Cruel and Unusual

There were rules about how to eat and drink (silently), how to walk around the camp (single file, head down, always). A prisoner could speak to a guard only to answer a demand ... or to beg for punishment. Prisoners were required to look down at all times when in the presence of a guard, which was most of the time. Looking at a guard's face was forbidden. There was a rule against swearing, a rule against talking during work or after lights-out at night, and a rule against singing or any other kind of entertainment. The barracks had no TV or books or any other source of entertainment. When you weren't working or sleeping, the only thing to do was sit on your bunk and talk to the other prisoners. And the only thing there was to talk about was how to graduate from the rehabilitation program and get out of Creekside.

There was a rule about how to cry, too. Crying prisoners had to wipe their tears the way small children do. They had to form their hands to into fists and then, holding the fists against their eyes, they turned them back and forth as if adjusting the focus on a pair of goggles. Since a freshly paddled prisoner was usually hopping and dancing about in pain, guards loved additional humiliation of seeing him rub his eyes with his fists as he pranced about and moaned. He looked like nothing so much as naughty little boy who'd been spanked. The hapless prisoner could hear their laughter, and sometimes too his fellow prisoners could not help but laugh.

This, Chazy thought, after he witnessed it for the first time, is one of the reasons why the veteran prisoners here can't seem to look anyone in the eye.

If there was a chance that no guard had seen or heard a rule violation, a prisoner could gamble and not turn himself in, but this was dangerous; if a guard found out anyway, punishment was tripled. Only that very morning a prisoner named Al, working beside Chazy, had spontaneously muttered "shit!" after dropping a bushel on his toe. Almost instantly, Al turned white with fear at the realization of what he'd done. He looked at the nearest guard. Her back was turned and she gave no sign of having heard, but after hesitating a second, Al decided not to risk that she had. He rushed over and threw himself to his knees in front of her.

While kissing her feet, he said, I'm so sorry, Officer Winth, I just swore. Please take me over your lap and spank hard."

She did just that, while seated on the hood of the truck. But Chazy had observed that no spanking at Creekside is entirely standard. The guards had an endless repertoire of cruel variations. On this occasion, Al was required to remain over her lap and hold open his ass cheeks while another guard switched his asshole repeatedly.

Gasping in pain, Al then thanked both officers for being merciful and giving him less than he deserved. He was then required to "plug" his "foul mouth" with an orange the remainder of the day.

At the end of the day, the prisoners were marched back to their barracks, but on this day, instead of going straight in, one prisoner that Chazy hadn't met before threw himself on the ground in front of one of the escorting guards.

"Please, Officer Krupke, let me give you head tonight. Let me lick you all night long," he pleaded while licking her boot.

Before Krupke could respond, a second prisoner dropped to his knees beside the first and began to protest, "No fair! I've waited longer for another chance to suck you, Officer Krupke, I should go first."

Chazy recoiled from the shameful, abject submission of the two men and hurried stumbling into the barracks. Of all the things he'd seen in his month at Creekside, nothing horrified him so much as the dominance that the guards had over these grown men. The prisoners seemed to have been turned into groveling wimps.

"Did you see that?" Chazy asked Dimitri, the prisoner whose bunk bed, 97A was below Chazy's 97B. "He was begging a woman for sex — begging to give head!"

"He's got good reason to," said Ken, a veteran prisoner standing nearby. "He wants to get out of Creekside."

"What's that got to do with putting his tongue where I wouldn't put my dick?" asked Chazy with a sneer.

"You can't get out of Creekside until you've graduated all your programs," Ken explained, "including the Consideration program, which all of us in Barrack 10 are in."

"And," another veteran prisoner, named Raja, added, "you can't even take the graduation test unless you bribe the guards to let you."

"Bribe them with what?" Dimitri asked. "We've got no money."

"With sex," Ken continued. "But fucking isn't allowed, so you gotta do other things. You gotta use your tongue. If you keep it up for a few hours and give the guard a lot of climaxes ... and she's in a good mood ... she'll put you on the list to take the test later in the week."

"But you have to beg them for the chance," Raja said.

"Fuck that!" Chazy exclaimed. "I ain't gonna go down on no woman, and I sure as fuck ain't begging a woman for anything. I'd rather die here."

