Chapter 2

Carl Jordan

I liked Will from the moment he first interviewed me. And I think I saw more than a glimmer of interest in his eyes, too. Not that I let on, of course. He was my superior and hopefully, my new boss. Any overt moves towards his body, especially if they were ill-founded, would be disastrous to my joining his team.

And that, once I had read the circular outlining what he was proposing, was now my dearest wish. For too long we had been treating prisoners with kid gloves. A return to real punishment was in my view, the only way to teach them the error of their ways and to restore public confidence in the safety of the streets.

But then, as we settled in to the new premises and he began to train us in our new roles, I really gloried in what we were going to be doing - and more than that, in his company. He made me his deputy straight away and that too, gave me another real boost. And so, once we were actually up and running, I bit the bullet and gave it to him straight.

To my delight he accepted it and tonight we were going to make it.

First though, the prisoners, the first twelve of them anyway, were going to discover what hard work really was! You think what they had just suffered, the hours pushing the capstan, was hard? Think again. What we had for them now was worse, much worse.

We took them out to the back of the lot. The site actually backed onto the Brisbane River and there had been a quite extensive open area behind the building itself, some five acres of it. In its manufacturing days, this had been used to store raw materials and the like but it was now cleared and the bitumen ripped up and removed to reveal good quality river loam, ideal for our purpose.

Will had put together a disc plough. By that, I mean he had purchased one and then had our maintenance man, Bob Drover, build a frame so that the prisoners, any number of them, could pull it. If they thought pushing the bars on the capstan had been hard, now they were going to find out what the word ‘work’ really meant.

They were led out and while two of the other officers lifted up the first row of yokes and held them against the backs of the necks of the four prisoners we had selected for the front row, Will and I locked the front parts of them around the front of their necks. The yokes were provided with places for their hands which they now brought up to rest there.

This yoke was connected to the next one behind it by three chains and we then harnessed the other two lots of four to rows two and three. In the future, when we had more prisoners, more rows could be added, thus allowing the plough operator (it would be one of us officers) to lower the blades further into the soil. There was no electronic control of the prisoners here. Will had decided that in this case, long bullwhips, applied by two officers on either side of the gang would be more effective - and would provided a salutary lesson to the paying public who would be visiting us in the future.

There was going to be no hiding what we were doing. Everything would be open to the public and the media and we hoped it would all be given a lot of coverage, at least at first. Will believes that a proper punishment, well advertised, will go a long way to redressing the dreadful state the do-gooders have brought us down to.

Once they were all harnessed and had taken up the strain against the connecting chains, I cracked my whip in the air above their heads and then screamed at them to get moving. To underline the point Pete and I selected two of them and then laid our whips against their straining backs. We had agreed to lash the two front outside prisoners, just to show the others, who could of course see them quite easily, what awaited them when they slacked.

Yes, this duty now required three officers but unlike the capstan duty, it would only be used occasionally, when the gardens needed ploughing. And this would normally only be once a year. We also had a harrow which would fine down the soil once it had been broken up by the plough but again, it would only be used occasionally.

Still, as this team of twelve now applied their muscles to the work, they realised I think that their days with us were not going to resemble what they had been used to in their former prisons. There, work, if they had any at all, had been easy and minimal; their food had been good if plain and they had been provided with clothing and bedding. Here they would have none of those amenities.

They were naked and nude (as Will called their now hairless state) and would remain so every moment of their time with us. They would be eating a pureed and rather tasteless mush of vegetables with a little meat added at night and fruit or raw vegetables in the morning. There would be no midday meal. They would be sleeping on wooden table-like benches, lying on their backs with their wrists and necks encased in a form of pillory which would prevent them touching each other, without any covering over their cold bodies at all. The neck section of each pillory included a zapper (based on canine anti-barking collars) which would give them a nasty shock to the sides of their necks if they as much as uttered a peep.

Oh yes, life was going to be very different for the scum under Will’s regime.

But to return to the ploughing, they now began to drag it through the soil which, since it hadn’t been used for agriculture in a hundred years, was hard and unforgiving. Bob, who had designed and built the yokes, was driving it himself this first time and he had to adjust it right up until it was barely scraping the surface. Over successive runs it could be made to dig deeper but in the meantime, even with just the first twelve of our thirty to fifty sex prisoners, it was doing what it was supposed to.

