I hope that you're still enjoying this story - any thoughts for how you would like it to progress would be much appreciated. There are another 5 parts written, but after that I am open to suggestion!
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Labour camp - part 4
After 12 strokes of the cane to the soles of each of his feet, Chris was sobbing freely but quietly. His feet felt like they were on fire, and the fact that he had ejaculated just beforehand seemed to make the pain all the worse.
The guard ordered Stuart, the prisoner who had demonstrated how Chris was to get himself off, to release Chris from the bonds securing his wrists and ankles to the chair. The chair was lifted off his back and he was allowed to rise. As he put his feet down on the ground Chris was surprised that it did not hurt more than it did, but the majority of the strokes of the cane had landed on the arch of his foot, not on the parts which connected with the ground. He still walked carefully back to join the rest of the prisoners who had just watched him hump the ground, lock up his own spunk and then suffer the bastinado.
"Let's hope you can be a bit quicker tomorrow, Brown, so that someone else gets the pleasure of a despunking followed by my kind attention to his feet," the guard said.
"Right, scum, your job for today is one which I know most of you look forward to: you're on toilet paper duty."
Although none of the prisoners actually went so far as to groan through their gags, Chris could tell that this was not welcome news. Given what had happened so far, it would not be fun, he knew.
"Andrews, you are going to be the monitor today. Go and get the stuff from the hut."
The prisoner who had been chained directly in front of Chris as they jogged from roll call got to his feet and trotted to the hut. He was young as well, very early 20s, Chris thought. He was lean and in good shape, without body hair, his pits and pubes had been shaved smooth as well as his back, buttocks and chest. He had a thick but not particularly long cock and large heavy balls which looked most uncomfortable as they swung between his legs as he trotted to the hut.
He came back carrying a large wooden crate, which he put down in front of the guard.
"As we have some new boys with us today," the guard said, as he opened the crate, "and as some of the rest of you are so thick as to forget your own names, I will remind you of your task."
The guard emptied piles of old newspapers onto the ground, and took out a metal box.
"Each of you will get a pair of scissors, a pencil, a stone and a ruler. You will cut pieces of paper exactly 15cm square and into the corner of each you will make a hole with your pencil. You will put each square under your stone, and our monitor will come round and collect your work as you do it. He will check that your squares are the correct size. For each one that he rejects, a mark will be placed against your name. The piece of scum with the highest number of marks will be punished severely - our old lags will know exactly what that means. I will randomly check the monitor's work and if I find any squares that are below standard that he has accepted, he will receive one stroke of the paddle per square at the end of the day. Is that clear?"
All the prisoners mumbled `yes, Sir' through their gags.
"Good. Stuart, get the stuff handed out."
The young monitor brought a stack of paper, a pencil, ruler and a pair of blunt plastic scissors to each prisoner and also put a flat pebble beside them.
"Right, get on with it," the guard said, "Stuart, get me my chair and today's paper"
The young lad trotted back to the hut, his heavy balls swinging again, and came back with a deck chair and a copy of the Times. The guard settled himself in comfort and turned to the sport pages.
Chris looked at the other prisoners who had got to work on their papers. His knees were already starting to ache, and he watched as the prisoners bent to pick up newspaper and began marking it up and cutting squares out. Chris had never done such boring or pointless work. Even when he had dull tasks to do at work before he had been able to have the radio on, but here he was working in silence. His knees and jaw were soon aching. The monitor walked around the group and collected the squares from each prisoner in turn, measuring them with his own ruler. Those which passed muster he put into a box on his right, those which did not meet his standards went into a box on his left. When he had checked the squares from one prisoner, he counted the squares in the discard box, and made a note on a pad. He then threaded the `good' ones onto a long piece of string which he drew out of a wooden box he had taken from the crate. Every now and then, he would cut the string, tie it off in a loop and take it over to the guard, who would rouse himself and check a few squares with a metal ruler. He would tear some of each batch off the string, after which the monitor would bend over and the paddle would be applied to his backside once for each discarded square.
The guard also ordered the monitor to fetch him drinks from time to time - it was a warm day and, although the guard was sitting comfortably in the shade and not kneeling in the full glare of the sun, he needed regular glasses of nice cold water to quench his thirst. He drank these noisily and appreciatively, making the naked and sweaty prisoners feel all the more thirsty and hot. The constant water meant that he needed to piss often too, and he would get up and head off to the hole, open the door and piss into the bowl attached to the escapee's gag. Chris felt momentarily envious of the escapee, at least he got something to drink, albeit piss. Other guards who were obviously working other groups of prisoners nearby came over from time to time to use the human urinal kneeling in the hole. One of the guards opened the door to piss and called out,
"This filthy sod couldn't hold it anymore, I see, Davie!"
