My caning that evening in the Punishment Room was more horrific than usual. Eric gave me fifty strokes instead of the usual thirty. Twenty were with the sharp-knobbed whangee cane and all fifty were full-force. At the end I was hysterical with pain and bleeding from my welts, especially where Eric had caned the same place multiple times. Eric enjoyed slamming the cane repeatedly into my sensitive lower buttocks and upper thighs. All my nerve-ends seem to congregate there, so Eric caned me in the same place again and again until blood poured down and there was just no way for the agony to increase. The bruising made it impossible for me to sit even if I had the opportunity, and it made even a touch in that area so painful that I screamed every time.
The next few weeks were among the worst of my whole time in prison. The nights in my pitch-dark tiny stinking cell were terrible. They often opened the little air vent in my low ceiling occasionally but only so Jonny and Jez could shit through it. One time, Jonny dropped in three dead rats though the vent - ‘you don’t have to eat them, cunt, they’re just to keep you company’, Eric joked. They stayed and rotted in my cell for two weeks – when I had to clean my cell out, they kept saying ‘leave the rats’, and then they inevitably laughed at me when I said ‘Yes, Sirs. Thank you, Sirs. Thank you for the dead rats, Sirs’
Every day now started with cleaning out the dog enclosure. I picked up the dog’s shit and frequently had to stir it with my hands into my morning gruel. I attended to the nasty little puddles of dog-piss around the dog's favourite wooden posts; the boy saw another opportunity to humiliate me by making me lap up the dog-piss as a regular part of my cleaning duties. Sometimes, Jez and Jonny, both of course with whips which they mainly aimed at my genitals, were allowed to supervise my cleaning. Sometimes they added their piss to the dog’s puddles. Once, Jez vomited into one of the puddles and made me eat it – Eric just laughed: ‘such a delicious soup of boy-sick and dog-piss', he said when he heard about it ‘good for the cunt’, he added.
My hard labour, motivated by the regular use of the cattle-prod on my dick and balls, up my asshole, on my nipples, and on my belted hands, went on relentlessly. In fact, Eric ordered the guard to give me heavier loads and more at-the-double carrying. He also devised a new punishment which he called the ‘punishment train’. ‘Get the cunt on its hands and knees - it hates that anyway – it's always cutting itself’, said Eric to the guard. ‘Tie a bit of strong rope round its balls and then attach the balls to a sack with 30kg of rubble and bricks. Then it has to drag it around the yard. Plenty of cattle-prodding if it slacks’.
When they tried the 'punishment train' out, a number of inmates and the boy watched on and mock-encouraged me, as my balls were attached to the heavy sack: ‘Get those balls working, cunt, do something useful with them’. The guard, motivated by the taunts, gave my balls a hard kick which made me double up in pain, and brought some applause. Then the guard attached the sack, which I'd been forced to fill with heavy bricks, and pointed to a spot about fifty yards away across rough ground. It would have been torture to have crawled across that ground even without dragging a heavy sack by my balls, but a couple of heavy cane-strokes from the boy and some electrocution on my dick from the guard, got me started on a journey which would be repeated at least twice a day from them on during my hard labour sessions. ‘I see the cunt’s getting some extra knee discipline’ said Eric when he saw blood pouring down my shins, ‘That punishment train’s tearing you to shreds, cunt. Are you enjoying it, cunt?’ ‘No, Sir. But it’s what I deserve, Sir. Thank you for thinking up this punishment, Sir, which gives me ball-pain and knee-discipline at the same time.’ Eric used his torture-spray to stop most of the bleeding, making me roll on the ground clutching my knees now in even more excruciating agony.
Regular visits to the Punishment Room meant hours of caning and horrible tortures on the bondage table. Probably the worst was a series of severe scrapings of my urethra with a new bigger wire with more horrible barbs shoved down my pisshole now, at Eric’s insistence, by up to six centimetres. Eric introduced the new wire after my dick-burning with the cigar. ‘I want to keep your dick in the worst pain I can after that well-deserved burning, both inside and outside’, Eric explained. ‘We’re going to scrape out more raw meat from your urethra and we’ll do a bit of burning inside there too, not just by hot chillies like we have up to now, but also by heating the wire – it’s metal so you’ll get the full burn inside you’ he added.