My eyes however were on our twelve prisoners. Professionally, my job was to ensure each gave his all to this task and to lay on the whip when I thought one of them on my side was slacking. We had all had lessons in the use of the various whips and canes we would be using on them and by now were all pretty much dab hands at it. I have to say I delighted in my new job. I hadn’t believed I was overly sadistic and I don’t think that has changed. But this lot were the scum of the Earth and punishing them would be a duty I would not shirk.

I am bisexual, however, and the sight of the twelve of them stark naked was a quite definite turn-on for me. Here I have to qualify what I said a moment ago. By sadistic, I meant torture for sexual pleasure and I don’t resile from that. However slavery has always been a real love for me and naked slavery was my usual fantasy in my night-time reveries. Looking at this lot, I could easily imagine them as naked slaves and that certainly fuelled my libido.

My thoughts turned to Will and, glancing at him, I knew I was going to enjoy tonight especially, as I hoped, if he was into the slave scene as well for while I liked (in my dreams) to look at other men (and women too, as long as they were athletic) naked and toiling at hard labour. I really delighted in putting myself into the role of slave, perhaps plying the oar of a galley, stark naked and flogged to greater effort by a huge muscular overseer. As I’m black, I also fell easily into the role of a southern American plantation slave used and abused by a cruel white master and his wife - and used by them both sexually.

But these were just dreams, of course. In the here and now, I was an officer with the Queensland Department of Corrections and I had always scrupulously observed the correct attitudes to all my charges, never even implying by a glance that I was interested in a single one of them sexually. But of course that was no longer the case with this scum. Will had indicated he wanted us to rape them and to do so publicly, that is, in front of people who would be paying to come and see them raped or otherwise punished and I was really looking forward to this aspect of our jobs. Yes, I know it is conceited of me but I know I have a good body - hell, I work at it hard enough - and the idea of legally ‘raping’ one of this lot in front of an audience really did something to my ego.

Right now, however, it was my job to keep my six hard at it and that too was another joy. The lessons we had learned with the whips and the practice we had all taken part in had honed those skills so that now we could lay the tip of the so feared bullwhip anywhere on their miserable flesh we liked. The only parts of their bodies that were taboo were the region of the kidneys and their heads. Anywhere else, even including their genitals was fair game and in fact, Will had indicated that if we could whip their cocks and balls without permanently damaging them then we should go for it.

It wasn’t easy, however. Their attitude, leaning into the yokes and their proximity to the man in front of them made their genitals hard targets, but I didn’t worry overly about it. In the future we would be ritually caning and whipping this part of their anatomies as part of their punishment and in the case of the bullwhip, they would be suspended upside down with their legs drawn out wide. Their genitals would then be perfectly arrayed for the tip of my whip - and I could wait...

And so I now directed it to their shoulders, upper backs and buttocks; the latter particularly for they were a particular fetish of mine. I really delight in a pair of narrow muscular nates, especially if their owner’s skin is smooth and clear and Sandy Blake’s bottom was very much in this category. Not that I whipped him unnecessarily. I knew my job and its limits and no matter how much I doted on a particular prisoner’s body, I would never punish him more than he deserved.

But they all took breathers occasionally and this was not permitted. When they did, and at first it was quite often, up went my whip and down it came, its knotted tip catching their buttocks wonderfully.

The signal whip is a wonderful instrument of punishment. It is about three metres long and its handle is fairly thick (comfortably so) and rigid. It then tapers down to the tip. From about the thirty centimetre mark it ceases to be rigid but becomes ‘oily’ rather than floppy. Thus as one draws the tail back over one’s head it follows the handle in a graceful arc. When applied from about two metres distance, it curls around the victim’s body and the very end of the tail creates a nice little welt. The path of the rest of it also hurts but not as much as the tail itself. It is not necessary to use great force. The lash hurts a great deal even when applied quite slowly.

The whip also creates a slight whooshing sound as it flies through the air, culminating in a terrifying ‘thwaaaaap’ sound as it connects with the naked flesh of the victim

As it lashed their bodies now, they all screamed and jumped in the air but then, once their feet hit the ground, they leaned even harder into the yoke around their neck and strained to their utmost to keep the plough moving through the hard-crusted earth.

Why didn’t we use their implants and our wrist controllers? Because we were preparing for our paying guests (and on the days they would be coming to visit, the rapists’ victims) and Will had indicated that we wanted to give both classes of visitor a variety of corporal punishments to make their visit more interesting. The implants worked exceptionally well but the whip, the cane and such variations as the Scottish tawse or the English birch were just as efficacious in demonstrating to our prisoners that their crimes were now going to cost them dear - in hard, back-breaking toil, as well as ritually inflicted pain, shame and sheer humiliation!

