Date: Sun, 1 Oct 2006 02:11:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Modern Helot, Part Two

A MODERN HELOT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Two

It's amazing how quickly you adapt to prison life!
Well, perhaps not in some tough jail in a big city -
but out here in the middle of nowhere it all seemed
pretty relaxed and gentle.  We were adequately fed -
although the food was boring, there was plenty of it
and it was all fresh and kind of "good for you" with a
lot of fruit and vegetables, and fresh bread and
stuff.  There wasn't any bullying or anything like
that - perhaps it was because we were all too hot,
perhaps the open dormitory made it easier than being
in cells, or perhaps it was that the "language groups"
stuck pretty much together and looked after their own.
 We didn't have anything to do, and apart from me none
of the other blokes seemed to exercise - all they ever
wanted to do was to sit or lie around talking, or
playing some sort of gambling game with pebbles.  It
could almost have been the totally relaxing holiday,
when you completely turn off from doing normal things
and just do nothing - except for the lack of freedom.
Until you've been in a situation where you can't go
through a door if you want to, because it's locked,
you can't really understand what being locked up is
like.  We take freedom so much for granted that it
isn't until you lose it that you start to realise what
it means.

I sat there for four days in the "cage" and no one
seemed interested in me.  My English-speaking
companion was selected on day three, and after that I
had no one to talk to at all.  I asked him why no one
was showing interest in me, and he shrugged.  "Steve,
my friend, who can say?  Perhaps you are too big, and
you frighten them.  Perhaps they have been told you
don't speak Greek, and they do not want to have to
teach you.  Perhaps they are looking for young Arab
boys, with skinny bums who will be easy to fuck,
perhaps...."

"Hey!  You can't be serious!  They're picking some of
these blokes to take them off an fuck them?"

"Steve, where have you been all your life?  These
slim, lithe lads with their dark flashing eyes hold
out the promise of untold pleasures... Who would not
want a young Arab, fresh and sweet, almost certainly a
virgin as their culture frowns on men having sex with
other men?"

"Oh, come on...."

"No, Steve:  think about it:  what could be better
than buying yourself an Arab lad, a lad who could be
trained to service you in the way you wish, a lad who
can be punished if he fails to satisfy you, a lad with
a beautiful, youthful body.... Fresh and wholesome,
ready to be skewered by your cock..."

"But they're like us, they're helots...."

"Yes, Steve.  But I do not think we will be selected
as a sex toy by some rich man - we are too old, and
too big.  Most men buying helots for sex are looking
for slim hips, a small bun which does not prevent the
cock from entering the arsehole fully.... You are too
big, your bum is too muscular...."

"No, you can't be serious...."

"Oh Steve, imagine you are rich.  You have a beautiful
house overlooking the sea.  You have a fine car.  You
have a beautiful young  trophy wife to display to your
colleagues.  You have fine sons growing up to take
over your business.  What else is there left to spend
your money on?  How excellent it would be to purchase
a helot, someone who has to obey you totally?  Someone
who has to pander to your every whim, for fear of
being punished?  Someone who you own and dominate and
control totally....?  A helot is so much more
satisfactory than a servant, who can leave, or a wife,
who can divorce you.   It is the ultimate symbol of
power and wealth, to be able to buy another man and
the bend him and use him to satisfy only your own
desires, knowing that if he resists in any way, or is
even the smallest bit unsatisfactory, you can beat
him?"

He saw me looking in horror, and went on "But I think
not for you and me, Steve, so do not worry.  We are
destined to be labourers, picking the grapes, or
building the roads, or whatever.  We will work in a
gang of other helots, and think what fun we will have
in the evenings when we are locked up for the
night...."

I was going to ask him more, but at that moment he was
called over to the bars by one of the guards, then
taken out of our cage, and that was the last I ever
saw of him.  Still, the next day, when the men came
out to "inspect" us, I did my best to make myself
unattractive - I pumped my muscles, so I looked really
big and tough, and I scowled and tried to look kind of
"evil" as I thought this would scare away men who
wanted to use me as a sex toy!  It seemed to work,
too, as no one asked to take a closer look at me, and
a week later I was still there.

