Labour camp

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 dicks 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.

The days began to have a routine for Chris. Morning roll call always involved punishments for those prisoners who had trangressed, and evening roll call tended to have fewer but more severe punishments. About three weeks into his sentence, Chris was working in the kitchen. Although this was not as hard work as some, it was punishing in its own way. The prisoners just got slop, nutritious but tasteless and unappetising gruel which they guzzled from troughs like pigs morning and evening. But the guards ate well, and the kitchen work detail had to work hard to cook proper food for the guards as well as boiling down the slops for the prisoners. Chris was working alongside a very cute young lad making biscuits. The lad was fairly new, probably about 21, very lean, with not a lot of body hair and closely cropped dark hair on his head. He had a decent sized cock and low hanging balls. His legs were really well shaped, and Chris guessed that he probably did a lot of cycling. As they were mixing and rolling the dough, Chris noticed the lad picking up off cuts and, instead of squishing them all back together to re-roll, he was popping the occasional gobbet into his mouth. The kitchen crew were not gagged like many of the prisoners because the heat of the kitchen could make it difficult for the prisoners to breathe with their usual ring gags in place.

Chris nudged the lad and shook his head and frowned, trying to tell him not to eat the dough, but he didn't dare say anything out loud, he had learnt that, gagged or not, prisoners were only expected to speak in reply to an order or question from a guard.

All of a sudden, a guard appeared from nowhere, grabbed the young lad from behind, swung him around and ordered him to open his mouth. The lad knew he had been caught in the act, and obeyed, showing the part chewed remains of the dough. The guard bent the lad over the work surface, pulled out his paddle, and gave the lad 10 strokes. He then clipped a short leash to the lad’s collar and dragged him away.

That evening at roll call, the young new lad was the only miscreant kneeling facing the rest of the prisoners. The governor, when he mounted the dias, looked disgustedly at the young lad, who was filthy and had tears running down his cheeks. When all the rest of the prisoners had assembled, the governor spoke,

“Evening scum. We have before us tonight one of our number who thought that it would be acceptable not only to eat unapproved rations but, which is worse, to steal those rations from the guards. This is a very serious crime and will be punished accordingly.”

Two guards came around the corner of the hut, one carrying the board and chair that Chris knew only too well meant that the lad was going to be despunked and have his soles beaten, and the second the frame which Chris had only seen twice and which meant that the lad was going to be fucked as well.

Chris watched in horror as the the lad was pulled up from his kneeling position and thrown down onto the board. The lad’s backside was criss-crossed with the unmistakable signs of a severe caning. From his nipples hung the harsh clamps and heavy chain of the punished prisoner and as he landed on the board, Chris winced, thinking about how those awful clamps must be biting into his sensitive flesh. The guards kicked his legs apart and reached under his body and pulled his dick back so that it lay between his legs against the board.

“This thief has been sentenced to one of our harshest punishments,” the governor called out, “I hope this will ensure that we have no more thieving here. Now, get on with it, boy, we don’t have all night!”

The lad had obviously also seen what happened on the board as he began to hump it, trying hard to keep his head and feet up as he did so. If either extremity dropped, one of the guards would lash his buttocks with a thin cane until he was back in the correct position. The lad was crying audibly as he bucked and writhed against the board, both wanting to orgasm, and wanting to stave it off as long as possible, as he knew what would happen next. It took a long time for the lad’s breathing to take on that ragged, panting sound which meant that he was close to the edge, but only moments thereafter his body bucked and arched and Chris could almost smell the semen as the lad ejaculated into the board.

“Get that cleaned up, you filthy piece of shit!” Shouted the guard who had beaten the lad for poor posture. The lad scrambled to his knees and began licking the cum off the dirty board. When he missed a drop which had dropped from the tip of his dick as he licked, he got another three strokes of the cane before being told to finish his work.

He was then ordered to lie face down, and he was lashed to the chair as Chris had been once before. The governor himself then stepped forward and took the proffered cane from the guard. Chris could see that this was not one of the thinner, whippier canes that were generally used. This one looked to be more than a centimetre in diameter and was much stiffer as the governor swished it through the air.

He moved beside the lad, and raised the cane. It came down with a heavy sounding ‘thwack’ onto the arch of the lad’s left foot and the lad screeched in pain.

“Count the stroke, you thieving sod, or I will double the punishment!”