As with the earlier session in the capstan room, we kept them at it until they collapsed. And I mean that literally. With the capstan, its sensors had caused them to be shocked by means of their implant which had re-enlivened them, so to speak. Only when they truly collapsed unconscious or at least unable to get to their feet again, were they dragged out of the machine.

But now, we had to gauge their physical state visually, responding to any perceived slackness with a well-placed stroke of the whip until they were really exhausted and then, as before, we called a halt, removed the prisoner from the gang and then re-started them at work. This only worked for the first few, but then the load, even at the lightest setting, was too much for the remaining members and we called a halt for the day.

We let them lie there for a few minutes until they were physically able to get up and then we whipped them back into the building - literally. We lashed at their supine forms until they got to their feet and ran ahead of us, trying desperately to avoid the kiss of the whip to their flesh.

And this time, when we took them down to the ablution area, I blasted their bodies with water that was far too hot. They couldn’t escape. Will had thoughtfully surrounded the recessed area as a cage and I could stand outside it and aim the scalding torrent in at them. This was followed by a two minute blast of cold water. And by cold, I mean it. It wasn’t refrigerated but it certainly wasn’t tepid. This had the effect of perking them up and now they stood there, each hugging himself for warmth and jumping from foot to foot.

And now it was time for their final indignity of the day. One of them was going to be raped. I had volunteered for this first duty in this department. First because I was Will’s deputy, but second because I had an urge to fuck Sandy Blake’s youthful but so beautifully muscled body and I had mentioned it to Will. He had grinned and said I was on.

We now took them along to the raping room. Here they would each soon suffer the pain and humiliation of having their crime turned against them - but in the view either of their own victim and her (or his) psychiatrist or, more often, a roomful of paying members of the public who would be accommodated in a tiered array of seats in a horseshoe around the small stage on which was situated the pillory into which they would be bent and their feet drawn out wide, providing their attacker, in this case me, with a perfect target. The little round stage on which the pillory was mounted was motorised and when activated, slowly revolved so that every member of the audience saw every aspect of it.

Today, the audience consisted of every member of the staff as well as Sandy’s prisoner colleagues who were ranged around and behind the slightly raised dais, each standing erect and with hands clasped up behind his neck, and when Sandy was brought in by himself and looked around him, he suddenly knew what was going to happen and he ran - or tried to. His escort had already programmed his number into his controller, however, and all it took was a touch to the red button and the young man was instantly a heap of writhing arms and legs on the floor as he tried to come to grips with the agony of those shocks to his testicle.

He got up then and allowed himself, albeit rather reluctantly, to be led up onto the stage and to bend over to fit his neck and wrists into the holes in the bottom half of the pillory. Its top was then lowered over them and locked while another officer spread his legs out wide and secured them to the lugs set a metre apart for the purpose.

I then jumped up onto the stage and standing in front of the twenty-one year old prisoner and began to remove my uniform, revealing my muscles and my black skin to him. And then, as I dropped the last item, my underpants, down to reveal my snake, he screamed out in terror for yes, I am one of those black men who is very, very well endowed in that department.

The males of the Negro races are often credited with being super-endowed ‘down there’. I know it not to be true, of course, but if it had been, I would be a perfect example of the fact. As it is, my cock is just on nineteen centimetres long and over three, thick. And when it is erect, it grows another four centimetres in length and one in diameter and stands straight up my belly, often throbbing if I’m really turned on by the scene.

That was the case now as I now circled the stage in counter-rotation to its own fairly slow motion, flexing my muscles and grinning up at the audience in the tiered seats and also to the other prisoners arranged against the back wall. The former laughed or cheered me; the prisoners just looked scared as they stared down at my outsized, iron-hard weapon.

No-one had said what was going to happen but it was obvious, I think, and now Sandy really screamed out in fear and waved his middle from side to side, clenching his cheeks in a vain attempt to keep me out.

I did grease my cock. Not to have done so would have torn the soft skin of his anal muscles and perhaps even his rectum but apart from that, once I was ready, I waited until the stage had brought his still wildly-waving bottom to me, walked in, leaned over his fine body and grasped his muscular shoulders. And then I simply rammed my cock up and into his backside.