It couldn't last, of course:  just as I thought I was
"safe" for another day as the men inspecting us had
mostly gone, a big man sauntered leisurely out of the
offices and walked slowly around the cage.  He was
kind of distinguished looking, in his late thirties,
I'd say, and was casually dressed in white - well-cut
trousers, a loose-fitting shirt of what seemed to be
very fine cotton, and a Panama hat with a striped
ribbon around the brim to shade his face from the sun.
   He saw me, said something to the guard, who in turn
rapped out an incomprehensible order to me.  I knew
what I was supposed to do, though, and strolled over
to the bars.  I stood there, gripping the bars with my
hands and glaring fiercely at the guard and the guy in
an effort to look undesirable.

It didn't seem to intimidate the man in white, though,
as he said something in Greek to the guard, who
replied with a rapid stream of stuff which of course I
had no clue about.  The man in white then said, in
perfect English with a faint American accent, "So,
what brings you here?"

"Their fucking legal system!  And a bad lawyer."

He smiled.  "But what was the charge?"

"Rape!  But I didn't do it.   She was willing...."

"Ah.... Rape of a woman.... You did not bring your
wife with you when you came to our country?"

"I'm not married, and my girlfriend didn't want to
come, as it was a holiday with some of my mates from
the rugger club...."

"Ah, you had a girlfriend...."

"HAVE a girlfriend...."

"I doubt she will wait for you.  The guard tells me
you are a fifteen year helot.  How old are you now?"

"Twenty three."

"Excellent.  And in good health and very good physical
condition, I can see."

He said something to the guard in rapid Greek, who in
turn barked at me and pointed to the gate.  I wondered
if it was worth protesting, or just doing nothing -
but what was the point?  I was going to be out of
there sooner or later, and going off with a bloke who
spoke English did seem to be a better idea. And,
anyway, if I disobeyed, they'd probably come in and
beat me up.  So I shrugged and walked to the gate, and
the guard unlocked it and led me off into the building
where I'd seen so many men enter in the past few days.

They led me along a corridor into a small room that
contained only a chair, by the side of which was a
small table with a water carafe and glass, and a box
if tissues.  I went to sit down, but the guard barked
at me and I got the message that  I was to remain
standing.  So I stood there, kind of relaxed, but also
kind of under tension as I wondered what was going to
happen next.   I didn't have long to wait, though, as
the door opened and the man in white came in,
accompanied by a  young man who was carrying a
clipboard and a sheaf of papers.

The man in white sat down without saying a word,
poured himself a glass of water and sipped it slowly.
He was evidently completely at ease, and in control.
He looked at me and said calmly "Be so good as to
remove that singlet, so I can better appreciate your
musculature."

"No way....", I began, and instantly the guard hit out
at me with his truncheon - he caught me on the end of
my elbow, my "funny bone", a name that's not apt, and
I almost collapsed as the pain shot through me.  It
took me some time to recover, and as I stood there
nursing the end of my elbow, the man in white remarked
quietly, as if what he had seen was the most normal
thing in the world, "Men who play rugger in England
are normally amongst the better educated, I thought.
Surely you are sensible enough to see that you should
obey here?  I do not like to see men hurt, and
possibly damaged, but I fear that if you do not obey
orders, the guard will use progressively stronger and
stronger measure on you, until you do."

I glared at him, and pulled the singlet over my head
and let it fall to the floor.  He sat there, his eyes
running over my body, and said quietly "Turn around.",
which I did, until there was the authoritative "Face
me again."

His eyes were on mine as he seemed to be debating
something internally, then he half smiled as he told
me "I like what  I see - so far.  You are broad
shouldered, and taper properly to the waist - very
much like our ancient Greek statues.  And your long
legs are well in proportion to the rest of you.  So
you play rugger, and you have a girlfriend....  Do you
also work out?"