Chris looked over, and there was a dark patch on the floor in front of the escapee and his legs shone wet in the sun - he had obviously had to empty his bladder and had had no option but to piss down his own leg and onto the ground.
Most of the guards just pissed into the waiting bowl and went back to their work. Some were clearly more sadistic and would squat down beside the escapee and stroke his dick to erection and then slap it hard until it went soft again. Or they would jingle and tug on the chain attached to his nipples. One stood chatting to the guard looking after Chris's group of prisoners and, seemingly unconsciously, kept lifting the chain and then letting it drop. Each time the escapee would gasp through his gag as the pain seared through his nipples. After a few hours of sitting in his chair reading his paper, the guard clearly got bored. He picked up the chair that Chris had been tied to for the bastinado and took it over to the escapee's hut. He took the gag out of the escapee's mouth, pulled off his boots and socks, sat down and planted his foot firmly in the escapee's face. Chris could hear the chained prisoner lapping and slurping at the hot and sweaty foot in front of it, and the guard periodically told the suffering man to get his tongue properly between his toes, or to lick harder at the callouses on his heels.
When he was satisfied with the service on his feet he stood up, dropped his uniform trousers and pants and planted his arse into the escapee's face and told him to get his crack and hole squeaky clean. Chris was amazed that the guard's could get away with this as he heard the prisoner gag and retch as he cleaned the guard's sweaty arse with his tongue.
"Remember, scum, this is why you don't want to end up in the hole!" the guard had said as he covered himself again and fitted the gag back into the prisoner's mouth, "you'll be pleased to get a dose of piss to wash away the taste of my arse, I am sure, scum, it gets nice and sweaty sitting in that chair."
At what was obviously lunchtime, one of the bucket boys from the night before arrived in their area carrying a tray with a plate of chicken salad, a piece of cake and a bottle of beer for the guard. The bucket boy knelt beside the guard while he ate, holding his beer when the guard was eating. The rest of the prisoners worked on, feeling hungry now as well as thirsty.
After what felt like an age, the pile of papers had gone down and the prisoners were finishing off their last squares. Chris's legs were killing him and he was desperate to piss. He saw the other prisoners finishing their work, the monitor collected their pencils, rulers, scissors and stones and put them away in the metal box as they finished the last paper they had. Once done, they put their hands behind their heads and waited. He did the same as he finished his work, pleased that he wasn't last this time. When they had all finished, the monitor did his final sorting, the guard did a last check and discarded a further 6 squares, which earned the young monitor a final six paddle strokes to his bright red and clearly very sore bare bottom. He squealed quite loudly on the last two, particularly hard, strokes, which made both the guard laugh and Chris (and one or two other prisoners) sprout an erect dick despite his having been despunked only that morning.
"So, let's see what we have, then."
The guard took up the pad in which the monitor had been recording discarded squares.
"Our monitor didn't do too bad a job today, how many swats did you get, Stuart?"
"60 swats, Sir, thank You, Sir," Stuart drooled out through his gag. No wonder his backside looked to red and sore, Chris thought, no wonder he had squealed quite so loudly on those last few. Chris's dick seemed to get even harder as he thought about it - he hadn't taken much notice of most of the monitor's paddlings, he had heard them and seen them from the corner of his eye, but he hadn't wanted to stop working or run the risk of adding more discarded squares to his tally. He didn't know what the `severe punishment' was going to be, but having already had to cum like a dog and have his feet caned, he dreaded it.
"Hmmm," the guard said, "well, we have one of you scum who was clearly day-dreaming today, who has by far and away the highest number of sub-standard squares. Stand up, Collins."
Slowly and gingerly, a lad three away from Chris stood up. His legs were clearly aching as badly as Chris's were as he seemed to be having trouble standing. He was another of the youngest of the group, blond, fairly short, baby-faced, with a hairless chest and pale trimmed pubes above an above average sized cock. His balls had stuck to his thighs as he had worked, and as he stood they slowly peeled themselves free and swung under his cock.
"Did you think today was a holiday, Collins?"
"No, Sir," the clearly unhappy lad mumbled.
"What was that, scum?!"
"No, Sir, sorry, Sir!" the lad shouted loudly.
"No need to shout, Collins, I'm not deaf! So, if you didn't think it was a holiday, did you just fancy some punishment, eh?"