He just about choked as I sent it driving right up his arse until my pubes slammed into the soft flesh of his buttocks. Here I should add that my pubes were as naked as his own for I too have a fetish about hairy bodies and had used the machine in the interview room to remove every hair below my eyelashes even including my beard - a special helmet was used to protect my hair, eyebrows and lashes.

‘Oh what a feeling’, goes the Toyota ad. Well I can echo it. Yes, I had bedded handsome and muscular males before but this was more than different! This was a naked prisoner. In my imagination, a slave. A slave I was raping for my own pleasure and his punishment for which (again in my imagination) he was secured bent over in the pillory.

And then I proceeded to give him what for, while under me, he continued to scream and yell and threaten and plead, all of which I totally ignored. I wasn’t interested in his blather, except to ask him how he was enjoying what he had perpetrated on his victim.

He fell silent then, at least except for his groans of pain, but I continued on, driving hard but conscious that this was supposed to last for half an hour at least, in order to give his probably virginal bottom a real workout. Will wanted him to remember this first of many coming rapes for weeks and probably the rest of his life.

I delighted in it, of course. Yes, I am a bit of a showman and I am proud of my body and wasn’t in the least sheepish about showing it, or my sexual prowess off to my friends and colleagues, much less the other eleven criminals ranged behind the circular stage and all staring in real horror at what I was doing to Sandy, each of them now realising that this fate too, added to the diabolically hard labour we had already inflicted on them this first day, was going to be theirs as well.

Will Chalmers

What a magnificent spectacle Carl put on for us all! And what a truly magnificent body he has. Oh yes, I had known he was well-built even dressed, but naked and now nude as well, at least from his long eyelashes down, he was to me about the epitome of the perfect human male: tall and with perfectly-formed muscles that were honed to perfection but were not overdone; a skin as smooth and soft as brushed velvet; all capped off with a face as handsome as a young Denzel Washington or Anthony Montgomery (of Star Trek Enterprise fame).

And tonight he was going to be mine. I wondered what his scene was. My own favourite fantasy was to be time-shifted back to the slave-owning era of the southern United States and in it, I was master of an enormous plantation of the very best black slaves, half and half male and female and those fantasies then divided between using their bodies sexually, choosing either a male or female, or sometimes a number of them for my pleasure; or stringing them up by their heels for a ‘paddling’ as it was called. As a young man, I had delighted in the Falconhurst series of books and after reading them all, then sought out anything I could find (the more salacious the better) on the subject of American slavery in its worst forms.

But of course these were merely fantasies. I had never ever told another living soul about them and hadn’t even broached the subject of S&M or even B&D with any of my sexual partners, male or female. In Carl’s case, I didn’t much mind what his pleasure was. He was so perfect a human being, anything he wanted, I would go along with.

Right now though, he was still raping young Sandy’s backside - and making a great deal more than a fair fist of it. The rapist was screaming now but that was good. He might now begin to understand what his victim had suffered under his sexual assault of her person.

I decided right then that I was going to ring her psychiatrist tomorrow morning and make an appointment for her to come and watch this very same scene as soon as she was ready. I wouldn’t even mind if it was tomorrow and Sandy’s anus was not fully recovered; however on reflection, perhaps a few days hence might be better.

I have seen many male-oriented as well female porn movies, both for my own pleasure as well as professionally but even the best of them came nowhere within a bull’s roar of what Carl was putting on with the muscular Sandy Blake.

And it wasn’t just the pillory scene or the lithe muscularity of Sandy’s body, or even the splendour that was Carl’s physical magnificence and beauty, either. I think those things contributed to it but it was more the panache, the flamboyance with which he played out the act which caught my admiration. There were nuances of motion of his body; in the way he screwed his cock as he drove it in to the young rapist’s rectum; of the way his beautifully muscled buttocks clenched at each stroke - oh, there were hundreds of little things, but all of them went to make this a scene which I was sure would go a long way in helping to re-form and repair Jan O’Connor’s mind.

Jan was Sandy’s victim and while her body had recovered quickly from his assault, her mind was languishing. She hadn’t returned to work (she was a librarian with the council library) and her psychiatrist had confided to me that he was beginning to despair of even a mid-term recovery. When I had suggested my more-than-radical treatment - the witnessing of her attacker being similarly raped himself, he had jumped at it. “I’ve tried every known treatment, Will. Yours is admittedly revolutionary, but it might just work. Couldn’t do any harm, anyway,” he had said.

But first there was to be my night with Carl.

