by Mark Andrews
Oh yes, life was going to be very different for the scum under Will’s regime.
But to return to the ploughing, they now began to drag it through the soil which, since it hadn’t been used for agriculture in a hundred years, was hard and unforgiving. Bob, who had designed and built the yokes, was driving it himself this first time and he had to adjust it right up until it was barely scraping the surface. Over successive runs it could be made to dig deeper but in the meantime, even with just the first twelve of our thirty to fifty sex prisoners, it was doing what it was supposed to.
My eyes however were on our twelve prisoners. Professionally, my job was to ensure each gave his all to this task and to lay on the whip when I thought one of them on my side was slacking. We had all had lessons in the use of the various whips and canes we would be using on them and by now were all pretty much dab hands at it. I have to say I delighted in my new job. I hadn’t believed I was overly sadistic and I don’t think that has changed. But this lot were the scum of the Earth and punishing them would be a duty I would not shirk.
I am bisexual, however, and the sight of the twelve of them stark naked was a quite definite turn-on for me. Here I have to qualify what I said a moment ago. By sadistic, I meant torture for sexual pleasure and I don’t resile from that. However slavery has always been a real love for me and naked slavery was my usual fantasy in my night-time reveries. Looking at this lot, I could easily imagine them as naked slaves and that certainly fuelled my libido.
My thoughts turned to Will and, glancing at him, I knew I was going to enjoy tonight especially, as I hoped, if he was into the slave scene as well for while I liked (in my dreams) to look at other men (and women too, as long as they were athletic) naked and toiling at hard labour. I really delighted in putting myself into the role of slave, perhaps plying the oar of a galley, stark naked and flogged to greater effort by a huge muscular overseer. As I’m black, I also fell easily into the role of a southern American plantation slave used and abused by a cruel white master and his wife - and used by them both sexually.
But these were just dreams, of course. In the here and now, I was an officer with the Queensland Department of Corrections and I had always scrupulously observed the correct attitudes to all my charges, never even implying by a glance that I was interested in a single one of them sexually. But of course that was no longer the case with this scum. Will had indicated he wanted us to rape them and to do so publicly, that is, in front of people who would be paying to come and see them raped or otherwise punished and I was really looking forward to this aspect of our jobs. Yes, I know it is conceited of me but I know I have a good body - hell, I work at it hard enough - and the idea of legally ‘raping’ one of this lot in front of an audience really did something to my ego.
Right now, however, it was my job to keep my six hard at it and that too was another joy. The lessons we had learned with the whips and the practice we had all taken part in had honed those skills so that now we could lay the tip of the so feared bullwhip anywhere on their miserable flesh we liked. The only parts of their bodies that were taboo were the region of the kidneys and their heads. Anywhere else, even including their genitals was fair game and in fact, Will had indicated that if we could whip their cocks and balls without permanently damaging them then we should go for it.
It wasn’t easy, however. Their attitude, leaning into the yokes and their proximity to the man in front of them made their genitals hard targets, but I didn’t worry overly about it. In the future we would be ritually caning and whipping this part of their anatomies as part of their punishment and in the case of the bullwhip, they would be suspended upside down with their legs drawn out wide. Their genitals would then be perfectly arrayed for the tip of my whip - and I could wait...
And so I now directed it to their shoulders, upper backs and buttocks; the latter particularly for they were a particular fetish of mine. I really delight in a pair of narrow muscular nates, especially if their owner’s skin is smooth and clear and Sandy Blake’s bottom was very much in this category. Not that I whipped him unnecessarily. I knew my job and its limits and no matter how much I doted on a particular prisoner’s body, I would never punish him more than he deserved.
But they all took breathers occasionally and this was not permitted. When they did, and at first it was quite often, up went my whip and down it came, its knotted tip catching their buttocks wonderfully.
The signal whip is a wonderful instrument of punishment. It is about three metres long and its handle is fairly thick (comfortably so) and rigid. It then tapers down to the tip. From about the thirty centimetre mark it ceases to be rigid but becomes ‘oily’ rather than floppy. Thus as one draws the tail back over one’s head it follows the handle in a graceful arc. When applied from about two metres distance, it curls around the victim’s body and the very end of the tail creates a nice little welt. The path of the rest of it also hurts but not as much as the tail itself. It is not necessary to use great force. The lash hurts a great deal even when applied quite slowly.
The whip also creates a slight whooshing sound as it flies through the air, culminating in a terrifying ‘thwaaaaap’ sound as it connects with the naked flesh of the victim
As it lashed their bodies now, they all screamed and jumped in the air but then, once their feet hit the ground, they leaned even harder into the yoke around their neck and strained to their utmost to keep the plough moving through the hard-crusted earth.
Why didn’t we use their implants and our wrist controllers? Because we were preparing for our paying guests (and on the days they would be coming to visit, the rapists’ victims) and Will had indicated that we wanted to give both classes of visitor a variety of corporal punishments to make their visit more interesting. The implants worked exceptionally well but the whip, the cane and such variations as the Scottish tawse or the English birch were just as efficacious in demonstrating to our prisoners that their crimes were now going to cost them dear - in hard, back-breaking toil, as well as ritually inflicted pain, shame and sheer humiliation!