The lad mumbled “one, Sir, thank You, Sir, please may i have another, Sir?” As best he could through the gag.

The governor raised the cane again and again, bringing it down hard each time onto the lad’s unprotected and tender soles. Only when the lad had received 25 strokes to each foot and when he was a sobbing mess did the governor hand the cane back to the guard.

But the lad had no time to recover. Another guard untied him from the chair, pulled it off him, pulled him up and threw him over the frame where his ankles and wrists were swiftly pulled tightly apart, leaving his buttocks stretched taut and apart, his anus clearly visible to those prisoners near the front of the crowd.

“Stealing is not accepted here, scum. It is one of the most seriously punished of crimes. We have 30 guards here including myself. This piece of scum will be moved to the hole tonight, and will remain there for as many days as takes for each of us to lodge a load of our semen up his cunt. At 4 per evening, I make that just over a week in the hole. Remember this, the rest of you, when you consider taking things which do not belong to you.”

So saying, the guards swung the frame round so that the lad was side on to the assembled prisoners. The governor strode behind him, stuck his fingers in a pot hanging from the frame which seemed to hold grease of some kind and roughly shoved first one, then two and then three fingers up the thief's exposed hole, eliciting another screech from the lad as he did so. Unzipping his flies with his ungreasy hand, the governor pulled out his penis, coated it in grease and shoved it hard and bare into the lad’s cunt. The governor took his time fucking the lad, but didn't make it gentle. He fucked the lad hard, slowly pulling almost all the way out and then ramming his thick cock all the way back in to the hilt, the noise of his hips meeting the lad’s sore buttocks clearly visible across the parade ground. Eventually, he lodged himself firmly in the lad’s hole, humping harder and faster until his breathing became ragged and he clearly shot a huge load of cum into the lad’s guts. He fucked the lad slowly for a while longer as his passion subsided, before withdrawing. He walked to the lad’s face, softening cock bouncing and dripping cum and slime and, unclipping the lad’s gag, shoved his filthy member down the lad’s throat, telling the lad to make sure he was properly clean. The lad choked and gagged as he sucked and licked the mixture of semen and his own ass slime of the older man’s cock. Finally, the governor let loose a stream of piss down the lad’s throat, washing away the filth. Pulling out, the governor wiped his cock on a fluffy towel handed to him by a guard, as the guard who had whipped the lad for poor posture followed the governor’s lead in taking out his cock, greasing it up, and impaling the lad on his unprotected member. Two more guards took their turn, until the lad was spent, hanging limply over the frame, his anus gaping and a mixture of cum, slime and piss down his face. The lad was untied, the short leash was clipped on and he was dragged away to the hole.

Ewan was in pain. His buttocks hurt from the caning he had received, his anus hurt from having been fucked by four different men one after the other, his cock hurt from humping a rough board and the soles of his feet hurt from suffering though the bastinado. And now he was hot and uncomfortable in the Hole. A small corrugated steel shack, one of a number dotted around the camp, the Hole was really unpleasant. Ewan’s sore hole was being stretched by a large plug which had a spike on one end which was driven into the ground before he had been impaled on it without any more lube than remained from the repeated fucking he had suffered on the parade ground. Chains ran from the rings on the sides of his collar and from the cuffs around his ankles to the walls of the hut, meaning that he could barely move at all. He had realised very quickly, though, that they were not strong enough to take his weight, he couldn't lean into them or they were in danger of snapping. His gag had been replaced by a short tube at the front of which was a shallow bowl. This meant that he had no choice but to swallow whatever went into the bowl, piss, spit, water, cum. Earlier that day, one of the guards had found it amusing to line his work unit up in front of the Hole and have them all jerk off into the bowl. The accumulating cum sat in the bowl until there was enough for it to ooze into his mouth, so that it was getting cold and very slimy and unpleasant by the time he swallowed it. The short tube meant that he tasted everything that came down it - he couldn't swallow from the back of his throat, he almost had to roll everything around with his tongue to get it down. He had got past retching, but that didn't make it taste any better. He wasn't sure what was worst, either the morning when some of the guards would stumble out of bed and come and let loose their first, strong, dark piss off the day into his throat, or the times when a guard would get bored and take out the gag and have him tongue and lap at his crack and anus. The guards never bothered making sure they were very clean down there, and the heat of the day made them sweaty as well. It wasn’t just rimming their dirty sweaty holes that he hated, it was the lingering taste left when they replaced the gag. He almost looked forward to his next drink of piss, at least it cleaned the taste of arse out of his mouth. He stank of sweat and piss, when his bladder was full he had no choice but to let loose and piss down his own legs and into the muddy floor of the hole. He’d only been here 48 hours. He had 5 more days and 22 more guards to take up his cunt before he would be allowed to get back his ‘normal’ punishment. All for a few mouthfuls of biscuit dough. Ewan cried quietly in the dark, waiting for the door to open and the next bellyful of piss to come down the tube.