Tears had begun tracing their way down Collins's face, making him look even younger than he did anyway.
"No, Sir, sorry, Sir," the young lad gulped.
"How long have you been here, Collins?"
"Six weeks, Sir."
"Six weeks and you still haven't learned how things work here. How much longer have you to serve?"
"Two more weeks, Sir."
"Well, let's see if we can help you learn how to behave for the next two weeks."
Chris though it most unfair, someone was always going to come last and have the most discarded squares, it was in the interests of the monitor to discard all those squares that were even borderline to save his own arse, literally.
"Go and get me the stuff, Stuart."
The monitor trotted off to the hut. As he ran his dick thickened and lengthened and when he trotted back carrying a small black bag and a frame like the escapee had been tied to the previous evening, his dick was fully erect and bobbing. Chris realised that Stuart knew what was coming and was aroused by it. The unfortunate Collins was crying hard now, he knew what was going to happen too. From the mix of hard dicks and grimaces on the faces of his fellow prisoners, Chris saw that he was the only one who didn't know what was in store for Collins.
"Over you go, scum," the guard ordered the crying lad.
Collins's dick had shrivelled back into his body, and his balls had tightened in anticipation of whatever was to come. He walked slowly over to the rough wood frame, bent over it and spread his legs and arms. The monitor buckled Collins's ankles and wrists into the cuffs as the escapee's had been the night before.
"We might as well let everyone see," the guard said, walking over and opening the door to the hole where the escapee still knelt.
Walking back, the guard picked up the cane that he had used on Chris's feet that morning - Chris's soles throbbed at the memory.
"You had 14 discarded squares more than the next of the scum, Collins, so you will be getting 28 strokes." Chris saw that the cane was thinner and lighter than the one that had done such damage to the escapee's buttocks the night before, but he guessed it would still sting and burn.
"Remember to count the strokes and thank me nicely for each one and ask for the next, scum. Miscount, and we start again. Utter anything resembling a curse and you will find yourself kneeling with the other miscreants at roll call in the morning."
The guard stood beside the frame over which the lad who looked barely 17 was now trembling, the chains on the cuffs rattling slightly as he did so. The guard raised the cane and swished it through the air. He didn't land it on the prisoner's backside, but Chris saw Collins try to clench anyway. A couple more practice swishes and the guard laid it across the exposed buttocks, raised it and brought it smartly down.
Collins did not yell out loud, but hissed slightly before counting, thanking the guard for the stroke and asking for the next.
Stroke after stroke landed on the bare unprotected buttocks of the soon yelping and sobbing lad. He dutifully counted each off as loudly as he could, thanked the guard for hurting him and asked for more. Chris watched as the angry red stripes lined up down Collins's bottom, and his dick strained and a drop of precum formed at the tip. He could tell the prisoners who got off on this for whatever reason easily - they had hard docks like him, whereas the dicks of the rest had shrivelled like Collins's had. Finally, Collins called out,
"Twenty eight, Sir, thank You Sir, please may I have another, Sir!"
And the guard handed the cane to the monitor who was kneeling beside him.
"And now, Collins, to make sure that you work harder tomorrow, for my favourite part of the punishment. Get me ready, Stuart."
Chris watched transfixed as the monitor unzipped the guard's fly and fished out his cock. He took the guard's cock in his mouth and began sucking on it until the guard was fully erect. Chris wondered whether they checked how big the men's cocks were before they were employed as guards - this man has been above average flaccid, but was definitely big now that he was hard. The guard's cock was unusually thick. Because it was so thick it looked shorter than it really was, Chris reckoned it was just above average in length. The monitor opened the bag he had brought with the frame, and took out a bottle of lube and a condom. He gently rolled the condom onto the guard's hard cock and Chris realised that the recently caned prisoner was about to get fucked as well. No holds barred really meant that, he thought. In fact, it clearly meant no `holes' barred as well.
Once the condom was stretched over his thick cock and it was shining with lube, the guard walked up behind Collins, and stood looking at his striped red backside. Collins was crying openly now, but this seemed only to make the guard get harder. Moving closer, the guard put the tip of his cock against Collins's hole, which was exposed because of his legs being pulled apart by the cuffs.
"Watch well, scum, if you work hard, this won't be you tomorrow!" And so saying the guard thrust his cock hard all the way up Collins's hole until his rough uniform was rubbing against the prisoner's sore buttocks.
Collins yelled out, which seemed to spur the guard on, who began fucking him hard and long, pulling almost all the way out and forcing himself all the way back in.