Foreword .com



Contents TOC \h \u \z Foreword PAGEREF _Toc52645158 \h 4Previously in Day One, Army School PAGEREF _Toc52645159 \h 6Previously One PAGEREF _Toc52645160 \h 6Previously Too PAGEREF _Toc52645161 \h 8Previously Thrice PAGEREF _Toc52645162 \h 11Round Two PAGEREF _Toc52645163 \h 14Mentor PAGEREF _Toc52645164 \h 15Beauty PAGEREF _Toc52645165 \h 18Putting on a show PAGEREF _Toc52645166 \h 21Tempting PAGEREF _Toc52645167 \h 23Jeers PAGEREF _Toc52645168 \h 25Fraser PAGEREF _Toc52645169 \h 28Murray PAGEREF _Toc52645170 \h 31Respect PAGEREF _Toc52645171 \h 34Payment in full PAGEREF _Toc52645172 \h 37Round Three PAGEREF _Toc52645173 \h 40Eternal truths PAGEREF _Toc52645174 \h 41Mockery PAGEREF _Toc52645175 \h 43Intensify PAGEREF _Toc52645176 \h 45Surreal PAGEREF _Toc52645177 \h 47Clutched PAGEREF _Toc52645178 \h 49Monkeynet PAGEREF _Toc52645179 \h 52Network PAGEREF _Toc52645180 \h 55Vulnerable PAGEREF _Toc52645181 \h 58Ill-discipline PAGEREF _Toc52645182 \h 60Envy PAGEREF _Toc52645183 \h 62Price of beauty PAGEREF _Toc52645184 \h 63Resentment PAGEREF _Toc52645185 \h 66Conceit PAGEREF _Toc52645186 \h 70Payback PAGEREF _Toc52645187 \h 73Netted PAGEREF _Toc52645188 \h 76Rope ladder PAGEREF _Toc52645189 \h 77Sadist PAGEREF _Toc52645190 \h 80Fighter PAGEREF _Toc52645191 \h 82Resolve PAGEREF _Toc52645192 \h 85Mastery PAGEREF _Toc52645193 \h 88Intimacy PAGEREF _Toc52645194 \h 91Closeness PAGEREF _Toc52645195 \h 93Round Four PAGEREF _Toc52645196 \h 96Potency PAGEREF _Toc52645197 \h 97Fox has a go PAGEREF _Toc52645198 \h 99Plot PAGEREF _Toc52645199 \h 102Bust your arse! PAGEREF _Toc52645200 \h 104First time PAGEREF _Toc52645201 \h 107Suspension PAGEREF _Toc52645202 \h 110Craving PAGEREF _Toc52645203 \h 111Roll-Back PAGEREF _Toc52645204 \h 114Turning the screw PAGEREF _Toc52645205 \h 117Glory PAGEREF _Toc52645206 \h 119The shaming PAGEREF _Toc52645207 \h 122What next PAGEREF _Toc52645208 \h 125Return PAGEREF _Toc52645209 \h 128Delay PAGEREF _Toc52645210 \h 131Scorn PAGEREF _Toc52645211 \h 1342590800523875000Forewordrendsz’ world returns to the Series “Day One, Army School”. Telling of a recruit’s first hours when arriving at the military academy. “Power and Control” is the eighth and final part. The previous seven parts narrating the events within these first 24 hours are to be found on the rendsz’ world active website:Day One, Army SchoolThe story is loosely based on the experiences of an army friend, much expanded and wildly developed.“Power and Control” returns to the story of Johns, the School’s RAT Captain. Responsible for instilling a strict code of army discipline into new recruits (RATs). Johns is a strict disciplinarian who believes in the rubrics:Spare the rod, spoil the childStrike while the iron’s hotDon’t spoil the ship for a ha’porth of tar.And in the case of this new RAT arrival:One bad apple spoils the whole barrel.Fresh recruits not from a good family … RATs without the means to purchase them preferment ….. the cadets denigrate such new recruits as RATSHITs. They deserve and get the shittiest jobs any RAT has to do. And one of the worst kind of RATSHIT has arrived in today’s batch of recruits.Ka-Lan has caught Johns’ attention from the word-Go. Johns has a nose for trouble. He has tested the new RATSHIT out. To check how he was going to react to orders and army discipline. And the punk has proved Johns’ suspicions entirely right. At every step. In neon-glowing colours. Going from bad to worse to inexcusable. Some might reckon Johns is not quite right in the head. That he see things. That he hears voices. Such people do not understand. How could they? Johns is blessed, he has a private mentor. A mentor who inspires. Some might dismiss Janus .. as Johns’ imaginary friend from childhood. But there is nothing child-like about Janus. Janus secretly joins with Johns in the darkness of his thoughts, in the privacy of Johns’ room. And when they join hands, put heads together …. Janus always has inspiring ways of dealing with ill-discipline. Janus is one tough-nut when it comes to misconduct. And Janus has conferred in depth with Johns about his problem RAT. He’s shown him the way. Janus had demonstrated exactly how to deal with a RATSHIT like this. Firmly.The RATSHIT has acted as predicted. A monstrous series of unprecedented misconduct such as never seen in the School. Heinous misbehaviour. The School Commandant agrees Johns should carry out the corporal punishment. Johns has agreed with Janus .. crimes so monstrous should be carried out before the whole School. All cadets assembled in the gym.Discipline must be seen to be done.Day One, Army School continues.