"Suit yourself," Ken shrugged, "but that's exactly what will happen if you don't change your attitude. We all volunteered for the programs here, not a set number of years. They keep us till they say we've completed all our assigned programs."

"Yeah," Raja laughed, "if you wanna spend the next 50 years at hard labor in a G-string and then get buried in a prison grave, be my guest."

"I don't care!" Chazy insisted, "I'll never do it."

Then he sat on his bunk, turned his back and sulked. But a slight quaver in his voice signaled that he wasn't as sure as he pretended.

"What is the test, anyway?" Dimitri asked.

"You have to be a sex slave to a couple dozen of the guards for 12 hours," Raja explained. "You have to give them climaxes over and over."

"But you can't use your dick," Ken added. "They'll let you get hard, in fact they like it if you do, but you can't come yourself and you can't touch them with your dick."

"Yeah," Raja concurred, "and if you come before the test is over, you fail."

"If any of them don't get an orgasm in 30 minutes, you fail," Ken said, "and if you don't get through them all before the 12 hours is up, you fail."

The Present

"Owwww!! Oh!! Oh!! Unnnh!!" Chazy groaned through gritted teeth as tears washed his face.

"What a little wimp you are," Winnie scolded, "Crying like a baby."

Smack! Smack! Smack! The paddle whacked him relentlessly.

His legs were kicking out now, first one, and then the other; but Winny noticed too that Chazy's straining prick had pushed the front of the G-string completely away from his body. The pouch looked now like a small upside-down tent that had been put up with an oversized pole.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Owwww!! Ergh!! Nnggghh!! Unnnh!!"

After another minute of writhing torment, Chazy broke.

"Please, stop, stop," he sniffled, "I'll do it—I'll blow you! I will! Just stop!"

"That's better," Winny said, dropping the paddle on the cot. "Now face me on all fours."

Obediently, Chazy pushed himself up and reversed himself so his head was just in front of Winny's hips. Winny could see that his tear-drenched face was as red as his butt.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Winny asked.

Slowly, Chazy reached up and opened Winny's pants, and then pulled them and his boxers down. Winny's own prick sprang forth, straight and true. With his hands back on the cot, Winny gently took the head of the bobbing dick into his mouth. He began to suck, pretending that it was a lozenge, just as he'd been taught at Creekside.

It was humiliating —as it always was —and his eyes watered more at the thought that he was submitting to this—this—this fag! But he had no choice. He couldn't go through the rest of his life, never having a climax, and now, since Creekside, this was the only way. Even now he felt his prick stretching out the fabric of the G-string even more. Arousal and humiliation entwined and separated and then combined again. His mind shifted from intoxicating arousal to mortification and back again with nanosecond transitions.

It was soon Winny's turn to moan, and not in pain. For several minutes, Chazy alternated between pretending the cushioned post in his mouth was a cough drop, lolling it around with his tongue, and pretending it was the nipple of a baby bottle, sucking on it like a contented infant.

Damn, he is good, Winny thought, and he's not even using his hands.

Unable to hold still any longer, Winny clamped his hands on the sides of Chazy's head and began to pump his hips. Chazy knew this meant Winny was close to coming, so he relaxed jaw and allowed Winny to slide in and out. His humiliation at allowing himself to be used like this was offset by his growing lust.

Soon—, Chazy thought, Yes, soon he will come in my mouth which will make me come too and it will be over ... until the next alumni meeting. Seconds later, Chazy felt Winny's spunk streaming into his mouth. The sensation never failed to mortify Chazy, but he could feel his own erection nearly tearing through his G-string. And yet ...

3 Years and 1 day and 5 hours Before (a month before the previous flashback)

Chazy stood in front of the desk with his hands behind his back and his head down. This was "the required pose" the guards had told him. He was to stand like this at all times when guards were present and never look one in the eye. To his right was another prisoner named Pedro, and to Pedro's right was a prisoner named Randy. All three men were dressed in only a small G-string — the prison uniform — they had been told. The other two had also adopted "the required pose," and were standing humbly and obediently before the desk and surrounded by a bevy of guards.

But Randy, a six-foot-two muscleman, wasn't standing very still. He was fidgeting and jerking his hips forward as if some invisible needle was poking him repeatedly in the ass. He was also sniffling and it was evident that he had been crying. His face was red with shame, but his butt was redder.