"No - I train for rugger, but that's about all.  I'm
pretty naturally like this...."

He looked at me intently.   "Helots need to be
respectful to their contract owners.  For myself, I
prefer that you call me 'sir'."

I glared at him, but he said nothing more, then, in
complete control, he murmured "No be so good as to
drop those shorts.  I need to consider the total
picture...."

"No way!",  I shouted, and his prediction about the
guard's actions proved to be true - He stabbed at me
viciously with his truncheon again, this time hitting
me in the stomach and winding me, and I fell to the
floor.  The man sat there impassively, saying nothing,
as I struggled to get my breath back and then dragged
myself to my feet.

"I hope this is not symptomatic of your attitude to
obeying orders!", the man said.  "If it is, you are in
for much pain and suffering...  Now, be a sensible
man, and do as I commanded you and drop your shorts.
Surely you are not unused to being naked in front of
other men?  As a rugger player you must surely be used
to using communal changing rooms?  Or are you ashamed
of what you have got? Is your manhood undersized -
does that magnificent torso just end in a tiny little
boy's cock?"

Look, it's different, isn't it?  Of course I was used
to using a communal changing room, and my club is one
of the older ones that still had a communal bath,
even, rather than showers!  So I was completely used
to changing with the other blokes, and even cleaning
up with them afterwards - but it's different when
you're all getting changed for a match and you're all
in it together, compared to where I was now with this
man and the guard both staring at me, and with me the
only one getting naked.  I could  hardly tell him
that, though, could I?  And if I continued to stand
there I might not only get hit again, but he'd think
that I'd got a small cock - and that's very far from
the truth!  From looking at all my mates I knew I was
bigger than average, both longer and thicker;  and,
what's more, my balls are bigger, too - they're big
and loose, and hang down right beyond the end of my
cock.  I wasn't going to have this bloke think that I
was ashamed of what I'd got.

Feeling my fingers trembling slightly I undid the
drawstring at the waist of the shorts, and they fell
to the floor.  I stepped forwards out of them, towards
the seated man, as if I was unafraid and unashamed.  I
noticed immediately his eyes focussing down onto my
tackle.  For some reason I felt myself beginning to
flush slightly with embarrassment - and, as I've said,
I've got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about,
as compared to most men I've got a really fantastic
body.

"Turn around", he said calmly, and I did.  And then
after a few seconds, but what felt like an  eternity
"...and face me again."

His eyes were now locked on to mine, and with an
almost sinuous grace he stood up from the chair, and
came and stood in front of me.  He fired off
something, clearly a question, to the guard, who
replied, nodding in agreement, then he put one hand on
my shoulder - evidently he'd asked if it was
permissible to touch the goods!  I couldn't help it -
I flinched.  I mean, it's OK for another bloke to
touch you - it happens all the time kind of
accidentally, or when you're out in a pub or club when
you all are having fun and throw your arms around your
mates:  but this was a calculated, deliberate act.  I
wasn't used to it.

"Steady!", he said softly, his voice having a
commanding note.

Holding my shoulder with one hand , as if to restrain
me although of course I could easily have moved away,
his other hand began at my neck and slid gently down
my chest, to caress  my left nip!  The hand was firm
and cool, and I almost shivered - no one had ever
touched my skin like this before - well, except my
girlfriend,  I suppose.  It was as if my body betrayed
me, though:  as his finger tip glided over my nip, it
erected and jutted out proud and firm -  I got that
peculiar sensation you get when someone touches you
there, and now I did involuntarily give a small
shudder.  I saw a flicker of expression, perhaps one
of faint amusement, in his eyes.

His hand moved on now, and his fingers teased and
played with the treasure trail of hair running across
my muscled torso from my navel.  I held myself firm,
almost praying that his finger wouldn't probe my navel
as I'm so sensitive there, but the fingers lingered
only a moment, then moved on down.  With his eyes
still locked on mine his hand came off my shoulder
and moved to go around me, ending up with the palm of
it on that flat area just above my bum crack, and with
one finger stretching almost lazily down the crack
just a little - as if to steady his hand and keep it
in position.  Again, I felt as if I was being
controlled, as if by holding his hand there he was
preventing me from moving away from him.