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Previously in Day One, Army SchoolPreviously One6985024574500Ka-Lan was burning up. Physically, mentally. He didn’t know how he was keeping it all in. His temper was so up. But then he’d lost it before, hadn’t he? And look where that had got him, Even deeper in this shit.He didn’t know which one he’d clock first. But once he’d started he’d not be able to stop himself. These three thugs, the School’s sporting champs by the look of them, stripped to the waist for action. Action on him. All ordered, all sanctioned, all above board. Brutal punishment .. more like torture .. and not an officer around to intervene. Ka-Lan was as mad as hell. If he started on these bullies, there’d be no stopping him. And these three school sporting heroes, they’d retaliate, they’d let him have it. There’d be no stopping them either.Sixty fucking strokes. That was what he was up for. How the hell had it got to that? That arsehole Johns made it up as he went along. And no one, it seemed, was around to stop him. This was an Army School, supposedly. But where we're the officers? The adults, where were the adult men? The people in charge? It seemed to be run by this gang, this collection of bullying Seniors. And that Johns was the sickest of the lot. He had to have a screw loose.What was it about Ka-Lan? That he’d managed to attract this trouble? What had he done? He'd not managed to put a foot right since he got here. And that had been only a few hours ago. Fuck, what he'd had to put up with since arriving! That arsehole Johns had made a beeline for him, from the word-Go. Why Ka-Lan had stumbled into Johns’ bad books, what he’d done to upset the prick …. he had no idea. There'd been no let-up, not for one minute. And he'd had some pretty-hard stuff thrown at him.Did that Johns know his history? Was that it? Did the whole School know? Could there be something in that? Resentment that a criminal punk had been sent to the School? His sentence for rape commuted, to serve five years in the Army School instead. To “learn discipline”. Did Johns resent that a criminal like Ka-Lan should be fouling the air these budding officers and gentlemen had to share with him? Had Ka-Lan’s “learn discipline” already started? Was THIS it? Is this what the court had meant? Assigned to five years of this torture instead of jail? Was that what this stuff was all about? This was what the judge had meant when he’d sent him here? Learn discipline! What the ….! Had someone commissioned that Johns for the job? From Ka-Lan's first moment in the place he was destined to have Johns on his back? With a fucking leather strap.Was any one of them interested to know the truth? That he'd been sentenced under trumped-up charges? The pair of them been having it off for weeks, originally she'd come on to him. Only when rich daddy found out she'd been fucking the hired-hand did she cry wolf. And rich daddy's friends in court made sure Ka-Lan's pleas were overlooked. Next thing he knew, Ka-Lan had that arsehole Johns breathing down his neck.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Previously Too020447000Sixty strokes. Since arriving Ka-Lan had got himself sentenced to sixty punishment strokes. Sixty fucking hits with that leather strap! On his bare arse. And he'd only been here a few hours. That had to be it, didn’t it? They thought he was criminal-shit. This was their way of saying he didn’t belong, he was bringing down the tone. And they were going to make his life here hell. Listen to the way Johns had got the whole School screaming for his blood. Kept waiting for the “fun” to start, Ka-Lan had spent hours in torment in some sweatbox. That wasn’t punishment, that had been torture. They were torturing criminal scum because it had darkened their hallowed doors. Shit, that sweatbox had taken it out of him. Physically