Cruel and Unusual

"But I'm not gay," the man protested.

"Neither is he!" O'Brien retorted. "Now follow my orders or I'll give you what I'm giving him."

The man needed no more encouragement. Obediently, he darted over to stand directly in front of Chazy, pulled his G-string aside, and pushed his crotch in Chazy's face. Hurriedly, Chazy opened his mouth wide and sucked in the head of the man's cock. Tears of mortification flooded his already wet face, but he forced himself to roll his tongue around the prick even as his own hips jerked in pain.

O'Brien resumed with a quickened pace and harder swings.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"How's he doing?" O'Brien asked.

"Uh, not bad," the prisoner breathily replied.

Chazy alternated between sucking the growing prick like it was a popsicle with bobbing his head on it, even as his own hips continued to twitch and twist under the relentless kisses of O'Brien's paddle.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Laughing, O'Brien said, "Well, he looks like a great little cocksucker."

"Yes, Ma'am," the prisoner gasped with arousal, "he gives a better blow job than any woman I've ever had."

That did it. That was the last push of degradation Chazy needed. His prick erupted, sending three long spurts of cum into the ground under his belly. The watching prisoners laughed and cheered.

Chazy collapsed to his knees and let the prick fall from his mouth. Gasping for breath, his hands went to his burning ass and he tried to rub the pain away.

I did it, he thought joyously. I came while being paddled. I passed the test. I'll be free.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" O'Brien snarled. "You're the one that wanted to suck dick, so finish him off."

"But, Ma'am," Chazy pleaded, "I passed the test."

"You passed with his help," O'Brien pointed out, "and you still must obey until the moment you set foot out the gate. Now thank the man by sucking him off, and you better swallow every drop or I won't sign off on your test result."

...

Less than an hour later, Chazy was standing in the small release building beside the exit gate of Creekside. He was wearing the clothes he'd had on when he arrived three years before. After three years wearing nothing but a G-string, it felt hot to be fully dressed. He stood at the counter in front what looked like a bank teller's window.

"This is your rehabilitation kit," the guard said, as she pushed a small envelope across the counter to Chazy. "It contains a three-month pass to the rapid transit system where you live. There's also a card with appointment details for your first meeting with a job counselor in your town. The meeting is mandatory. And there's a card with information about the Creekside Alumni Association in the town where you live."

"What's an ulooni, Ma'am?" Chazy asked, keeping his head bowed respectfully.

"A-LUM-ni," the guard corrected him. "It's an organization of former prisoners of Creekside. They meet to help each other with ... um ... common needs."

"Understood, Ma'am," Chazy mumbled, "But I got no common needs. I just wanna forget this place."

"Every prisoner says that when he leaves Creekside," said the guard. "Well, you're gonna find that Creekside has changed your needs ... permanently."

The Present

It was still there, right where Chazy remembered it. The name had changed. It had been called "The Manhole Cover" or "The Cockpit" or something like that when Chazy and the gang had last been there years before. Now it was "Lumber Jacks." Subtler, by a smidgeon, but still clear enough to get the point across.

He paused after entering and looked around. Inside nothing appeared to have changed, including the clientele. It was the same mixture of mincing men, macho men, Marlboro men, and married men.

Damn, he thought, I'm not even gay. Do I really have to resort to this when there's no alumni meeting?

For a moment he considered dashing back out, but he stayed. He couldn't go any longer without relieving his horniness somehow and playing with himself wasn't possible anymore. With a sigh, he trudged to the bar and ordered a beer.

Now, how the hell do I pick up a gay guy? he wondered, as he sipped. If it was a woman, I could tell her she has pretty eyes, or ask her about her astrological sign. Is that what gay men do?

"First time here?" the guy standing at the bar to his right asked. "You look nervous."

"Uh ... no—I mean, yeah—but I'm not nervous," Chazy said nervously, which brought a knowing chuckle from the man.

"What's your name?" the stranger asked, holding out his hand.

"I'm ... uh ... Chazy," Chazy said, shaking the proffered hand.

"I'm called Winny," the man said with a smile.

Winny? thought Chazy, Where have I heard that name before?

1.5 Years Before (1 year before the previous flashback)

Chazy was on his knees before Officer Johnson, sobbing in pain from the switching he had just received from her. He had just failed his fifth attempt to pass the Toleration program graduation. He had not only not been able to climax while being switched, he hadn't even gotten hard.