He stooped slightly, so his "examining" hand could go
between my thighs and his fingers played lightly there
for a moment, moving upwards so that they touched my
balls as they hung down there.

"No!", I whispered, and he murmured in reply "Steady,
boy.... This will be over soon."

Look, I don't even like my girlfriend touching my
balls - well, not taking them in the palm of her hand
and beginning to squeeze them gently:  a man's balls
are just too delicate and sensitive to be messed
around with like that, aren't they?  But now this
bloke had them right in the palm of his hand, his hand
that still felt cool against me (I'm sure I was very
hot and embarrassed now, and I knew I was sweating
heavily).  He kind of "weighed", then, gently and
sensitively, and yet somehow assertively, so that  I
was aware that he was pushing them up slightly and
letting them drop back into his palm, but in such a
way that I almost knew that he wouldn't hurt me - his
air of quiet confidence was somehow almost infectious.

Drawing himself up to his full height  he continued to
stare directly into my eyes as his hand now left my
balls and instead held my cock - well, not held it
exactly, but positioned it so that it rested across
his palm.  No bloke had ever done this to me before,
and I felt at once somehow scared, outraged, and yet
at the same time strangely excited.  My cock seemed to
have got the message about the "excitement" part, as
to my horror I could sense myself starting to go hard!
 I willed it to stop, I thought about all the non-sexy
things I could, but the more I did this, the worse it
got.  The embarrassment was causing me to flush bright
red now and the sweat was almost dripping off me, and
I went to pull away from him - except that the gentle,
insistent pressure of his other hand at the base of my
spine somehow prevented me.  His totally confident
handling of these intimate parts of me was somehow
controlling me.

That same almost amused look flickered in his eyes
once more as he said calmly "Easy boy!  You're not
used to this, are you?  I thought you said you had a
girlfriend...."

"...but you're a man!"

He gave a small, quiet, laugh.  "Oh you English are so
amusing!  You are excited by the touch of a man, I can
tell, and yet you are somehow embarrassed by it.  But
I am satisfied now - I have seen that you are
functioning properly - at least as far as erections
are concerned."

He dropped both his hands from me, and went on "Be so
good as to turn around now, please."

Something made me do it without question, and now both
his hands were resting lightly on my shoulders.  Then
they made their way down my back, "testing" my sides
by probing for my ribs, until they were both resting
on my bum -  I could feel them, cool and yet hot, as
they gently moved over it as if feeling the shape of
my muscles there.  Then in a new move, the thumbs went
down my bum crack and it was as if he was now trying
to take a "handful" of muscle and squeeze it to test
its quality.  I shuffled my feet nervously and moved a
little as this went on, and again that calm, soothing
voice saying "Steady!".

The kneading of my bum only went on for a few seconds,
and then he told me to turn and face him again, and
went and sat in the chair.  "Excellent.  Very good
muscle tone, and no trace of a beer belly, or indeed
any fat at all.  You are extremely pleasing to the
eye, but then, I suppose you know that."

"I've never had any complaints..."

"So, quite the ladies' man...."

"Which is why this rape stuff is so fucking
ridiculous!  I can get enough without resorting to
that...."

He smiled.  Again.  So what does your girlfriend think
about that?"

"She doesn't know, of course!  It's on trips away with
the club, at uni during term time, that sort of
thing..."

"Ah, we have ourselves a real stud here, do we?  So
tell me, does your interest in sex extend only to
women, or have you enjoyed any of your fellow rugger
players?"

"No way!"

"So you have never put that big strong cock of yours
into another man's mouth?"

"No!"

"...or his arse?"

"I'm not some fucking pervert!  Of course not."

"So I take it that you have not had relations 'the
other way' with your mates, either?  No man has ever
put his cock into your mouth, or your arse.....?"