shattered. Quickly followed up with a second session in the showers, a treat specially designed for him from these Seniors who seemed to run the place. Bully boys who’d got off on giving Ka-Lan a special hot-and-cold shower treat. Scalding hot, freezing cold.Sweatbox weakening. Scalding shower torture. And then Ka-Lan had been brought out into this gym. Listen to the noise. Ear-busting. Greeted by the full School. In party mood. The place had exploded at the sight of him. Dressed only in shorts, red-skinned, dripping from that shower treatment.Everyone had turned out, hanging off the wall-bars for the best view. Jeering. Mocking. Hundreds of cadets assembled to witness his corporal punishment. Look at them. Listen to them. It was like people used to turn out for a hanging. The gym was packed. Hundreds of wide-eyed cadets whistling, cheering. Here for a bit of fun. Here for a laugh. Laughs strapped out of Ka-Lan’s screaming arse. Sixty strokes.And listen how they bayed for it. Howling like hounds. These cadets had screamed themselves red in the face. Mad dogs. Screaming for Johns to give it to him hard. Ka-Lan hadn't exchanged a word with a single one of them. He’d done nothing to upset one single one. But they were on him like a pack of wolves .. howling to hear him cry out in pain. It was mad. They'd got themselves worked up into a collective frenzy. Piranha mad for his burning whiplashed flesh.Ka-Lan didn’t like to admit it to himself .. and he certainly wasn't going to let it show on his face .. but they had him nervous. A mob like this … where would it stop? He felt frighteningly alone. Himself against hundreds of cadets, red in the face, howling to hear him scream out in pain.Ka-Lan was stood down at one end of the gym. The whole School lined up against him. Baying for blood, his blood. There wasn't a single sympathetic face out there in the gym. Every one of these cadets had got himself worked up. It was like those ancient gladiator fights. No one was interested in right or wrong. All they wanted was blood. A howling mob like at one of those cage fights with unequally matched opponents. One sucker having the shit beaten out of him, The crowd going out of their minds .. washing their faces in a glorious bloodbath. That was what these kids wanted. A bloodbath. Pain. Ka-Lan’s pain. It was frightening. And there was no escaping this. This was a nightmare. But there was no waking up and hoping it'd all have gone away. It went away only after Ka-Lan had taken sixty strokes on his bare arse.It didn't help that Johns was a scrawny wimp. Ka-Lan was being done over by some physical non-entity. Barely a manly muscle on the prick. No wonder he came here preening away, dressed up in his full dress uniform. He couldn’t match the life-force a muscular torso like Ka-Lan’s gave a man. Johns had to dress up to make up for it.There wasn’t an ounce of muscled beef on the cocksucker. Earlier when Ka-Lan had lost it and floored Johns .. earning himself this public display of corporal punishment .. knocking Johns over .. it had taken nothing. You could knock Johns over with a feather. Ka-Lan had had him dangling up in the air .. throttling him …… not his most propitious act since arriving. But it had taken nothing to keep holding all Johns’ weight up .... no effort. No weight on the prick. He'd even managed to hold on to him with the Seniors fighting him off. Johns was a world-class wimp.Was that part of it? Ka-Lan had known it before. Muscle envy. He'd worked for guys who gave him a hard time because of the way he looked. Not that he was always given the physically demanding tasks because a boss was confident Ka-Lan had the muscle to take on the most exacting jobs. It wasn’t a compliment. More often than not, he’d get given the job clearing out the pig slurry. The filthiest, shittiest job. Just because some muscle-envy scrawny arsehole of a boss wanted the muscle-hunk humiliated. That was the Johns-type wimp for you. The physically lesser male using power to dominate when physically he'd not be able to do it! Instead Johns had to come turned-out in his best uniform. Come to impress. Exhibiting his power. Domination-crazy.Power-mad. Johns was certainly into that. Ka-Lan had shown him up. He'd had to be rescued