Perhaps I should attempt to describe our building. As I said, it had been a munitions factory but had lain empty and dormant for decades. We had acquired it very cheaply. We first set out to renovate our own accommodations. We made these comfortable and practical. We each had an en suite bed/sitting room and then there were common rooms devoted to reading, TV and other recreations, kitchen, dining, etc. I made sure these parts were nicely decorated and furnished for our comfort.

And then there were the prisoner areas. As I indicated earlier, these were left in the raw concrete form in which the munitions factory had operated. No part of them was heated or cooled (unlike our quarters). For sleeping, the thirty prisoners would be housed on a series of wooden benches half a metre wide and two long and there were thirty of them. At the head of each ‘bed’, their wrists and necks were secured in pillories preventing more than a little movement as they rested and their necks were further adorned with a dog’s anti-bark collar, modified for human use and tuned to their voice boxes. The slightest vibration, even from a whisper and they were zapped by electrodes on either side of their necks. I tried it out and I can tell you, I wouldn’t be talking again once I had suffered the shock my speaking caused.

The sleeping tables were set up in the middle of the room and the duty officer could walk right around each of them. I encouraged them all to feel and fondle the prisoners without any compunction at all.

“Shaming and humiliating them is all part of the deal, gentlemen. If their bodies appeal, feel them down - and even if they don’t, do it anyway. If you felt like it, climb up on a table, lift its occupant’s legs onto your shoulders and rape him. The others won’t see what you are doing as the pillories will hide it from most of them, but they will hear your actions and his screams and know that they might be next.”

I see I have wandered off my topic, which was the building, but perhaps you now have some idea of its set-up and we can return to my night with Carl. We made no attempt to hide what we were going to do. I had made it clear from the outset that as long as harmony was maintained in our little community, they could make and break liaisons as they wished and since we were all at least bisexual, no-one would think ill of them.

Accordingly, after dinner that night (we had a succulent roast lamb, roast potatoes, carrot, pumpkin and baby onions, green peas and a rich gravy - the prisoners were fed their mush in a metal trough and they had to eat it on their hands and knees, like dogs) Carl and I retired to my rooms and there I undressed him (but stayed clothed myself as I wanted to test out my favourite fantasy on him. If he responded as I hoped, good and well; if not, then I would proceed down more ‘normal’ paths).

He let me do it, standing still but moving his limbs and body as required. And then, when he was naked at last and I stared in unfeigned adoration at his fabulous physique, he dropped to his knees, clasped his hands up behind his head and then, after looking up at me once with eyes that were clearly adoring, dropped it to kneel there, head bowed in the position of a slave!

This was what I had dreamed about every night since first taking him into my unit but I hadn’t dared to think that he might really be a latent slave - not this masterful, handsome, competent prison officer who was now my deputy as manager of the facility.

But then he spoke and it was not in his usual confident, ringing tones but those of an abject slave. “Master, I have been bad. I believe you will wish to cane me for my sins,” he said softly, slowly.

I stared down at him in a near agony of delight that all my dreams were coming to fruition, but then I spoke, clearly and with the authority of a slave-owner. “Yes you have, boy and yes you shall. Clear the coffee table and lay yourself down on it. There will be ten strokes to your buttocks, each very hard.”

“Yes, master, and thank you for my correction.”

I didn’t answer that but strode off to my bedroom to bring out a nice meaty rattan cane already placed into its handle (which made it easier to hold and to use) and then came back to find him lying on the table, his arms up above his head and his feet spread out to the bottom corners of the table. It was one of those very long affairs now in vogue and was also very sturdy.

But then I thought he would look even better if he was secured to it and returned to my room for the restraints. You see I had, over the years, acquired a full complement of sex toys associated with my fetish and chains and manacles were included in these. The four I brought out now had Velcro manacles for the wrists and ankles and leather straps with buckles on the ends, allowing them to be fastened around just about anything.

As I came up to his head and he saw the straps, his eyes positively glowed. “Oh yes, master, I will need to be tightly restrained during the punishment,” he said and I grinned as I secured each limb in turn.

And now, as I stared down at his so perfect body from its muscular arms, boulder-like shoulders, v-shaped back with its own pattern of muscles all over it and the back of his muscular calves and thighs, I drooled, well figuratively, anyway.

But mostly, my eyes were on his buttocks. They were perfect, too, in my eyes. They were prominently rounded - boyish is the expression usually used - and were narrow and heavily dimpled on their outer sides. They also both reached up into the small of his back. In other words they were beautifully muscular and, like the rest of his body, their skin was velvet-like and smooth as cream.