I had been an inmate at the labour camp for three weeks when two things happened which changed my life in the camp. The first one changed my life completely, not just in the camp, and happened when we were all lined up for evening roll call. By this point I had become more or less used to my place. I hadn’t worn any clothing at all for three weeks, and my feet had become used to running, jogging and walking around barefoot. Although I had done my best to keep my nose clean and my head down, I had, only two days before, been roughly fucked by one of the guards for what seemed to me just a whim - he said my PE had not been acceptable, but I felt that he was just horny and I was the one he chose to use to satisfy his desires. Like all fucking at the camp, he took what he wanted without ceremony or tenderness. He rammed himself up me hard and with little lubricant and pounded away at me until he had unloaded his seed deep in my guts. Even a couple of days later, my anus felt stretched and sore. But at least it couldn't be as bad as those prisoners whom I had seen get roughly fucked by guard after guard, until they could not keep the semen within them and it dribbled out of their cunts and down their legs.

The fateful evening when my life change, the governor mounted his podium as he did every day. In front of him were the two prisoners who were currently serving time in the hole. Naked, as we all were, they had heavy chains hanging from vicious metal clamps which gripped tight into their nipples. We couldn't see it, but they had thick black rubber plugs filling their rectums and stretching their arse holes. The governor made an announcement that, if we hadn’t all been naked and gagged with our wrists shackled to our thick leather collars could have led to a riot.

“You scum will, I am sure, be delighted to learn that the government has decided that the world is a better place with you kept safely here. Since the new laws came into force, petty crime is down 75% - even with only the rumours about how you are treated here, people don’t want to run the risk of getting sent to join our merry band themselves. But the government doesn't want people to think that the new laws are an empty threat. So, all your sentences have been converted to ‘indefinite detention’,” a sigh and a groan ran through the parade ground, “and some more ‘permanent’ reminders of your place here will be instituted.”

We were sent to our shacks to try to sleep and to digest this news - I would have been freed in just under a week, now I had no idea how much longer I was going to have to suffer. Some of the other prisoners were crying in the night, especially the youngest lad in our shack, who I only knew as Collins. He was only just 18 (as the governor had taken great joy in telling us all) and should have gone free the following day. Now he too was stuck here. His body had changed beyond recognition since he had arrived - he had been podgy and doughy, now, thanks to the hard daily exercise and the basic labour we did daily, he was thinner, more toned and in better shape

The following morning, after roll call, we found out what the governor had meant by ‘permanent reminders’. My work unit was marched across the site to a portacabin near the entrance to the camp. One by one, the prisoners were taken in through the front door by the guards, but none of them rejoined us. I was among the last to go in. When I did so I saw what looked a bit like a dentist’s surgery - a large black chair, instruments and a man in a white gown with a face mask on. The main difference between this and a dentist was that the chair had leather restraints at neck, wrist and ankle level. The guards pushed me into the chair and buckled the restraints around me, meaning I could not move. The man approached and, picking up a surgical swab, he sat beside me and swabbed my nipples. I knew what was coming and decided not to fight it, there was no point, it was happening anyway. I closed my eyes, though, and a few seconds later I felt a burning pain and some tugging in my right nipple and then the same in my left. To be honest, it was not much worse than the pain when the guards remove those nipple clamps they use on us, it just went on for a while longer. After a short while when the piercer checked to make sure all was ok, I was unbuckled from the chair and led out of the door on the other side of the portacabin. There waited the rest of my work unit, some paler than others, all standing in their usual position with their hands on the backs of their heads. All of them now had shiny silver rings through each of their nipples which glinted in the sun. All of them looked sore and unhappy, as I am sure I did.