"So, let's see what we got," the guard seated behind the desk said as she opened a file folder. Her name tag read "Kart."

After perusing the file for a minute, she continued. "Cry baby, here," she said, gesturing to Randy, "is in for five counts of breaking-and-entering. Let's start him off in the Respect for the Rights of Others program. Take him to Barracks 15."

Two guards immediately grabbed him by the arms and half-guided, half-pulled him across the room and out an exit door.

"So, Pedro," Officer Kart continued, now looking at a second folder, "what are you here for? Oh, my, three counts of assault-and-battery. Three different bars, three different nights, three different brawls. We need to start you in the Self-Control program. Barracks 4."

In moments, Pedro had been led away and Chazy stood alone as Officer Kart read his file.

"Well, well, well, it seems Charles here has a history of gay bashing, so he'll be going through the Tolerance program for sure, but first — and you're going to love this, ladies — he's in for Rape-by-Intoxication!"

"All right!" one of the guards called out in glee.

"Hot damn!" another said.

The rest applauded.

Chazy looked up in puzzlement. Why does this make them happy? he wondered. Then he remembered "the required pose" and looked down again, but he could see the guards grinning at him from the corner of his eye.

"You see," Kart explained, "our theory here at Creekside is that Rape-by-Intoxication is the ultimate extreme of the selfish, inconsiderate lover. Not only do you not give a fig about the other person's pleasure, you don't even want to deal with a partner who's awake. Well, we love to rehabilitate offenders like you, so we'll be starting you off in the Consideration program."

"Spray him, and take him to Barracks 10," she ordered.

Chazy was led through the exit, a guard on either side of him, and found himself in a little anteroom, with shelves of supplies. One shelf held dozens of identical blue spray cans labelled "Ammonium Crystallite." The shelf above it was had an equal number of green cans labelled "Chlorinated Sulfate."

The guards ordered Chazy to hold out his hands. One them grabbed a blue can and sprayed Chazy's hands all over, top and bottom and between his fingers. Then he was handed a green can.

"Pull down your uniform and spray all over your dick and balls," the guard on his left ordered.

Chazy was puzzled by this, but he was more afraid of the guard's paddles than he was of what the spray might do, so he pulled his G-string down and sprayed his privates thoroughly, top and bottom. It just felt like water.

He was then pushed out of the backdoor of the anteroom and found himself outdoors. The intake building was on a hill that gave a full view of the prison grounds. Creekside was obviously a work farm. Straight ahead were a row of large barracks. Beyond them he could see fields of crops and orchards. Prisoners were everywhere, all of them dressed in the same G-string uniform. Most were at hard labor in the fields, closely supervised by khaki-clad women guards. Others were in small groups being lead from one place to another. All hung their heads, as per "the required pose."

Smack! A sharp sting on his right bun shook Chazy out of his thoughts. The guard on his right had just smacked him with a paddle.

"Eyes down!" she shouted at him, "This ain't no museum."

Chazy obeyed and kept his eyes down as the trio continued to Barracks 10.

"Take bed 97B" one of the guards said as she pushed him through the door. "This is the only day off you'll get till you are released. You start working tomorrow."

The inside was a single cavernous room with rows of three-tiered bunk beds receding to the far wall, nearly 40 meters away. Aside from his own footsteps, Chazy heard nothing, and he thought he was alone in the great room until he arrived at bed 97 and found that beds 97A, below his, and 97C, above his, were occupied. The two prisoners introduced themselves as Cage and Dimitri. They had themselves only arrived that day as well. The three men compared notes. All three had been told that they were in the Consideration program and all three had been sprayed with the mysterious cans, but the other two didn't know anything more than Chazy.

At the end of the day, the veteran prisoners were herded back into the building by the guards. Chazy, Cage, and Dimitri, were nervous as the room filled up with muscled, tattooed men. They had all heard stories of new prisoners being assaulted in American prisons. But it quickly became obvious to all three that none of these men were a threat, despite their physical power. All kept their heads down, even when no guards were around. They had a haunted look, and none seemed able to look anyone else in the eye.

"They're like whipped dogs," Dimitri whispered, and the other two nodded in puzzled agreement.

At 9 PM, a guard called "Lights out! Mouths closed!" and exactly 10 seconds later, they were. In the quiet mountain air, Chazy could hear only the echoes of the guards' shoes as they paced slowly between the rows of bunk beds.