Knowing that he would never get out of Creekside if he did not pass the test, Chazy was forced to face the fact that he needed to join the Special Assistance unit. He hated the idea of it, but it was his only hope. So, despite his urge to rub his burning posterior, Chazy knelt respectfully with his head bowed and his hands clasped in classic begging position.

"Please Ma'am [sniffle]," Chazy said, "let me [choke] join the special assistance unit."

"And why should I do that?" Johnson asked. "Lots of guys here want into that unit, but there isn't room for everybody."

"Please, Ma'am, I really need it. I can't even get a hard on when I'm paddled or switched. I've been in the Toleration program for a year and I'm not even improving."

"Do you know what goes on in the Special Assistance unit?" Johnson asked.

"Yes, Ma'am, I do," Chazy responded, "They ... uh ... help each other."

"Do what?"

"Get erections, Ma'am, when they are punished."

"And how do they do that?" Johnson asked.

She knew the answer, but she wanted to make Chazy say it.

"When one of them is getting punished, another one gives him a blow job."

"So, you're telling me that you want to get a blow job from another man while you are spanked or switched or paddled, is that right?"

"Yes, [choke] Ma'am," Chazy whimpered in humiliation.

"And what will you do when one of others is being punished?"

"I ... uh ... I will suck him off."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"No ... uh ... wait ... I mean yes, that's what I want to do."

"Well, I think you should beg me for that, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Chazy sniffled. "Please, Ma'am, let me into the Special Assistance unit so I can suck dicks."

"Well, I'll tell you what," Johnson said in a tone that suggested she was about to do him a great favor. "I'll convince Officer O'Brien to let you into the Special Assistance unit in one month. But in return, every day until then, O'Brien and I will take you to the Intake building where the new prisoners are processed before they are even given their G-strings. We'll put on a little show for the newcomers. On odd-numbered days, you will eat me out while O'Brien paddles you. On even-numbered days, she and I will trade places, although if I know her, she'll want a rim job from you instead. ... Got it?"

Chazy sighed deeply and sobbed again, but as Johnson knew, he had no choice. He would be in Creekside for the rest of his life, if he did not pass the Toleration program test.

"Yuh- yuh- yes, Ma'am," he sniffled. "I got it."

The Present

"So, what are we going to do?" Winny asked.

They had moved from the bar to a quiet booth where they'd been chatting for nearly an hour. Winny seemed nice enough, and vaguely familiar Chazy thought, although he could not recall where he might have seen Winny before. Winny had done most of the talking, which suited both of them. He spoke, Chazy noticed, with that slightly feminine voice that so many gay men had. What's up with that? Chazy thought, not for the first time. Why would homo desires change a man's voice? There was a time when Chazy would have punched a man for speaking that way. But he had to be cool. Winny, he thought, can provide something that no one else can, not tonight anyway.

"Hello!" Winny was saying, "Are you there? Earth to Mars."

"Oh ... uh ... sorry, I was thinking about something." Chazy smiled a little sheepishly, "So ... um ... what was the question?"

"I asked what you wanna to do. This is a pick-up place. So, what's your stroke?"

"Well, uh ...," was all Chazy could say, but after looking around to see if anyone was watching them, he reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out the ping pong paddle, laying it on the table.

Winny looked puzzled for only a second before dawning revelation swept his face.

"Ohhh! Kinky!" he smiled. "But I'm not into pain. Sorry. No can do."

"Um, no ... uh, I mean, it's for me," Chazy stammered, his voice dropping to an embarrassed whisper. "That is, ... um ... you would use it ... uh ... on me."

"Ohhhh, I get it. But what's in it for me? Inflicting is not my stroke either."

"Well, ... uh ... I would suck you ... that is ... uh ... you would make me."

"I see. Well, that sounds better," Winny said as he picked up the paddle and swung it tentatively a few times.

2.5 Years Before (a year before the previous flashback)

Chazy sagged in exhaustion, breathing heavily, as he knelt before the cot in the building labelled "Test Center." The guard who had just climaxed as she squeezed his head between her thighs stood up from the cot and walked away silently. His face was slick with her juices, the latest of 18 layers of woman-cum.

