It was past 2 a. m. and I knew it was no social call, not even Jenni had visitors at two in the morning on a Thursday. I put my finger on Jennis lips, then kissed her quickly, got my things together and made for the back door, dressing on the way.
Outside the door, mr Jackson stood waiting for me.
I stopped dead, shirt in a crease around my shoulders, jacket and bag in my hands. I scanned the place for escape. To my left a brick wall, in front of me mr Jackson and to the right I heard steps closing in on us. Behind me I could sense Jenni approaching.
"You stupid bastard", mr Jackson said. "Hands against the wall!"
I half turned my back on him, then I spun off and ran back inside the flat, pushing Jenni aside, she fell against a table. I made for the front door but there were two locks and a safety chain and I was had.
He threw me down on the floor, cuffing my hands on my back, putting shackles around my ankles. He didnīt care about Jenni pounding her fists upon him. She was screaming like crazy, telling him to get the _f_u_c_k_ off me, yelling over and over again are you allright, TJ, please talk to me.
"Itīs OK, Jen," I said. "Itīs part of the game."
"Shut the _f_u_c_k_ up!" mr Jackson barked at me. I could hear someone banging hard on the other side of the wall or the ceiling and hoped the neighbours wouldnīt pop over while I was still there. Soon enough mr Donovan arrived and took Jenni aside, trying to calm her down but she wouldnīt.
"Thatīs some bitch youīve got, Jennings", mr Jackson said. "Pity you wonīt see her for a very long time."
"Go _f_u_c_k_ yourself", I got out, him leaning heavily on me.
"Thatīs go _f_u_c_k_ yourself, SIR, to you, Jennings. And I wonīt forget it."
He frisked me, then went through my jacket, taking the wallets, the cellphones, the cigarettes and stuff. Then he zipped the bag open and studied the contents.
"You stupid bastard", he said again, shaking his head.
They were driving a grey metallic Lexus this time. I was placed in the back seat, hands still cuffed behind me, and the shackles were attached to two metal hooks on the car floor. I was still a bit loaded and mad as hell. As the car pulled out I saw Jenni in her green dressing gown running barefoot down the street, the gown flaring out at both sides, showing her lovely legs all the way up to beaverland. I turned my head and tried smiling at her and saw her mouth moving with words I couldnīt hear. Then we turned the corner and she was gone.
Nobody spoke until we were on the motorway heading north.
"34 hours, Jennings. Not much, was it?" I sensed mr Jacksons eyes in the rear mirror. I kept staring out of the window, heart angrily punching down my guts. "Or maybe I should say TJ? Cause heīs the one that planned and went through with this. Jennings is too _f_u_c_k_ing soft to wing it."
"Piss off", I mouthed. He snickered.
"You better watch that mouth of yours. Enjoy the taste of pussy as long as itīs still there. Iīm a bit disappointed in you, TJ. Going through all that trouble, then blowing it for a _f_u_c_k_."
"Lay the _f_u_c_k_ off me, you _f_u_c_k_ing creep!" I yelled. "Just drive the _f_u_c_k_ing car."
Mr Donovan turned around in his seat and started slapping me over and over again. It pissed me off even more. I tried to get out of reach but he grabbed my tee and held on to it until he was finished with me. The only things they couldnīt restrain were my jaw and my mind. At least that was what I kept telling myself.
"Youīre _f_u_c_k_ing crazy," I spat out. Hey, Iīve committed new crimes, Iīm going to jail anyway, you might as well leave me with the cops. Like _f_u_c_k_ Iīm going back to Crowmill."
"Oh yes, you _f_u_c_k_ing are, TJ", mr Jackson said and smiled menacingly at me in the mirror, And youīre in for a rough go once we get there. Especially since your behaviour seems to have deteriorated beyond recognition."
In frustration, I banged my head against the window a couple of times, cursing myself for blowing it so soon, wishing Crowmill would go up in flames, mr Jackson and the rest of the dickheads frying with it. I heard mr Donovan saying something, and mr Jackson said no, donīt bother, heīs not hurting any vital body part, and I wanted to cry and kill and die at the same time. I was constantly aware of my ass against the car seat, remembering how Iīd been treated and what I had coming, thinking of the disgrace, the pain and the unfairness of the world. I didnīt doubt springing was considered a major breaking of the rules, and Iīd probably be punished worse than ever for it. Somehow it didnīt scare me right then. They could go _f_u_c_k_ themselves, all of them.