by a half dozen Seniors piling in to break off Ka-Lan's stranglehold. Johns would never have managed to save himself. His efforts at throwing a punch .. even while getting throttled … like swatting a fly. And if Ka-Lan let rip now .. if Ka-Lan lost it again and went for Johns ….., they'd have to move-heaven-and-earth before they fought him off. Ka-Lan reckoned he could kill. These noise-levels … the collective aggression against him … his nerves about how he was going to manage to take this ….. It would be so easy to let rip. Ka-Lan could flip. He could do the bastard. So much more had happened since that first attack. Ka-Lan had even more reason to want to throttle that wimp Johns. He had to cool it. He’d already got himself up to his neck in this shit. Because Johns had driven him over the top.Scrawny wimp. Which was just why Johns had to recruit this muscle backup-team. The School's strongest. The School's three dominant males. The sports champs. They were the ones recruited to execute the corporal punishment. Johns couldn’t even start.If Johns laid sixty of his best on Ka-Lan’s bare arse, he'd probably finish up laughing. Mocking him, telling him to stop tickling. But Johns had come with the muscle in tow. That Fox had laid into Ka-Lan already. Fifteen. Fifteen smackers Ka-Lan had taken from Fox on his bare backside. They hadn't been anything to laugh about. And plenty more where they came from. Sixty on Ka-Lan’s bare arse.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Previously Thrice4254528321000Sixty strokes. Fifteen just now from that prime prick Fox. Only another forty-five to go!Earlier Ka-Lan had been within a hair’s breadth of clocking that Fox. For turning his punishment into a show. Muscle-posing before he started on him with the strap. A muscle-stud’s show to his adoring fan-club. Walking up and down, grinning at his admirers’ cheers. Biceps pose, strutting his abs. And then to top it all … Fox had suggested rounding the number of strikes up to sixty. His fan-club had gone wild. At Fox’s sheer audacity. At the RAT’s helpless shame. Ka-Lan had really had to take deep breaths and calm himself. That fucker Fox .. laughingly rounding up the strokes to sixty. Fifty-six, Fox had jeered. Stupid number. Why not go for a nice round number? 56 or 60? What’s the difference? Man, had that got the red-faced mob cheering Fox on. Who’d then treated them to another grinning muscle show. A wonder that Ka-Lan hadn’t gone for the stupid prick.If Ka-Lan was honest with himself, that desire to knock the grin off Fox’ smug face … the anger that had him clenching his fists at Fox’s working his audience up …. that was nerves. Ka-Lan had found himself holding his breath. Nerves were getting to him. That and the idea of the pain. Sixty of the smackers. Another forty-five like the ones Fox had just planted on his arse …. It had Ka-Lan jumpy. What would it be like? How would he cope?Sixty on his bare arse. Ka-Lan had seethed when he’d been ordered naked. He’d not really considered how this was going to be done. Told he was taking it on his bare arse …! He couldn’t stop the shock on his face. Which had earned him a few guffaws from the hall.When he thought about it, that wasn’t too much of a surprise, doing it bare-arsed. And getting naked wasn’t such a big deal normally. But like this? In front of this hostility. This crazy craving for his pain.He’d been ordered out of his dripping-wet shorts to the cat-calls and shrill whistles. Knowing this was all about humiliation. Humiliating the big muscle-stud. And the tight wet shorts had taken some removing. So much easier if he could have whipped them down his legs with a defiant flourish of bravado. Struggling with the wet material over trembling thighs … not much dignity in that.And they’d not stopped there. How Ka-Lan had stopped himself! Then he’d been ordered to turn his back to the pack of slavering wolves. And ordered to bend down and hold his ankles for Fox’s fifteen strokes. Ka-Lan had seethed. Bent forward, his bare arse stuck in every cadet's face. Embarrassed. Heightening his sense of helplessness. Feeling every cadet’s smirk targeted on his reddening arse.That was Johns, he was convinced. It would take a prick like Johns to come up with