I almost stepped forward to hit him!  No bloke was
going to accuse me of having things like that done to
me.  I was a proper man, not some queer.  He saw me
reaction though, and that faint smile broke out again,
although perhaps a little more firmly.

"I think I can take that as a 'no'.  And so I suppose
there is no need to do the usual examination of your
arse, to ensure that there has been no tearing, no
undue stretching.... And that all is tight... And
virginal!

I could feel the anger rising up in me and this time,
and now did move at him....  I saw the guard move to
strike me but the man called out and the guard
stopped.  He smiled again.  "Ah, so I have myself a
virgin.... A virgin arse, that is, as you say you are
experienced at fucking.  I am a little pressed for
time and so do not want to see you demonstrate your
prowess with a woman, but perhaps I had better see
something of your cock in action before making up my
mind finally.  Please be so good as to  masturbate, so
that  I can see the quality of your ejaculate."

He'd said this in the same calm quiet tones that the
rest of the conversation had been in, and the guard
was just standing there easily, so when I blurted out,
very agitatedly, "No way!  Fuck off, you pervert...."

He was almost caught out - but I reckon the guard was
trained specially for this sort of thing, as before I
could do anything else his truncheon scythed out with
amazing force, hitting me behind the knees and causing
me to fall to the ground.    I heard the man saying
something to the guard in Greek, then he sat there as
I lay writhing in front of him until I'd calmed down
enough to have his full attention.

"I do not want to buy  damaged goods, but if you
persist in this stupid behaviour I fear that the guard
here will hit you so often and so hard that you will
become useless.  Now, for your own good, I suggest
that you do as you are commanded:  get back to your
feet, and begin to masturbate.  You do know what I
mean, evidently - some men are unaware of that word,
although not, presumably, of the process."

"Please, no...."

"I am thinking of purchasing your contract.  I need to
ensure that I am taking on a commitment where the
goods are in good working order, so to avoid further
difficulties, please do as you are commanded.  The
guard here only needs a word from me and he will make
you wish that you had done as you were told - so far
he has struck only single blows, but that will change
if he gets into a frenzy. I  suggest that if you are
planning to remain defiant you should cover your head
with your arms to protect your skull as best you can
as brain damage is to be avoided.... On the other
hand, that will leave your genitals exposed to his
ministrations...."

I knew I was defeated.  There I was lying naked, with
that guard with his truncheon standing there ready to
strike at me and beat the shit out of me.  Slowly, as
if by prolonging it I might somehow avoid it, I got to
my feet and stood there for a few moments trying to
rub the hurt out of my body.  I stood there then in
front of him, and knew I had to do it.  So I turned
away from him, hoping that at least I could have that
tiny measure of privacy for this most intimate act.

"Face me, boy.  Surely a man like you, so superbly
well equipped, who boasts of his sexual prowess, is
not ashamed of his cock?"

I was hot all over now and knew that I must be
blushing bright red as I slowly turned to face him.  I
saw the guard watching with interest too as I reached
down and began to stroke my cock, which, rather to my
surprise as I had expected my acute embarrassment to
have made me impotent,  erected.

Look, I'd never done this in front of anyone before.
Not my mates, not even my girlfriend.  I mean, when
you've got a woman there, you don't need to wank, do
you?  And I'd never done any of that stuff that some
of my mates at school had done like having wanking
contests - I mean, I knew I had a big, strong cock and
I didn't have anything to prove, did I?  So this was
the first time that I'd ever wanked when I wasn't
alone, and to make matters worse, I was standing up -
I've tried wanking like this of course, just to vary
things a bit, but I don't like it:  I want to be lying
on a bed, or sprawled in a comfy chair.  That's why I
never wank in the shower - I don't like it standing
up, and I think sitting or squatting down in a shower
is gross!