"You know, TJ, you have a really special family. Your mother doesnīt care much for you, sheīs almost as foulmouthed as you," mr Jackson said. "And your grandfather and aunt seem easily upset. Your aunt cried when she learned you were on the run. Sheīs something of a hysteric, isnīt she? She looked like sheīd pass out any minute."
I stared straight ahead, feeling his _f_u_c_k_ing gaze upon me, a sick dull pain in my belly. Theyīd scared the _s_h_i_t_ out of Auntie for sure, two _f_u_c_k_ing bullies at her door, probably late at night, too. I could imagine mr Jackson in their hallways, darkening them with his massive body, Auntie scared and coughing all the time, Grandpa trying to handle the situation.
Then I had another slapping by mr Donovan.
"You (smack!) answer (smack!) mr Jackson (smack!) when he asks you something (smack!), you _f_u_c_k_ing piece of _s_h_i_t_ (smack!)!"
I held my face down a couple of seconds to get it straight, then I looked mr Donovan in the eye and said:
"Didnīt hear any question."
"Didnīt hear any question what?"
I knew exactly what he wanted me to say. So _f_u_c_k_ing what, this couldnīt get any worse.
"Canīt _f_u_c_k_ing well say what, when I didnīt hear it, can I?"
Mr Donovan turned to mr Jackson and they talked briefly in low voices. I strained my ears but heard nothing but a murmur. Then mr Jackson changed lane and pulled off the motorway. He continued driving until we came to a shopping centre with a big parking lot, where he pulled in and parked near the entrance. There were no people or cars around, this being around 5 in the morning. Both of them got out. Mr Donovan went to the trunk and mr Jackson opened the door at my side and undid the hooks, pulled me out, dragged me to the front of the car and bent me down over the road hot hood, then placed himself tightly behind me, one hand in a firm grasp around the back of my neck, the other undoing my jeans.
"Get the _f_u_c_k_ off me!", I snarled, but you canīt expect your self confidence to survive through everything, least of all your pants going down in public. I was sobering up and had a sick grey feeling inside along with a nasty throbbing headache.
"Just canīt wait to have your ass thrashed, can you?" mr Jackson said, struggling to undo the button of my tight jeans. "Maybe youīre beginning to like it? In that case the rest of the trip will be a real joyride. But donīt worry, itīs all on us."
Then mr Donovan came back and helped him out, and my jeans and boxers went lowriding and my naked ass was exposed to the chilly January morning air. I caught a glimpse of something looking like a horsewhip and what do you know, suddenly all anger disappeared, being replaced by fear and remorse. I realized I really had been a stupid bastard.
"Still pretty striped you are, and yet you seem to have forgotten all about it", mr Donovan said. "Now this is to teach you to answer properly and show respect. And since youīre going to sit on your sore butt for the rest of the long trip, youīll remember what a good teacher pain is."
I hated that expression but remembering wasnīt hard. All bull_s_h_i_t_ about pride and getting even and resisting didnīt matter anymore. Reality banged me stone hard on the head. I knew pleading with them wouldnīt be of any use, but fear made me jump for it anyway.
"Please donīt, sir", I said meekly. "I get the message, OK? I donīt know what got into me. Iīm sorry, sir. Iīll behave, sir, I promise."
"Too late for begging now, Jennings," mr Jackson said. "Spread your legs. Come on, look sharp!"
I was quickly changing into the obedient Crowmill apprentice, ruled by pain and pain alone. I spread my legs as far apart as the shackles allowed. Mr Donovan pushed the shirt and tee up my back, leaving me bare from mid back to ankles. I was shivering with cold, agitation and the booze leaving my system. Then they let me have it. I wasnīt told to count out or to say anything, the strokes fell rapidly and intensely smarting on my bare skin, soon making me cry out in pain and then to sob wildly. For a while I fought like hell to get up and away from there, then I had to give in. I tried to count the lashes to have something to cling to but lost track after 24 and the whipping continued for ever after that. Due to the cold and the stress I couldnīt control my bladder and piss splattered on me and ran down my legs, soaking my jeans. By then I was gasping and screaming and begging and crying and squirming like a baby, still held down against the hood, the whip still at work. Mr Donovan and mr Jackson changed roles and mr Jackson started flogging me, methodically going from the top of my ass to right above the back of my knees and then up again. When he reached his starting point, the whipping stopped and the crop was rested on my now very sore and sensitive behind. My whole body was tense and aching and I was sort of screaming inside my head, gone mute from the hellfire invading my whole being.
