my shit-meal looked at Eric in amazement and admiration. His friend Jez smiled and nearly applauded. They all knew what I’d done to Eric and so many others. They all really hated me.
The boy pronounced my sentence. ‘After you’ve eaten every scrap of Jonny’s fresh shit, he’s going to feed you the lunchtime shit you missed – you'll eat every scrap of that too. Then he’s going to feed you a good helping of dog-shit – you won’t enjoy it. It’ll be your first encounter with my dog. He's not nice and his shit isn’t nice! Eric will then cane you, and you know what that'll be like, before we put you face up on the bondage table. When you’re strapped down, I'll light a cigar and, well, we’ll see what happens ... I can’t wait.’
Tears welled up in my eyes and I felt them run down my cheeks. No one cared though, and anyway my face would soon be covered in Jonny’s two lots of shit, plus the dog-shit.
I actually felt a couple of Jonny’s acne spots brush my cheeks before he let rip with a huge disgusting motion, hard in places but mostly soft, everywhere utterly vile. I still felt the utter and complete humiliation of a teenage boy taking his shit in my mouth and on my face. When he'd finished, he just stood up from the toilet seat, looked down at his shit in my mouth and all over my face, and laughed - ‘fucking brilliant, Mr Eric – will he really eat it all? – it's so fucking skanky’. ‘It’s certainly not what I’d like for my supper, but I’m not the one who gets at least a hundred strokes of the cane if I don’t eat it all’, said Eric. Piece by piece, I brought that shit to my mouth with my one free hand. I unstuck it from my cheeks and neck, pulled it out of my hair. I ate all Jonny’s shit, obeying his orders by licking my fingers at the end.’
'Thank Jonny - 'Sir' to you - and beg for the next bit', Eric smiled as he lent over me again. 'We left Jonny's lunchtime shit in your feeding bowl, and we left it out in the sun, cunt - it was literally buzzing so it's probably got some bluebottle maggots in it by now'. I knew better than to hesitate. I wept pathetically as I looked up at the gloating sadistic teenager: 'Thank you, Sir, for your delicious fresh shit. I am so sorry, Sir, that I didn't eat your shit at lunchtime. I sincerely apologise, Sir. Thank you for leaving it in the sun, Sir. Please may I have the honour of eating it now.' The kid just smirked, grabbed my disgusting never-washed feeding bowl, and emptied its vile contents into my mouth, bit by bit, waiting while I chewed and swallowed each disgusting dark brown lump. 'Don't bother with the few sticky bits which don't fall out over the cunt - it'll eat them with its pig-food tomorrow - we'll cane it if it even leaves a fucking smear'
‘Thank him again and ask for the next bit, cunt’. Then I remembered the dog-shit. I started to shake. I knew I had no choice – either I would say it and do it now or say it and do it after I’d been tortured. ‘I have learned my lesson, Sir, and I will never behave like I did at lunchtime again. To complete this part of my lesson, please feed me some dog-shit, Sir. I deserve to eat dog-shit, Sir’.
Jonny had a wide and self-satisfied grin as he reached for a small plastic box. But when he opened it, even he looked horrified. The dog-shit, my next course of this torture-meal, obviously looked and smelt worse than he had expected. The others stepped back too. Jonny scrunched his face in disgust. He told me to ‘open up’. This was really about to happen to me. I opened my mouth. Jonny lowered the box to my face and emptied it into my mouth and on to my face. The stench, the lumpy texture of that dog-shit, the runny bits that oozed into my hair and up my nose, were beyond any description.
There was laughter in the Punishment Room. Here was this former abuser, this former master, reduced to begging for dog-mess, opening its mouth so a teenage boy could pour that foul dog-mess into it and swallowing it and somehow saying with a croaking voice 'Thank you, Sirs, for making me eat dog-shit'.
The caning from Eric – ten with the whangee cane followed by twenty with one of the prison canes – was bad. Eric never held back. Eric’s caning torture was never routine. I was always shocked by the pain of each of his strokes and I always screamed if, like this evening, I wasn’t gagged. He would always choose new places and new angles. Each stroke cut into my raw buttocks in a way which seemed to produce fresh and severe pain. I could never really get used to those canings administered by Eric – the cuts where one stroke was placed directly over another, the cruel bite of the sharp knobs on the whangee cane as they bruised then penetrated my scarred buttock flesh producing little spurts of blood - which on this occasion produced a delighted commentary from Jonny - ‘it’s got three fucking fountains coming out of its ass’. There could never be anything routine about a caning from Eric.
That night, however, it was not Eric’s brutal caning, not even the horror of the dog-shit, that stole the show. It was the bondage table and the boy’s cigar.