As with the earlier session in the capstan room, we kept them at it until they collapsed. And I mean that literally. With the capstan, its sensors had caused them to be shocked by means of their implant which had re-enlivened them, so to speak. Only when they truly collapsed unconscious or at least unable to get to their feet again, were they dragged out of the machine.
But now, we had to gauge their physical state visually, responding to any perceived slackness with a well-placed stroke of the whip until they were really exhausted and then, as before, we called a halt, removed the prisoner from the gang and then re-started them at work. This only worked for the first few, but then the load, even at the lightest setting, was too much for the remaining members and we called a halt for the day.
We let them lie there for a few minutes until they were physically able to get up and then we whipped them back into the building - literally. We lashed at their supine forms until they got to their feet and ran ahead of us, trying desperately to avoid the kiss of the whip to their flesh.
And this time, when we took them down to the ablution area, I blasted their bodies with water that was far too hot. They couldn’t escape. Will had thoughtfully surrounded the recessed area as a cage and I could stand outside it and aim the scalding torrent in at them. This was followed by a two minute blast of cold water. And by cold, I mean it. It wasn’t refrigerated but it certainly wasn’t tepid. This had the effect of perking them up and now they stood there, each hugging himself for warmth and jumping from foot to foot.
And now it was time for their final indignity of the day. One of them was going to be raped. I had volunteered for this first duty in this department. First because I was Will’s deputy, but second because I had an urge to fuck Sandy Blake’s youthful but so beautifully muscled body and I had mentioned it to Will. He had grinned and said I was on.
We now took
them along to the raping room. Here they would each soon suffer the pain and humiliation of having their crime turned against them - but in the view either of their own victim and her (or his) psychiatrist or, more often, a roomful of paying members of the public who would be accommodated in a tiered array of seats in a horseshoe around the small stage on which was situated the pillory into which they would be bent and their feet drawn out wide, providing their attacker, in this case me, with a perfect target. The little round stage on which the pillory was mounted was motorised and when activated, slowly revolved so that every member of the audience saw every aspect of it.
Today, the audience consisted of every member of the staff as well as Sandy’s prisoner colleagues who were ranged around and behind the slightly raised dais, each standing erect and with hands clasped up behind his neck, and when Sandy was brought in by himself and looked around him, he suddenly knew what was going to happen and he ran - or tried to. His escort had already programmed his number into his controller, however, and all it took was a touch to the red button and the young man was instantly a heap of writhing arms and legs on the floor as he tried to come to grips with the agony of those shocks to his testicle.
He got up then and allowed himself, albeit rather reluctantly, to be led up onto the stage and to bend over to fit his neck and wrists into the holes in the bottom half of the pillory. Its top was then lowered over them and locked while another officer spread his legs out wide and secured them to the lugs set a metre apart for the purpose.
I then jumped up onto the stage and standing in front of the twenty-one year old prisoner and began to remove my uniform, revealing my muscles and my black skin to him. And then, as I dropped the last item, my underpants, down to reveal my snake, he screamed out in terror for yes, I am one of those black men who is very, very well endowed in that department.
The males of the Negro races are often credited with being super-endowed ‘down there’. I know it not to be true, of course, but if it had been, I would be a perfect example of the fact. As it is, my cock is just on nineteen centimetres long and over three, thick. And when it is erect, it grows another four centimetres in length and one in diameter and stands straight up my belly, often throbbing if I’m really turned on by the scene.
That was the case now as I now circled the stage in counter-rotation to its own fairly slow motion, flexing my muscles and grinning up at the audience in the tiered seats and also to the other prisoners arranged against the back wall. The former laughed or cheered me; the prisoners just looked scared as they stared down at my outsized, iron-hard weapon.
No-one had said what was going to happen but it was obvious, I think, and now Sandy really screamed out in fear and waved his middle from side to side, clenching his cheeks in a vain attempt to keep me out.
I did grease my cock. Not to have done so would have torn the soft skin of his anal muscles and perhaps even his rectum but apart from that, once I was ready, I waited until the stage had brought his still wildly-waving bottom to me, walked in, leaned over his fine body and grasped his muscular shoulders. And then I simply rammed my cock up and into his backside.
He just about choked as I sent it driving right up his arse until my pubes slammed into the soft flesh of his buttocks. Here I should add that my pubes were as naked as his own for I too have a fetish about hairy bodies and had used the machine in the interview room to remove every hair below my eyelashes even including my beard - a special helmet was used to protect my hair, eyebrows and lashes.
‘Oh what a feeling’, goes the Toyota ad. Well I can echo it. Yes, I had bedded handsome and muscular males before but this was more than different! This was a naked prisoner. In my imagination, a slave. A slave I was raping for my own pleasure and his punishment for which (again in my imagination) he was secured bent over in the pillory.