"Now I want to hear you apologize, both to me and to mr Donovan, for being rude and _c_o_c_k_y and using bad language."
I heard the words, but they didnīt make sense at first. I was there and I wasnīt, at the same time. I knew I had to reply but when I opened my mouth I started crying again, tears welling up from deep within.
"......so-horry, Iīm sorry, sir, I apo-hologize.....please, no more, please, sir...."
"That bawling of yours is disgraceful, Jennings. You must learn to control your emotions. Now, Iīm going to give you another ten cuts. I want you to count them out loud and say thank you, sir, like a good boy, and if you scream any more or move about, Iīll keep on whipping you until youīre quiet and still, I donīt give a _f_u_c_k_ if that means until youīre dead. Then I want you to apologize properly to mr Donovan and myself, without any sobbing or babbling. Understood, Jennings?"
"Yes, sir," I managed to get out.
"Start counting, then."
I snivelled and braced myself, ass on fire and the piss drenched clothes already icy cold against my bare legs.
"One, sir."
It was as _f_u_c_k_ing horrible as ever, the whole thing. I had to use all my strength and will power to bear the pain, and I felt even worse knowing that mr Jackson was having a real good time. Afterwards I was again surprised by the fact that if I was pressed far enough, I could endure the whole _f_u_c_k_ing torture keeping reasonably quiet and still. Counting out number six I noticed headlights moving to my left and heard a car closing in on us. I turned my head. It was a cop car, and for the first time in my life I thought thank god, itīs the cops, theyīll put an end to this.
Then I had number six right across my poor ass, groaning heavily from it, taste of blood in my mouth from biting my lips over and over again. The car pulled in beside us and stopped and a tall officer stepped out. I heard the other car door open, too.
"Good morning, officer", mr Jackson said, mr Donovan grunting something like it, still holding me down.
"Whatīs going on here?" the cop asked.
"Weīre on our way back to Crowmill with this runaway", mr Jackson answered. "Canīt drive all that way with him raising hell in the car, can we?" He laughed like buddy-buddy. "Here, my ID."
"Crowmill, I know that place", the cop said. "Youīre working miracles there. Whatīs he been up to?"
"Drugs, no doubt. Probably more, we donīt know yet. He was screaming and banging his head against anything in the car, being foulmouthed like hell. This sure takes care of bad behaviour. Heīll be as gentle as a lamb for the rest of the trip."
"Wish I could do like that, too, would make my job a lot easier," the cop said, chuckling. "You have his papers with you?" Then he called out to his partner back at the car: "Turner, come here, you have to see this!"
"Sure weīve got his papers", mr Donovan said, and to me he hissed: "You stay put, donīt budge an inch!" and then he let go of my neck to get the papers. Mr Jackson put a hand on my back to let me know he was still there.
I closed my eyes, my right cheek resting on the smooth metal surface, keeping my mouth shut, listening to my sad heartbeats trying to wash away the pain, wishing the cops would get the _f_u_c_k_ out of here, wishing this was just a _f_u_c_k_ing nightmare. Oh please God, wake me. But when I opened my eyes, nothing had changed. I was still bent bareassed over the hood with a growing audience to witness my sufferings.
The other cop approached.
"A bit cold for an outdoor spanking, isnīt it", he said and giggled in a shrill soprano voice.
"Theyīre Crowmill people", the first cop explained. "A runaway. Heīs being corrected for bad behaviour in the car."
"Will do him a world of good", Turner said. "Youīre finished with him?"
"He still has four cuts to go. Maybe youīd like to see how itīs done?" mr Jackson asked.
"Our pleasure," the tall cop replied, eyeing the papers brought to him by mr Donovan, flashlight in his hand. "Everything seems to be in order here. Youīve a long drive ahead, so go on, let him have it."
"Whatīs the next one, Jennings?" mr Jackson asked, positioning himself.
"Seven, sir", I said very quietly, closing my eyes again to relieve some of the humiliation.
"Canīt hear you, Jennings!"