They unstrapped me from the caning bench and kicked me over to the bondage table. They laid me on my back on that horrible table and they attached me by ankle cuffs to the corners. Then they propped me up on a metal head-rest so I could see along the whole of the front of my naked body. ‘I don't want you to lie right back for this punishment, cunt: I want you to watch what the boy does with his cigar’, said Eric, ‘If I see you’ve closed your eyes, that part of the punishment will be repeated and doubled’. They tied my hands out of the way at the back of the head-rest.
The boy lit a big cigar and blew the first smoke into my face. I coughed and spluttered, which amused the two young inmates. Eric said ‘The cunt hates smoking. When it smelt smoke on me when it imprisoned me, it caned me. But the tables have turned, haven’t they, cunt?’ ‘Yes, Sir. I’m getting what I deserve, Sir.’
Ominously, Eric removed my dick-cage.
Then Eric fitted the painful surgical gag which forced my mouth wide open. The boy flicked some ash into my mouth. It was hot and my mouth burned. My tongue and gums quickly became sore. Ash went down my throat and presumably mixed with my saliva to make a kind of acrid and slightly salty paste.
‘The boy’s going to burn you up over the next few months with his cigars,‘ said Eric matter-of-factly. ‘Today he was planning to burn your ass, which would have been painful enough. Now, because of your outburst over Jonny’s shit in the prison yard, he’s going to burn your dick instead. He’ll burn your shaft first and then the tip – he’ll put his cigar out on the tip of your disgusting penis, shitface – think how you'll feel when he melts some of that sensitive skin from your nasty little dick-tip, while you watch the action.’
The boy got to work. He held my dick in his left hand and pushed his burning cigar on to the skin near its root on the under-side. He didn’t even push hard but the tip of that cigar was red-hot. The pain in my penis took over my whole world at that moment.
Eric twisted my dick so I could see clearly the circular red mark from the cigar deepen to crimson - with grey stains where and some of the boy’s cigar ash stuck to the wound. The four young men stood smiling as my penis burned. I couldn’t scream because of the gag but I made guttural shrieks from my throat. Eric nodded to Jez, the dark-haired boy who, until that moment, had seemed less vicious than his friend Jonny. Jez had one of the Punishment Room’s big sharp pinwheels in his hand and he lent forward, took my penis from the boy, and ran the pinwheel backwards and forwards over the burn - ‘it’ll keep it hurting for longer’, smiled Eric. Even with all my constraints, I spasmed so much from the appalling extra pain that Eric had to hold my head to stop me getting unwanted injuries or knocking myself out and spoiling my torture.
By now, the boy’s cigar had burnt down a centimetre or so. My mouth was obviously going to be his ashtray. He flicked the ash on to my tongue. This time he held it near enough to burn my tongue and lips and cause me additional misery.
The boy chose five places on my dick to burn that evening, working his way from the root to the tip. It was going to be four, but Eric added one because he said that I closed my eyes when the boy burned the third one just below my circumcision ridge on the top side of my penis. Eric told the boy to take his time. They wanted to keep me in the maximum pain without passing out. Eric got it just right because I don’t know how I could have been in more pain but I didn’t pass out. After each burn, Jez increased the torture with the pinwheel he rolled and scraped over each wound. Each time, the boy flicked more ash into my ashtray mouth. When I started to choke on the ash, Eric himself pissed into a glass and poured it into my mouth to wash it down.
Finally, the sixth burn was due. The boy smiled and drew hard on the remains of his cigar. The tip glowed terrifyingly. ‘Watch fucking carefully’, said Eric in my ear, as he stood behind me - ‘I want you to remember what happens when you try to resist me’. The heat of the cigar was painful well before its actual contact with my sensitive pisshole and glans. Then came the first touch just below my pisshole itself. I started to gurgle and produced a kind of strangled guttural throat-screech from my forced-open mouth. For a split second, the boy’s push of the burning cigar-end right on the tip of my dick felt warm and soft. But that gave way to the most searing pain I have experienced ever. I shook, gurgled, screeched. The boy realised I might explosively empty my ashtray-mouth as I spasmed uncontrollably and quickly removed the open-mouth gag, held his hand over my mouth, moved my metal head-rest and pushed me back so I was lying face-up but flat. My screams grew louder and more desperate as the terrible pain from my penis spread through my whole groin and then my whole body, and then concentrated agonisingly back at the tip of my penis again. There was just no relief.
‘Sit bare-butt on the cunt’s mouth’ Eric ordered the dark-haired Jez, who then quickly took off his trousers and boxers, climbed on to the bondage table and sat down firmly on my face. ‘Now lean forward and pinwheel its dick-tip burn. Stay there till it settles down a bit and swallowed the ash. Then you can get up and the cunt can eat the rest of the boy's cigar’, said Eric.