And then I proceeded to give him what for, while under me, he continued to scream and yell and threaten and plead, all of which I totally ignored. I wasn’t interested in his blather, except to ask him how he was enjoying what he had perpetrated on his victim.
He fell silent then, at least except for his groans of pain, but I continued on, driving hard but conscious that this was supposed to last for half an hour at least, in order to give his probably virginal bottom a real workout. Will wanted him to remember this first of many coming rapes for weeks and probably the rest of his life.
I delighted in it, of course. Yes, I am a bit of a showman and I am proud of my body and wasn’t in the least sheepish about showing it, or my sexual prowess off to my friends and colleagues, much less the other eleven criminals ranged behind the circular stage and all staring in real horror at what I was doing to Sandy, each of them now realising that this fate too, added to the diabolically hard labour we had already inflicted on them this first day, was going to be theirs as well.
Will Chalmers
What a magnificent spectacle Carl put on for us all! And what a truly magnificent body he has. Oh yes, I had known he was well-built even dressed, but naked and now nude as well, at least from his long eyelashes down, he was to me about the epitome of the perfect human male: tall and with perfectly-formed muscles that were honed to perfection but were not overdone; a skin as smooth and soft as brushed velvet; all capped off with a face as handsome as a young Denzel Washington or Anthony Montgomery (of Star Trek Enterprise fame).
And tonight he was going to be mine. I wondered what his scene was. My own favourite fantasy was to be time-shifted back to the slave-owning era of the southern United States and in it, I was master of an enormous plantation of the very best black slaves, half and half male and female and those fantasies then divided between using their bodies sexually, choosing either a male or female, or sometimes a number of them for my pleasure; or stringing them up by their heels for a ‘paddling’ as it was called. As a young man, I had delighted in the Falconhurst series of books and after reading them all, then sought out anything I could find (the more salacious the better) on the subject of American slavery in its worst forms.
But of course these were merely fantasies. I had never ever told another living soul about them and hadn’t even broached the subject of S&M or even B&D with any of my sexual partners, male or female. In Carl’s case, I didn’t much mind what his pleasure was. He was so perfect a human being, anything he wanted, I would go along with.
Right now though, he was still raping young Sandy’s backside - and making a great deal more than a fair fist of it. The rapist was screaming now but that was good. He might now begin to understand what his victim had suffered under his sexual assault of her person.
I decided right then that I was going to ring her psychiatrist tomorrow morning and make an appointment for her to come and watch this very same scene as soon as she was ready. I wouldn’t even mind if it was tomorrow and Sandy’s anus was not fully recovered; however on reflection, perhaps a few days hence might be better.
I have seen many male-oriented as well female porn movies, both for my own pleasure as well as professionally but even the best of them came nowhere within a bull’s roar of what Carl was putting on with the muscular Sandy Blake.
And it wasn’t just the pillory scene or the lithe muscularity of Sandy’s body, or even the splendour that was Carl’s physical magnificence and beauty, either. I think those things contributed to it but it was more the panache, the flamboyance with which he played out the act which caught my admiration. There were nuances of motion of his body; in the way he screwed his cock as he drove it in to the young rapist’s rectum; of the way his beautifully muscled buttocks clenched at each stroke - oh, there were hundreds of little things, but all of them went to make this a scene which I was sure would go a long way in helping to re-form and repair Jan O’Connor’s mind.
Jan was Sandy’s victim and while her body had recovered quickly from his assault, her mind was languishing. She hadn’t returned to work (she was a librarian with the
council library) and her psychiatrist had confided to me that he was beginning to despair of even a mid-term recovery. When I had suggested my more-than-radical treatment - the witnessing of her attacker being similarly raped himself, he had jumped at it. “I’ve tried every known treatment, Will. Yours is admittedly revolutionary, but it might just work. Couldn’t do any harm, anyway,” he had said.
But first there was to be my night with Carl.
Perhaps I should attempt to describe our building. As I said, it had been a munitions factory but had lain empty and dormant for decades. We had acquired it very cheaply. We first set out to renovate our own accommodations. We made these comfortable and practical. We each had an en suite bed/sitting room and then there were common rooms devoted to reading, TV and other recreations, kitchen, dining, etc. I made sure these parts were nicely decorated and furnished for our comfort.
And then there were the prisoner areas. As I indicated earlier, these were left in the raw concrete form in which the munitions factory had operated. No part of them was heated or cooled (unlike our quarters). For sleeping, the thirty prisoners would be housed on a series of wooden benches half a metre wide and two long and there were thirty of them. At the head of each ‘bed’, their wrists and necks were secured in pillories preventing more than a little movement as they rested and their necks were further adorned with a dog’s anti-bark collar, modified for human use and tuned to their voice boxes. The slightest vibration, even from a whisper and they were zapped by electrodes on either side of their necks. I tried it out and I can tell you, I wouldn’t be talking again once I had suffered the shock my speaking caused.