I had no choice now, though.   My cock was rock solid
in my hand as I began to stroke away, letting my 'skin
slide on and off my cock head, and I closed my eyes as
if that would in some way prevent the two men from
looking at me.  I felt my thighs and knees under
tension as I bent forwards a bit, as you do, and I
worked away steadily - but you know how it is
sometimes:  you're rock hard, but however much you
wank away, nothing comes?  Well, it was like this now.
 I stood there thinking all the sexy thoughts I could,
imagining I was about to fuck my girlfriend,
everything, and although the strength of my erection
never varied - in fact, it was almost painful, it was
so hard  I somehow couldn't translate that "hardness"
into an actual climax.

My strokes got faster and faster and I clutched at my
cock even tighter as I did everything I could to make
it happen.  I knew my heart rate was way, way up, and
my breathing was quickening.  Sweat was pouring off me
and I knew it must be flying everywhere.  But I kept
my eyes tightly closed as I carried on working away,
and fortunately a few drops of pre-cum started to fly
out of my cock and began to lubricate me, as otherwise
I think I'd have got a wanking burn!   I just don't
know how long it went on for - it seemed as if it was
hours.  But then that sensation began, that special
sensation that starts deep down in your balls and
rapidly moves to your cock.  As if it was someone else
doing it, I heard myself begin to gasp audibly and
then say "Jesus Christ!  Oh, yes.....", and it
happened - my cock thrilled as the stream of hot cum
was pumped down it and shot out, and I almost fell to
my knees as my whole body sagged as the fantastic
sensation spread all through me.

I'm one of those blokes whose cock is incredibly
sensitive when they've shot, and although I like
carrying on wanking to try to make the most of it, I
have to go really carefully.  Now, standing there, I
could hardly bear the feel of my hand on my shaft, and
I stood there, almost impotently, as my body spasmed
and the "after shocks" came out of my cock.  I knew
they must be falling almost impotently from the end of
my cock, but  I was past caring.  My eyes opened, and
I stood there, panting to recover my breath, and
glanced down to see the long slick of my cum
stretching out in front of me.

"Impressive", the man said to me quietly.  "It looked
for a moment as if all your talk of being a stud was
just that - talk.  But once you did the business, it
was truly impressive."

I stood there almost helplessly, wanting to touch my
cock again as I knew there was a faint slime of my
spunk still trickling from it, but something prevented
me - well, you can't do that in front of other blokes,
can you?  I felt totally powerless, and acutely
embarrassed.  Somehow being forced to carry out this
totally intimate act in front of other blokes had
taken away something of my feeling of being a man - I
felt like some sort of weak, puny child, rather than a
strong, virile mature bloke.  It ought to have been
empowering.  I ought to have been proud of my body,
proud of my huge cock, proud of the amount of spunk
that was now smearing the floor:  only an
exceptionally fit, virile guy like me could have done
that.  But it wasn't like that - I felt demeaned and
weakened by it, as if some part of my manhood had been
lost.  A great  sadness swept over me, and I felt my
body sag as if in defeat, or supplication.

The man got to his feet and snapped out a rapid string
of Greek to the guard.  Then he looked at me "What's
your name?"

"Steve."

"Well, Steve, I've decided to buy your contract.  All
fifteen years of it.  You're my helot now."

I stood there, not knowing what to say.  Should it be
"Thank you"?  I just stood there though for a moment,
and then went to pick up my shorts to pull them on.

"Don't worry about that", the man said almost
cheerfully.  "I've told them to give you twenty
strokes of the punishment cane.  If you learn now just
how painful that can be when administered by an
expert, it will make you so much more careful in
future:  if you are ever tempted to disobey me you
will know what is in store for you."

"What the fuck....?  I haven't done anything...."

"Quite so.  An owner had the power to order punishment
for a helot at any time.  A dose of random, arbitrary
punishment now can condition you so that you take all
possible steps to prevent more in the future."

With that he turned and before I could say any more,
he stalked out of the room.  I went to follow him, to
protest, but the guard blocked my way, a sadistic
smile playing on his face.  He put his head out into
the corridor and shouted something, and moments later
was joined by two other equally burly guards, one
carrying a long, thin cane.