"Thank you for letting me serve you," Chazy said as brightly as he could. That was part of the final test in the Consideration program. It wasn't enough to serve. He had to show enthusiasm for the task.

"Yeah, whatever," the guard muttered as she left the room.

He glanced at the clock. It had been 9 hours, and 47 minutes; nearly 10 hours of bringing pleasure to the guards. He had kissed. He had stroked. He had petted. He had used his fingers, his hands, arms, and all his muscles.

But not his dick. He wasn't allowed to climax himself. The whole point of this test was to prove that he could focus his attention entirely on the needs of others.

He had used all his senses, too; skillfully monitoring the women he pleasured, studying how each reacted to his ministrations, and remembering, from his past attempts at the test, what each guard liked and didn't like. He had become a considerate, indeed, slavish lover. For those who wanted compliments, he was effusive about their beauty. He had bathed those who wanted pampering. He massaged the tense ones. And for the sadistic ones, of which there were many, he had bent for the paddle or switch; always remembering to thank them afterward.

He had, indeed, used his fingers and hands and lips. But most of all he'd used his tongue. They all wanted his tongue in the end. Now, his jaw ached and his tongue was sore and swollen. He hadn't known before he'd been in the Consideration program that a tongue muscle could get sore. But, then, he had never before used it to bring 18 women to climax ... repeatedly. Indeed, before Creekside, he'd never used it on any woman.

But now time was running out. He had just two more hours — two hours and six more guards. That was the test. If he could not bring two dozen women to orgasm, at least once, in 12 hours, then he failed ... again.

The door opened and Officer O'Brien entered. Without so much as a glance at him, she began to strip. He tried to remember her likes. Was she the one who wanted her nipples sucked? No, that was Officer Petty. Her toes? No, that Officer Claymore ... and several others. Then as O'Brien lay face down on the cot and spread her legs, he remembered.

Oh, God, he thought, not this again. He'd provided this same amenity to two others already, and the thought of doing it again was agonizing, all the more so now because O'Brien was always impatient and hard to arouse. But he'd never get out of Creekside, if he didn't pass this test, never even graduate from the Consideration program.

So, he took a deep breath, and with the cheeriness of someone proposing a trip to the ice cream shop, he said "I'd love to serve you from behind, Officer O'Brien. May I please?"

"You may," was her only response as she laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.

Chazy crawled to the cot and then knelt on it between her spread legs. He bent forward and gently pulled open her firm ass cheeks. There was her back door; small, puckered, and ... waiting. With a sigh, he stuck out his sore tongue and bent to his task.

...

Two hours later, Chazy felt Officer Watson shudder in climax as she sat on his face grinding herself into it. As soon as she climbed off of him, he glanced at a clock on the wall.

Five minutes to spare! he thought excitedly. I did it! I passed the Consideration test!

It had taken him a long time to bring O'Brien to climax, and he thought he would fail the test again; but he had gotten lucky then: the four guards who came after her and, now, Watson were relatively quick to come. They must have been especially horny.

"Well, wadda ya know," Watson said, interrupting his thoughts.

She had dressed and was looking at a clipboard hanging near the door.

"You got a checkmark from everybody, including me," she continued, "so you've graduated from the Consideration program."

"Uh, thank you, Ma'am," Chazy replied.

"So, now, you go to the Toleration program," she continued. "Follow me and I'll take you to that barracks."

Minutes later Chazy and Watson arrived at barrack number 24 and she ordered him to join the prisoners who were gathered just outside. As she walked away, Chazy edged over to another prisoner.

"Hey, buddy," Chazy whispered, "I'm new in this program. What's the graduation test?"

"It's tough," the man said in a hushed tone. "You have to come while a guard is punishing your ass. You have only 15 minutes."

"So, they give you a hand job while they're whacking you?" Chazy asked.

"Nope. They don't touch your dick," the other man replied. "You gotta come just from the beatin'."

"But I ain't no maso-whatever ya call 'em," Chazy protested. "I don't get off on bein' paddled and stuff."

"In that case, you better get yourself into the Special Assistance unit as soon as you can," the other man said.

"What's the Special Assistance unit?"

The other man chuckled.

"Follow me and I'll show ya," he said.

