Story of Tj 2: Part VII - a Time for Hate


by Paul Frey <Frey769@hotmail.com>

I had the full program. I was whipped, shaved, given three enemas through my bruised asshole, and a shower. I was marched naked to the doctor, the chilly October air making me shiver. It was like a time loop. I didnīt get to see the doctor right away, though, she was busy and I had to stand outside her door stark naked for twenty minutes, with my privates and striped ass fully visible, and people passing by all the time, both male and female. The doctor took her samples and didnīt look at my face at all. When she was about to sample my ass she asked the warders if I was a homo_s_e_x_ual? I shut my eyes. One of the warders shrugged and said he didnīt know.

"His anus is in a sorry state," she said. "There has been bleeding recently and the area is very irritated. I wouldnīt recommend putting anything in there for a while." Then she poked around in my ass with her cotton stick and finally checked my temperature. I was mute. She didnīt even recognize me, apparently thinking I was a fresh arrival though she had my fat file on her desk, I could see my name on it. She wouldnīt believe me either and I wasnīt supposed to talk to her anyway.

New clothes. Rubbers with no plug attached this time. I felt stiff and sore and uncomfortable walking. Back to my cell. The bedding had been removed and new lain out. I made my bunk and lay down on it, still numb and empty inside. Tomorrow I would have another thrashing and I had another three long weeks to go, getting whipped, writing bull_s_h_i_t_. I realized I was not being punished this badly for masturbating and lying alone, but the true reason was that I had caused the old fart to be proven wrong. Which he hadnīt, for a fact, but nobody would ever know except Mr Jackson, his buddy and me.

Mr Jackson was maybe not all wrong, though. In a way I was playacting. Not on the rack, because thatīs impossible, but I willingly confess that I gave a careful thought to what I wrote in my papers, to make it sound right, and I sure as hell knew how I was supposed to behave. Didnīt take much intelligence to find out that was the way out of here, and you donīt have to change to adapt. What adaptionīs all about is to hold yourself back and read the writing on the wall. Iīm good at it when I have no other choice. Iīve never wanted to ride with the sturdy men in the frontline, I prefer following orders to giving them. Thatīs the easy way. What I like most, though, is to mind my own business and being left alone with it.

I couldnīt understand why mr Jackson had singled me out as an imposter. The other guys that had gone through this _s_h_i_t_ must have done about the same thing, and I didnīt think he and his _f_u_c_k_ mate had the guts to sneak around in here all the time, raping everybody that was about to be transferred. Would get mr Jackson lots of time off, though, if nobody ever reached his step, and when they did, they were so curbed that if he told them to lie down, they would lie put until doomsday. Well, I wasnīt about to get curbed by this. I would get out of here alive and not as a zombie.

I was very relieved to feel anger rising in me. I spent a couple of hours killing, torturing and maiming mr Jackson, his companion and the old fart of a chief. I had them crawling on the floor begging for mercy. Did I give any? The hell I did. I didnīt know what the first two bastards looked like, but in my mind, I pictured mr Jackson as Al Clarke and his buddy as my grampsīneighbour mr Fairlane, who was a silly excuse of a man. At supper time I was almost annoyed I had to can my fantasies for a while, kneel at the door and accept the food tray with a _f_u_c_k_ing "thank you, sir" and an assignment as dessert.

My assignment was to write down all the times I had lied – to whom, about what and why. Another Encyclopaedia Britannica, then. I also was ordered to start writing four pages a day all over again. Pointless, but I had to do it. I had to if I was ever to get out. I was sentenced to stay here at least another three weeks, and I intended to keep that timeline. Not one _f_u_c_k_ing day longer. When Iīve had my transfer I would be off as soon as I had the chance.

After Iīd finished my meal – chicken curry, rice and a big heap of vegetables, at least they didīt starve me - and before I went to bed, I wrote a couple of pages. I had trouble sleeping that night, thinking too much, feeling too much, worrying about having my ass thrashed in the morning. Around midnight I heard faint screams from somewhere outside my door, they went on for nearly half an hour. I didnīt like the sound of them, like somebody was getting skinned alive. When I was brought to the punishment room the next morning I kneeled and asked about the screams, and one of the screws said a guy had had a nervous breakdown. I was surprised he told me anything at all. On account of my sore asshole I had a different enema, something out of a small white plastic container with a long thin spout. It was very efficient. Sitting down wasnīt nice, though, and I was sweating like Iīd run six miles when I was done.

On my way to the punishment room I thought of how I would walk this way another nine times and feeling rather _f_u_c_k_ed up about it. There were only four persons in the room when I entered, and I recognized all of them: two of the three screws had whipped me twice before, mr Trent being one of them, the third was the one I met when I first got here, not the guy that picked me up, but the other. Then nurse was there, of course, and the screws I had with me. I had become fairly skilled at looking around without looking up, and since I wasnīt allowed to look at faces – of course I did anyway, but had to take care - I noticed lots of other details, like rings and nails and shoes and voices and body language. Anyway, one of my followers said something about me becoming a regular in here, quite hilarious it was – not, and then there was some talk while I had my clothes removed and I heard one of the screws addressing another as mr Jackson. I felt a pang of surprise and quickly checked him out. It was the screw from my arrival day, a big muscular fellow with a tattoo of a dragon on his left hand. I didnīt like having him around. He had put me in this fix, and having him supervising my whipping was like getting raped all over.

"Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation?" the screw asked and pushed me forwards. I kneeled obediently, but was boiling inside. Then I was told I was getting 10 lashes for masturbation and lying, like I didnīt know, and I had to get up and position myself on the frame with mr Jackson watching. I struggled to pull myself together. I didnīt want to flop in front of him. I also wondered what my asshole looked like, and if everybody could figure out Iīd been _f_u_c_k_ed last night.

"Iīll take care of this one", someone said, and my blood froze. I recognized the voice immediately. Fear and anger welled over me in a sick mix. The nurse was doing the routine check up while I heard the whip being tried out, not once or twice, as usual, but four times. I couldnīt help wincing each time.

"Pulse and blood pressure are somewhat higher than usual", the nurse reported. "Not alarmingly, though. You can proceed, mr Jackson."

"You ready to receive your punishment?"

I gritted my teeth.

"I am, sir. One, sir."

Oh, he was a real whipping wizard. He struck hard and had a dead sure aim, placing the lashes from top to bottom, making sure I had two of them where it hurt the most, in the crease between buns and thighs. He had me writhing in pain after the fifth lash and then the tears and snot started flowing, making me snivel constantly. I managed not to yell, though, but it was a real ordeal. When I had thanked him for the tenth lash and told him my punishment was completed, he put a hand on my bottom – I flinched – and told the nurse that my ass was a sorry sight, and I might need some disinfectant put on. She was happy to oblige. She poured something on and started rubbing it in, it stung and burned like hellfire and getting rubbed on a newly whipped ass is nothing Iīd recommend. Much to my shame I couldnīt keep still and I couldnīt help groaning. I was sure mr Jackson enjoyed every second of it.

Then I was unstrapped. Mr Jackson told me to get down on the floor, and I did with some effort. My face was wet and hot. I stood on my knees in front of him, staring at his shoes and hating him with every fibre of my aching body.

"I understand you are getting more of this the next two weeks", he said. "Make sure you learn your lesson well. Masturbation is a filthy thing and lying about it is childish. Pain is an excellent teacher, though. Stand up and get dressed."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." I was getting up, slowly and painfully, when he grabbed me by the hair and made me look at him.

"What was that you just said?"

I was completely bewildered.

"I-I-I said yes sir, thank you, sir, thatīs what I said, sir."

"You did not. I heard you use another word than thank. Didnīt think I would notice, eh? Youīre not as smart as you pride yourself to be. Get back up there."

"But sir –"

"Watch it, Jennings! On the rack, now! Youīre getting another 15 lashes for insolence and using nasty language. If you donīt obey, youīll get even more."

I got up on shivering legs and did as I was told, heart pounding wildly, tears of confusion and fear streaming down my face. He had the power to do whatever he wanted to me, and I had no legal rights in here. If I were to put up a fight, theyīd haul me up on the frame by force. Worst of all was that I truly didnīt know if I had said thank you or _f_u_c_k_ you. I knew my heart had used the latter expression.

The straps were tightened. Mr Jackson tried out the whip, as if it hadnīt already proved to be functioning splendidly.

"Start counting!"

"O-o-one, sir."

"That wonīt do. You sound like a crybaby. Again!"

"One, sir."

Nothing happened for a while. I squirmed uneasily, dreading the sound of the whip. Then he lashed out. I had no strength left to fight the pain. I whined helplessly and then started crying for real.

"Canīt hear you, Jennings!"

"Tha-hank you, sir," I sobbed. "Two, sir."

I screamed with pain when the whip crashed down and tugged desperately at the straps. I didnīt deserve this. I had enough already to come.

"Thank you, s-s-s-sir. Three, sir."

Ssssshhhh-thwack!

"OH GOD! Plea-hease, no more, sir, please –" I was sobbing uncontrollably, hating myself for it, hating mr Jackson and the whole god_d_a_m_n_ed world.

"Youīre a puny bastard, Jennings. Donīt do the crime if you canīt do the time. This is to teach you manners. Speak up!"

"........thank you, sir." I was beginning to feel dizzy. "F-f-f-four, sir."

I heard the hissing sound again and was screaming on top of my lungs before it even hit me. I was completely out of control.

"I donīt hear you, Jennings!"

"Sir, I ca-hanīt......please, sir......oh, God, plea-hease donīt......"

"Youīre not getting off that frame until youīve had them all. We have plenty of time. Stop whining and take it like a man!"

"THANK YOU, SIR!" I yelled in panic. "FIVE, SIR!"

And fast as lightning this time, the whip slashed across my ass, like a red hot iron.

"NOOOOOO!" I broke down, crying my heart out, writhing, trying to get away from the torment.

"Jennings, Iīm warning you. If you continue like this, Iīll double your count."