I have no idea what they said to me, and it probably
didn't matter - three of them were more than
sufficient to totally overpower me.  They threw me
across the chair, a chair still warm from the backside
of the man who, I suppose, I must now think of as my
"owner".  Two of them held me down, and the third one
administered the strokes.

Like most of the men I meet I assume you have not
actually been caned yourself.  Some of you may have
read about blokes being caned, and some of you may
even have fantasised about receiving a beating
yourselves.  Believe me, let it remain there, as a
fantasy!  The real thing fucking hurts, and it goes on
hurting, for days afterwards.  Look, I'm not talking
about a "play" beating, that blokes into that sort of
thing might carry out as a prelude to some sort of
strange sexual scene:  No, this was a hard, tough,
professional caning, carried out by a strong man who
knew what he was doing, who knew that he was supposed
to hurt me, whatever the cost, and where there was no
"safe word", no way of calling it off once the pain
got too much, no way of standing up and saying "game
over".

>From the moment the first blow landed across my bare
bum I knew I was in trouble.    I suppose I heard the
"swish" as it raced through the air towards me, but
then my world exploded - the sheer unexpected violence
of the stroke caught me totally by surprise.  My whole
body shot forward a little in reaction, in spite of
the two men holding me.  And I screamed, actually
screamed, as the searing pain was so great.  And then
the thing about the punishment cane is the dual effect
it has - after those initial seconds when it's sharp
and stinging and searing, there comes the crescendo of
longer-lasting dull physical ache.  Of course no
sooner has the first one done its work than the second
is on its way - and this, if anything, is worse:  your
body is somehow "anticipating" the pain, and it is
waiting for the agony to start, and that makes it even
worse.  My scream this time was not like the first
one, where the cry of pain was mixed with one of total
surprise:  no, now it was just the howl of a wounded
animal as  my body was hurt, hurt in  that dreadful,
inevitable way that I was totally powerless to avoid.
And I knew that some part of my manhood had drained
away again as I screamed for release, for mercy, for
this punishment to stop:  a man, a real man, can take
it and does not lie there begging for release.  Or
perhaps that's just in the stories - I'm no coward and
I'm used to taking hard knocks on the pitch, but this
was totally different and although I was ashamed of
myself for doing so, I knew I could not stop my
screaming.

The guard wielding the cane was an expert.  It was
almost as if I could feel the successive strokes being
neatly spaced across my bum, giving each area an
experience of what true pain was.  And as the blows
went on and my bum was too crowded, he worked his way
down my thighs as the other two held me there.  And if
I had been in agony as the cane sliced into the big
powerful muscles of my bum, it was far, far worse as
my tightly-stretched thighs were subjected to the
punishment.

All in all, I don't suppose it took all that long,
although it felt like half a lifetime.  And by the end
I was no longer screaming with each blow - I could
hear myself making a continuous noise as I tried
anything to attempt to stop them hurting me.  All my
other muscles felt hurt and bruise, too, as I'd so
desperately pulled and tugged and bucked and fought -
all to no avail - to in some way get even a little
away from them in the hope that the cane's blows might
stop.

When it was over, though, all the fight had gone out
of me  All I could do was to stay lying there, utterly
and totally defeated.  Even though I knew there was to
be no more punishment it was as if my whole body was
on fire - great waves of agony crashed through my
brain from my thighs and bum, and the hurt was so
terrible, so insistent, that I could think of nothing
else:  I was beyond making any rational decisions,
even had there been any for me to make.  The guards
let me lie there for some minutes as I struggled to
get myself under control and compose myself, but then
they had to support me and half carry, half drag me
from the "viewing room" back down the corridor to the
block where we normally lived in the dormitory - my
leg muscles were almost incapable of obeying my orders
to walk.  They put me into an individual cell, though
- small and sparse with a narrow mattress on the floor
to lie on and a lavatory in the corner.  There was a
tap so that I could get water and I tried vainly
patting some of it on my body in an attempt to
mitigate the agony somewhat - to no avail.  All  I
could do was lie there on my belly,  in the hope that
time would begin to make me feel better.

End Of Part Two