Just as he was drifting into sleep, he heard a scream of pain. It came from the bed just below his. It was Dimitri. He could hear Dimitri thrashing and moaning. The nearest guard chuckled out loud and then called out a warning that anyone who made noise would be punished with the paddle. Dimitri immediately quieted, and Chazy guessed that he had gagged himself with a blanket. But he continued to whimper softly for another half an hour.

Chazy was again drifting off when Cage, in the bed above him, suddenly shouted "Fuck!" and began thrashing and groaning himself.

Again, the guard laughed, but then she added a sterner warning, "If I hear any more noise from over here, everyone in the 90s beds will get paddled."

Cage became quieter, but Chazy could hear him twisting on the mattress above.

"For God sake," a voice from bed 96B whispered to Chazy, "don't jack off."

Huh? Chazy wondered, why is telling me that?

After a long while, Cage seemed to calm down. For a third time, Chazy began to fall asleep. He thought about the events of the day as he slipped into a half-dreaming state. He was back in the intake building, but in his dream, it was the guards who wore only G-strings. Officer Kart was telling him that he was being assigned to the Fucking program. Then she bent over a giant blue spray can and begged him to paddle her and fuck her. Chazy's right hand slide into the pouch of his G-string and he began to gently stroke. Within seconds, the giant blue can in the dream exploded in flame. Chazy sat bolt upright in his bed, wide awake and in excruciating pain. His prick felt like it was on fire. A split second later he realized that his right palm was burning, too.

He involuntarily let out a long groan through gritted teeth, "Arrrgggghhhnn."

"Shut up. Shut up." several voices from nearby beds whispered to him, "or we'll all get paddled."

"Stuff your pillow in your mouth," another hushed voice advised.

Chazy did as he was told, smothering his moans in his pillow, but he couldn't help twisting and kicking on the bed. He'd never felt such pain.

"You'll be OK," the voice from bed 96B whispered, "the pain gradually goes away after about half an hour."

It was the longest half hour of Chazy's life, but the burning gradually faded. He let the pillow drop from his mouth and lay there panting. His sheets were drenched in sweat and his pillow case in tears.

"It's the sprays that cause the pain," the voice from 96B whispered.

From the opposite direction, a voice from 98B added details.

"The chemicals soak into your skin. They are harmless when they are separate, but when skin that has the one sprayed on it touches skin that's been sprayed with the other, the two chemicals produce a burning pain."

"It's the prison's way of controlling when and how you can get a hard on," the voice from 96B resumed. "You better keep your uniform on at all times, too. They've infused the bedding with the blue can stuff and every other surface around here with it, too. If your dick touches anything, you'll get the burn."

The Present

And yet ... something was wrong. Chazy wasn't climaxing himself. He was at the top of the mountain, but wasn't going over the peak. This had never happened before. Swallowing another man's seed had always pushed him into his personal nirvana of pleasure and humiliation. But it wasn't working this time. Even as Winny stepped back, Chazy licked the drool off his chin, tears of frustration, pain, and humiliation on his face.

"Whoa! You are a hungry boy," Winny said, "but I have something else in mind. Turn around the other way again."

Maddened with frustrated lust, Chazy obeyed. Staying on all fours, he reversed direction again, turning his sore end toward Winny. In an instant, Winny grabbed the waistband of Chazy's G-string and yanked it down violently to the back of his knees. Chazy's prick sprang forth, stiff and thick.

"Hey, that's a mighty fine rod, you got there," Winny said in his effeminate way. "I'm impressed."

Winny then began to rub and squeeze and pinch Chazy's buns, causing him to gasp with pain. After a minute of this, Chazy felt something softer rubbing against his butt. Slowly, but persistently, the thing became harder, thicker, and hotter.

"Can I?" Winny asked uncertainly.

"You can do whatever you want."

"Then beg me."

Chazy hesitated. He knew what Winny wanted; but he'd never done this before —never let another man fuck him. But maybe, he thought, that's what he needed. Maybe if crossed that final boundary of mortification, he could reach the climax that he so urgently needed. Slowly, he lowered his upper body again and laid the side of his face on the bed, putting himself back in bottoms-up position. He spread his knees and spoke, choking back tears.