The one benefit of our new embellishments was that, for a few weeks, we had to wear t-shirts over our piercings to keep the dirt and dust out as best we could, and we were allowed to wash more or less like normal people - the hose approach was just too harsh and we needed to make sure we were drying our new piercings properly. Also, no new sentences to be clamped were issued until we had been examined by the piercer to be sure all was healed. As each of us was passed as fully healed, out t-shirts were taken away and we were back to being kept naked at all times. A few weeks after our nipples had been embellished, we were taken back to the piercer. This time was far worse, I could hear the gasps and yells as I waited outside. When it was my turn, I was strapped in the chair as before, but this time it was my penis which was swabbed. I closed my eyes again, but the pain was excruciating, if only for a couple of seconds as the needle went into my poor dick and out the other side. I thought I was going to faint but, as quickly as it had begun it stopped and was replaced by a deep, throbbing pain. The searing pain returned when the piercer washed everything out with what I guessed was salt solution. I was allowed to recover and then was bundled out the other door again, this time to see my fellow prisoners with metal rings through the ends of all their penises as well as their nipples.

The penis ring took longer to get used to than did the rings in my nipples - most of the time I more or less forgot that I now had ringed nipples, even when we had the size of the rings increased they did not make a huge difference - i could feel them as they bounced on my chest when I was jogging along with my work duty or doing my exercises, but most of the time they did not have a big impact on my life. The penis ring, however, did. It took me a while to get used to the way it made my piss go everywhere and it took me some weeks to get back to having a more normal stream when i urinated. The ring was also much more obvious when I ran or did PE, it made my dick feel so much heavier and obvious as it bounced up and down as I worked. I found that I was getting far more elections - I wasn’t the only one, when we did our daily PE most of the prisoners now sported full hard-ons by the time we were done, something which highly amused the guards!

About three weeks after my dick had been ringed came the second thing to change my life in the camp. I was used to the work units being called out at roll call each morning, and had noticed, but not been interested by, the fact they were of differing sizes. Most were a similar size, about 15-25 men, but a couple were smaller. This morning my name was, for the first time, called into one of the smaller units - there were only 6 of us in this group, and we were taken charge by Mr Senior personally. Mr Senior was the oldest of the guards and was the governor’s right hand man. It was he who read out the sentences each day. The six of us were jogged away to a part of the camp I had not visited before. We were taken led into a larger and better looking hut than the ones where we slept. It was obvious immediately that we were on the guards’ own quarters. Several of the guards lounged about, some reading the paper or a magazine, some watching TV, a couple were sitting using computers - I could see that one was on Facebook. They looked up as we approached and, for the first time in some weeks, I felt really humiliated by my predicament. It was one thing to be naked, ringed and dusty out on the parade ground or working outdoors or in the huts, it was quite another to be exposed like this in what looked like a normal staff room, with a group of men relaxing. Because our wrists were attached to our collars we couldn't try to cover ourselves up, and anyway, all these men had seen us naked for weeks. 

We were told we were to be the domestic staff for the guardhouse for the next fortnight. Our duties were simple, to clean the guardhouse thoroughly every day, to obey orders given to us by the guards when they were off duty, to act as urinals for the guards whenever they needed it and basically to do everything to make their lives easier.

Mr Senior took advantage of us first. I was at the front of the group and he clicked his fingers and pointed down to the ground in front of him. I knew what I was to do, and I knelt before him as he unzipped his uniform and took his cock out of his flies. He was renowned for having one of the thickest cocks of any of the guards and I had to open my mouth wide to get it in. I gazed at the glimpse of his thick pubes through the fly of his uniform as he relaxed.

“Look at me while I use your mouth, scum!” He barked.

I manoeuvred myself into a position where I still had his penis safely in my mouth but I could look up into his face. Normally, we prisoners were not allowed to look the guards in the eye, and it was strangely more humiliating to do so as he let go and a stream of warm, strong urine began to flow into my mouth. I swallowed quickly to avoid getting a mouthful of urine and running the risk of spilling any over the floor, his trousers or his clean and shiny shoes. I felt so low as I gulped down this older man’s piss - no-one was paying the least attention as I acted as a human toilet, the other guards were carrying on with what they had been doing before we were brought in, and the man pissing down my throat was even having a conversation with one of them who was reading the paper about a football match the previous night. It really was just like he was chatting at the urinal with a mate, except that the urinal was a naked prisoner. 

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.