"SEVEN, sir!"
"Here you go."
The crop slashed my shivering rear with ice and fire. I gasped and again bit my lip, struggling not to move while the pain seared through my body and then withdrew, the stroke still standing out from the others on my ever so tender ass.
"Thank you, sir. Eight, sir."
"Well mannered fellow", Turner said, giggling again.
"A sore behind brings on surprisingly good manners," mr Jackson said. "Pain is an excellent teacher. Right, Jennings?"
"Yes sir," I mumbled, wanting to die from shame.
"Hereīs your number eight, then."
And again the crop ignited a fierce streak across my ass and my body and face tensed, I held my breath and fought back the wail that wouldnīt have lessened the pain anyway. It took a while before I could speak.
"Thank you, sir. Nine, sir."
"Amazing!" the tall cop said. "Heīs actually submitting to this."
I couldnīt help letting out a restrained whimper when the crop crashed into the tenderness, but I didnīt move. I didnīt want to risk any more whipping. Not here, not now.
"Thank you, sir. Ten, sir."
"Ten it is, Jennings. Be my guest."
Mr Jackson let the crop cut diagonally across my bottom, covering the better part of it with new, red hot frantic pain, and again I wanted to yell out, but managed to keep my mouth shut. My voice was very hoarse when I replied.
"Thank you, sir."
I didnīt want to add the usual bull_s_h_i_t_, it belonged in Crowmill, not in a _f_u_c_k_ing parking lot. But of course mr Jackson wasnīt satisfied yet.
"Didnīt you forget something, Jennings? Or do you still want more of the crop?"
I cleared my throat.
"Sorry, sir. Sir, my punishment is completed."
"Good boy. Now, stand up."
It was very hard to get up, hands on my back, shackles and jeans around my feet, ass hurting like hell, but finally I stood erect with my head low, not wanting them to see the effects of the punishment on my face. My balls were aching from the cold and I dreaded the feel of the piss wet jeans.
"Well, Jennings, remember what you must do now?"
"Yes sir." I snivelled in a deep breath. I was way past pride by now. "Mr Jackson, sir, I apologize for being rude and _c_o_c_k_y and using bad language. I also apologize for being disrespectful and yelling at you, sir. Mr Donovan, sir, I apologize for being rude and _c_o_c_k_y and using bad language."
"Amazing!" the tall cop said again. Then Mr Donovan pulled first my wet boxers up, then my jeans. He managed to zip and button them. It wasnīt easily done, and my poor ass had a rough time.
The tall cop approached me, put his hand under my chin and lifted my face.
"Iīd work hard on behaving myself in the future if I were you, Thomas Jennings. Youīre lucky to have landed in Crowmill. Theyīll make a good man out of you yet."
"Yes sir", I said with my eyes lowered, and he let go of me. I was brought back to my seat, walking stiffly from the soreness and the uncomfortably wet jeans. A plastic bag was on the seat to protect the upholstery. I flinched when I was forced down on it. Then the shackles were fastened and the door slammed shut. My eyes filled with water, but I fought it back. Iīd had enough of humiliation, I didnīt want to cry again on top of that. I hated myself for being nothing but a pussy. I hated the _f_u_c_k_ing assholes for tracking me down and disgracing me. Still, I was curbed, at least for the time being. I would in fact be as gentle as a lamb and obey from now on, from fear of getting another whipping, but inside, I was still me.
The men talked for a while before mr Jackson got back behind the wheel with mr Donovan beside him, and they and the cops rode off in separate directions. Mr Jackson studied me in the mirror. His eyes were sparkling.
"Nice to have you back, Jennings", he said. "TJ was a troublesome s. o.b. Are you comfortable back there now?"
"Yes sir", I reluctantly got out through my teeth. That was a lie.
"I hope not. I hope your ass will ache like hell all the way to remind you of your stupidity. Now, you shut up and stay calm for the rest of the trip. You can use the time to remember where you ripped off all the stuff we caught you with, because youīre going to make up for every _f_u_c_k_ing chewing gum. Is that clear, Jennings?"
"Yes sir."
"By the way, your bitch has beautiful legs. Wouldnīt mind a ride between them myself. Maybe Iīll look her up this weekend." He laughed out loud and mr Donovan joined in.
But no anger rose in me, only sadness and remorse over and over again.