Chazy followed the other prisoner to the other side of barracks 25. There Chazy saw over a dozen prisoners bent at the waist being caned, switched, or paddled by a guard. Some were being punished by two guards at the same time; one swinging a switch and the other using a paddle. All the men were crying and twisting but they were all careful not to get out of position and they kept their hands on their thighs.

None of this was particularly unusual at Creekside, but after half-a-second Chazy noticed something that was. In front of each man was a second prisoner, on all fours, sucking the prick of the man being punished.

"What the fuck?" Chazy asked the prisoner who had guided him here. "Is the Special Assistance unit for the fags?"

"Nope," the other man said smiling and shaking his head knowingly. "These are the guys who can't get hard when they're punished, unless something is, you know, stimulatin' 'em. They can't stroke themselves because— well you know why. And they can't be touched by anyone else's hands, so the guards let 'em practice by blowing each other while they are spanked."

"Those fuckin' faggots," Chazy sneered. "I will never do that. Never."

The Present

Winny walked to the bar and slid a twenty-dollar bill across it to the bartender, saying nothing since nothing needed to be said.

"Pink," the bartender said, nodding his head to the back of the room, "and don't make a mess."

There were three back rooms at Lumber Jacks, distinguished only by door color; Pink, Orange, and Scarlet. Chazy followed Winny into the pink portal and closed the door behind them. The room, Chazy noticed, hadn't changed much in the years since he and the gang had last invaded it; same linoleum floor, same chair, table, and cot.

They took off their coats and stripped to the waist. Winny held the paddle, but stood looking at Chazy uncertainly.

"You're the boss," Chazy encouraged.

"All right, then," Winny said with sudden authority, "get those pants off and kneel on the cot!"

Chazy obeyed instantly and then bent forward and laid the side of his face on the cot, so his butt was high as he knelt there wearing only the G-string that he always wore to alumni meetings. He was already half-hard, stretching the pouch of the clingy underwear.

"Now," said Winny, warming up to his role, "you're going to get paddled till you beg me to stop. Maybe I will and maybe I won't — depends on what you offer me."

Pap. The paddle made a nearly imperceptible sound as Winny brought it down tentatively on Chazy's upraised butt. He knew this wasn't hard enough but, unsure of himself, he continued peppering Chazy's buns with soft spanks, using only his wrist. Hearing no protest from Chazy, he gradually increased the force, bringing his forearm and then his shoulders into the labor.

Soon Chazy's buttocks were clenching and unclenching as he tried to squeeze away the pain.

After several minutes, both men were beginning to breathe heavily and Chazy was making small noises of pain and reflexive jerks with each blow.

Smack. "Ow!

Smack. "Ahh!"

Smack. "Erg!"

After another minute, his butt muscles were churning and his hips were squirming. This must be utterly humiliating for him, Winny thought. But at that moment Winny noticed something else: the bulge of Chazy's G-string had grown larger, the leg bands on either side of it were pulled away from his body as his entrapped club grew. Winny suddenly understood what Chazy needed.

"Ohhh," Winny said with mock sympathy, "does your widdle botty hurt?"

Smack. "Unnh!"

"That's cuz you been a bad boy."

Smack. "Argg!"

"Naughty boys like you have to bend over and be paddled."

Smack. "Nnggh!

Soon, Chazy's moans no longer correlated with the strikes, and he was crying.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

2 Years and 11 Months Before (5 months before the previous flashback)

Chazy was standing beside a flatbed truck and breathing hard. He gritted his teeth and gasped as he lifted a bushel of oranges with his right arm up high so that another prisoner standing in the bed of the truck could grab it and pull it up the rest of the way. Seconds later he lifted another bushel with his left. Then he turned quickly and walked back toward the orchard to get another two bushels — 80 pounds of oranges. In his month of hard labor at Creekside he had learned that pausing was a bad idea. The guards would whack any prisoner who stopped moving with one of the paddles or switches they kept hanging from their belts.

Rebellion was hopeless. The prisoners worked in groups of about five and were always surrounded by twice that many guards at least. A prisoner who refused an order was instantly gang-tackled, hand-cuffed, and then paddled or switched till he was a sobbing wreck.

If a prisoner broke any rule, and there were lots of rules, he was required to go to the nearest guard, confess, and ask for a spanking over her lap. If the prisoner was lucky, the request was granted. If he wasn't lucky, the guard would decide he needed to bend over, hold his ankles, and be switched, caned, or paddled.