"Per-mis-sion to speak, sir," I managed to get out in syllables.

"What, Jennings?"

"Please, sir, I nee-heed a short break, please."

"All right, you get five minutes. And use them wisely, for Godīs sake."

I had ten lashes to go. I had to find a way to endure this. The pain was just as bad whether I screamed or not. I was already bawling, I had nothing left to lose. I digged deeply into myself to get hold of my anger. Heīs nothing but _s_h_i_t_. He earns his living by torturing guys who canīt fight back. Heīs a _f_u_c_k_ing loser. I bet heīll go straight to the loo after this and wank his brains out. Donīt give him more.

And I brought back the time when I took 42 lashes and stood them well. I was as sore then as I was now, and I fixed it.

Nothing seemed to do the trick. I was still scared _s_h_i_t_less and crying, and time was running out.

I didnīt say _f_u_c_k_ you! I didnīt! I catched at the last straw. Yes, I did say _f_u_c_k_ you and Iīm proud as hell I did! No matter how viciously you beat me, I still said it and you heard it. It wonīt go away. You may beat my body, but not my spirit. This was back to primary school and playing cowboys and indians, but it worked for the time being. I tried to sneer, still twitching from crying. It made me feel stupid and strong at the same time.

"You ready to continue, Jennings?"

"I am, uh-sir. Thank you, sir. Six, ple-hease, sir."

And go _f_u_c_k_ yourself, mr Jackson!

Sssshhhh-thwack! It stung like hell. My body tensed and I held my breath, and when the pain peaked and turned I replied:

"Thank you, sir. Se-heven, sir."

"Thatīs better, Jennings. Here it comes."

Ssshhhh-thwack! Oh _s_h_i_t_, oh _s_h_i_t_, oh _s_h_i_t_! I wriggled my ass from side to side to ease the fierce fire and whimpered a bit. I had learned that mr Jackson wasnīt too keen on waiting, so as soon as I was able to speak I did.

"Tha-hank you, sir. Nine, sir."

"In your dreams. This is number eight. Letīs hear it."

"Eight, please, sir."

Stupid mistake. My cheeks burned.

Sssshhh-thwack! I gasped and squirmed, but I didnīt cry out. Youīre doing well. Heīs losing.

"Thank you, sir. Nine, sir."

I managed to endure this and the next three without crackling. Number thirteen, though, made me cry out loud.

"Good on you, Jennings. That was supposed to hurt. Go on!"

"Thank you, sir. Fourteen, sir."

Ssssshhhh-thwack! I exhaled sharply, tears in my eyes. Pain cut through me like a knife. I rode it out with my last strength.

"Thank you, sir." My voice sounded strange. "Fifteen, sir."

Sssshhhh-thwack!

"OH _s_h_i_t_! _s_h_i_t_!" I tossed my head and wriggled and wanted to die on the spot while my poor body tried to master the pain. Then I exhaled, pulled myself together and finished it off:

"Thank you, sir. Sir, my punishment is completed."

"It is, Jennings. And I wasnīt too impressed with your performance. Well, youīll get plenty of exercise the next two weeks."

_f_u_c_k_ you and double-_f_u_c_k_ you, you bloody robocop!

The nurse examined me and apparently found nothing wrong. I was let loose. I could hardly move, my ass and thighs felt huge. Still, I had to kneel in front of mr Jackson. I had to get down on all four before I could make it, and I had to bend slightly forwards while kneeling.

"Now, Jennings, thereīs one thing left for you to do, isnīt there?"

"Sir, I donīt understand, sorry, sir?"

"I forget you have no manners. What are you supposed to do when youīve insulted someone and been corrected?"

I shut my eyes. The humiliation was too much.

"Sir, I apologize, sir, Iīm sorry I was insolent."

"And will it happen again?"

"No sir, I wonīt do it again."

"Oh yes, you will, Jennings, you will. And youīll get your ass whipped for it, too. Now, get up and get dressed and get out of here."

I rose stiffly, using my arms to support me, leaning with my arms and forehead against the frame while getting dressed. My ass was burning and aching severely. I started snivelling again when the rubber string was put between my bruised buns, and cried limply when first the woolies, then the pants were pulled up. I didnīt think I could walk the long way back to my cell without passing out. My hands were cuffed behind my back, resting on top of my sore butt, and then I had to start moving. I couldnīt bend my legs, I had to shuffle my way out, every move shooting sharp stings of pain through me. Only mr Davies went along.

Outside my cell I broke down crying again and tried to get down on my knees, but couldnīt.

"You want to say something?" mr Davies asked, and I nodded. "Go on, then."

"Sir, I nee-heed to pass wa-hater. Plea-hease, sir, I do-honīt know how Iīm go-hoing to make it."

Mr Davies took a quick look around, then brought me to the loo.

"You keep your mouth shut about this, do you hear?" he said, pulled down my pants in front, undid the rubbers and held out my dick so I could piss. I couldnīt stop crying, Mumbling thank you very much, sir, thank you while I emptied myself. It was the first friendly turn Iīd had in that wretched place.


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