I was now ready. This was something I had wanted to do since puberty and to be able to do it on a dream-boat like Carl was a huge plus. Of course I hadn’t - done it, I mean. It had all been in my dreams, but nevertheless, I knew exactly what I had to do.

Of course I would be attuned to his reactions. I knew instantly that he was a bottom and it sounded as if he was strongly masochistic, but I would react according to how he responded to the cane. I would deliver the first stroke very hard to see if he was as keen on being caned as he professed. I hoped so for I really wanted to lay into those delectable cheeks, now wobbling and tensing slightly as he anticipated the pain to come.

I raised the cane and then brought it down, as hard as I could across both cheeks then stepped back to see what he would do.

It was astonishing, actually. He didn’t utter a peep but his limbs pulled and strained at the very secure straps while his body writhed and corded - especially of course his bottom cheeks as they attempted to cope with the dreadful pain I had inflicted on them. If he had been white, his flesh would have paled, then reddened and then a welt would have formed. His skin colour was a rich dark chocolate and didn’t pale all that much, however the welt certainly formed and I now reached in to caress it. He did utter a sort of sob at the touch of my fingers and I asked him softly, if it was all too much and he wanted to be released.

“Oh no, master. I need the full ten strokes - and make them harder, please.”

I grinned, at least to myself. Very well. He was clearly made of strong stuff and so I moved back in and caned his buttocks again, this one a couple of centimetres below the first stroke. Again he kept quite silent and even his contortions were not as evident this time.

The third stroke brought a renewed activity and so did each of the remaining seven strokes but he stayed utterly silent right through them all. And even when I released him from the restraints, he got up and then knelt before me once more, thanking me for his ‘correction’as he called it.

But then I lamented my actions. “Oh blast,” I said, at which he looked up at me, asking a silent question. I answered it. “I was going to rape the living daylights out of you, slave, now I won’t be able to. Your bottom is much too marked...”

He grinned. “I would be honoured if you would deign to rape my bottom, master. The added pain will only serve to help correct my slothful ways...”

What a mouthful! But not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he then stood up, led me into my bedroom, undressed me and then lifted me into his powerful arms and laid me on my bed (which he had first turned down, of course).

And then we made love to each over for what seemed like hours. And, as expected, it was a loving that far and away surpassed anything I had ever done with anyone else in the world, male or female. It was well after midnight when we finally lay back, side by side and just held hands. But then he told me he loved me.

I reached over and kissed him - hard. “And I, you, Carl,” but then I looked at the clock beside my bed. “Hell, we were going to go along and see how Jack was doing...?”

“Well, why not now? We only need to pull on some outer clothes...?”

“Let’s go, then.”

It took seconds to put on t-shirts and shorts and slip into thongs and then we were at the door of the prisoner’s sleeping room. We moved in quietly, not because we wanted to check up on Jack Endicott, but so as not to disturb him if he was ‘busy’ with one of the prisoners.

He was. Jack is a twenty-eight year old with a body almost as good as Carl’s and an insatiable sexual appetite, as we all knew and ribbed him about. But we had all tried him out over the weeks we had been there and we all knew how good he was in bed.

Now he was naked and was kneeling up on the hard boards of one of the prisoner’s tables, his shoulders under the man’s ankles and he was raping him for all his worth. He hadn’t chosen Sandy Blake, no doubt sensible that that young man’s backside was probably still throbbing violently from Carl’s rape of him earlier. The prisoner he had chosen was a little older than Sandy, at twenty-four, but he was just as well-built and was certainly a more handsome specimen.

This boy, name of Gary Wilson, had a penchant for young girls, however, one of the worst crimes there is, and we would be giving him a lot of grief for his sins over the next few months. Jack had obviously decided to get in first and as we moved up closer to him, we grinned at him in approval.

He nodded at us but was too engrossed in raping the boy’s bottom to say anything.

We had noted the other prisoners were all awake and listening silently to the boy’s screams as his virgin anus was being ravished by the huge muscular officer, but just then he came, pulling out of the boy’s backside, allowing his body to slip back down onto the table and spraying it with his seed, which jetted out of his straining cock in great dollops.

“Well done, Jack,” I said. “Couldn’t have picked a better man to rape than this scumbag,” I added, now staring down at Gary’s tear-stained face and the utter terror that now marked it and pretended to gloat over his distress.

But then we left to return to my bed and we then slept in each other’s arms all night.