The boy used a candle to heat the exposed end of the wire and soon the barbs chewing at the soft flesh deep inside my urethra heated up. I had red hot chilli-dipped barbed wire inside my urethra, burning it in two excruciating ways. I could barely even scream, just making incoherent guttural shrieks while I endured that pain. I pulled uselessly against the straps holding me down. A couple of times, Eric made me eat the smoking burned pieces of flesh which they pulled through my pisshole. ‘We shouldn’t waste meat, even nasty cunt-meat’ explained Eric as he took a small spoon with those bits on it and put it to my mouth. I was slow to move my lips. ‘Two more scrapings if this isn’t in your mouth in five seconds’ said Eric. ‘Savour it – don't swallow it yet’, he added with his dimpled smile.
Whole days passed when I was put into the cock-and-ball pillory or in the punishment box in the inmates’ area and there subjected to every imaginable torture and abuse. The inmates all hated me and they each had particular ways to add to my misery. They would punish me with stinging nettles and brambles, and several of them loved the barbed wire brush and used it repeatedly on my ass and between my legs – they knew that there were no limits when it came to 'the cunt'. They would fuck me violently with no lube and sometimes they would force sharp sticks and burning cigarettes up my asshole too. I had to eat snot and shit, vomit and puss. One young inmate used to walk all day with his chewed gum on his shoe and then get his mates to come and watch when he fed it to me in the pillory.
The very worst of my new and more severe regime was that the boy’s vicious dog started to fuck me regularly. This was an experience which makes me physically sick to think about even now – Eric and the boy laughed so much at this – they would stand by and encourage the dog ‘Good boy – come on boy – get in him, boy’ - they put something in my asshole which drove the dog mad.
It wasn’t the pain. It was the sheer degradation. I was an object, a cunt, a piece of shit, and I was fucked regularly by a dog.
One day, when I was tied up on the bondage table face-up, waiting fearfully for another scraping, Eric grabbed my cock and used some kind of speculum to force my pisshole open much wider than usual – he forced in a thick sound with ridges, a bit like a thick metal screw. He used no lube of course, just brute force – and he left it in there. Then he had me turned over on my front and he used another bigger speculum to force open my asshole so wide that I thought it would split – the boy then used the gaping hole as an ashtray for his cigar and all the others used it for their cigarettes. The boy then took a thick needle with strong thread and closed up my asshole over the ashtray mess. It was incredibly painful and a horrible feeling, another degradation almost as bad as the dog-fucking. They blocked my asshole with ashtray filth. With these additions, with the thick sound in my dick and the ashtray in my asshole, I was made to crawl as usual to the bungalow and shoved into my cell.
The next morning, I expected to be sent, despite my blockages, to clean the dog’s enclosure. Instead, I was taken to the iron fence with holes in it. I was tied to it so tightly, it was hard to breathe. I realised to my horror that there was a hole in the fence in front of my dick and balls. I could feel the breeze on them. Eric pulled them through the sharp-edged hole and tied them off so they stuck out obscenely. He squeezed my dick really hard and yanked the sound out of my dick with a blood pouring after it – ‘We don’t want the dog to hurt his teeth’, said Eric. I saw clearly and suddenly what was happening. I struggled and I screamed and begged and yelled for mercy - ‘Please. Please, Sirs. Not this – don't let the dog tear them off – please please Eric, Sir’. I was shaking with fear and I was squealing, as the dog was brought out by the boy. ‘No - please Sirs, please – No!’
‘The dog’s going to tear off your genitals and eat them, cunt. You’ll watch while he does it’, said Eric.
The boy released the dog. It only had a few yards to run.
A shot rang out and the dog fell on its side in front of me. Men and women in uniform started running around – there seemed to be dozens of them. The boy was led away in handcuffs. I was released and put in an ambulance. Jez and Jonny, who had been watching it all, were taken back to the inmates’ area.
Eric who had been standing next to me, expecting to watch the dog rip off my dick and balls, whispered something in my ear and I nodded quickly. Then Eric too was handcuffed and led away.
I gave evidence against the boy and some of the other guards. The court decided that Jonny and Jez could finish their sentences in other prisons, but nothing extra. I didn’t give evidence against Eric – I said that he probably didn’t know what was going on – but I kept a stack of evidence in a safe place about what actually happened.
To avoid prison, Eric agreed to become my slave at home. Just like when I had originally abused him. I couldn’t wait to fuck him without lube and I couldn’t wait to cane him again.
When Eric knocked on my door, he had no luggage. He knew he wouldn’t need any possessions – he was now one of my possessions.
He stripped naked right there on the mat as soon as he had closed the front-door. Then he knelt down and kissed my feet.
Our worlds had moved on.