something that absurd. And deeply humiliating. Bent over in front of the screaming mob. It would have been that sadist Johns who got that evil thought into his head .. ordering Ka-Lan bent over like that. Fashioning the most shame-faced way that Ka-Lan could take his punishment. It would have to be that scrawny muscle-envy prick coming up with an idea like that. Bent over, his hot arse winking at the jeering mob. Johns himself couldn't even wield the strap and make Ka-Lan take notice. But he could order Ka-Lan strapped by the School's biggest muscle-heads. And Fox had more than made his mark. Johns had got it in for Ka-Lan and he’d order Ka-Lan thoroughly humiliated. Johns himself couldn't lay a finger on Ka-Lan. But he could manage a full-scale shaming of the stud. Yes, muscle envy. Typical of puny arseholes like Johns. Envy of Ka-Lan’s physique. That had to be a big part of this, didn't it?One thing about that Johns was certain. Ka-Lan was absolutely convinced. Johns wasn't right in the head. No one sane would come up with an idea like that. Where did he come up with such ideas?To push this punishment to this extreme, he wasn't right. Sixty? And for what? Because Johns had pushed Ka-Lan till he snapped? Johns needed help, he belonged in an institution. The men in white coats should take him away. How on earth was Ka-Lan supposed to take sixty-fucking hits on his arse? It was insane. And for what? Never mind it being out of all proportion for what he'd done. Never mind that Johns had provoked all this. It was madness. Sixty strokes. On his bare-fucking arse. Delivered to a gym full of howling cadets. It was madness, this situation had got completely out of control. But Johns was getting away with it. No adults interfering. No supervision. An act of corporal insanity and no officers to referee. Where did Johns come up with these ideas? He had to have the most warped imagination. That sweatbox .. sweating your balls off … bad enough in itself. But it took the sickest of minds to design a sweatbox so Ka-Lan had been forced to sit astride a pole .. the wood digging up into his crotch. In minutes it had been driving Ka-Lan mad. Seated in the pole, his own muscled bodyweight crushing down on his balls. In no time, the pain had got unbearable. But he couldn‘t move, trapped. Legs tied, fastened down in there.For endless mind-blowing hours sweating in blackness. The grinding pains had him sobbing to himself in the darkness. Sweating cobblers. Streaks of pained tears had flown down his cheeks. Where did that scrawny fucker get his ideas from? Johns had to have the most warped mind.Ka-Lan had to hand it to Johns, though. He HAD pulled this off. Look where Ka-Lan was. He had walked right into his trap. And Johns had got the whole School turned against him. Scrawny cocksucker, maybe. But the sadistic prick was world-class at this. He had Ka-Lan right where he wanted him. Unable to defend himself. Not a friend in the world. And soon enough gonna go be screaming his guts out. Sixty strikes!? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Round TwoDaniel SavoskinMentor18288019367500Absolutely perfect. Janus was the best guide anyone could wish for. How Janus had dealt with that Irish barbarian …. Johns could not get a better lead. For weeks, Johns had taken lessons from Janus' occupation in the slave mines. Discipline was a must in the slave quarry like it was in the School. Janus’ experiences in controlling that Irish slave, bending his pig-headed will to his, breaking the back of his wilfulness …. When it came to dealing with Johns’ RATSHIT, those lessons more than fitted the part.Johns was RAT Captain. All fresh recruits went through his hands .. a grave responsibility. Johns had proposed to his favourite uncle that it was the most vital role for a Senior. It set the tone for the whole School. Johns had conferred with Janus on countless occasions. Sequestered in his room, they didn’t need words. Janus and Johns were on the same wavelength. When it came to issues of discipline, they were of one mind. Both had a hand on the problem.Janus had pointed out the efficacy of Johns’ role. Get the rule of strict discipline installed .. instilled in the RATs from day one .. strict obedience would prevail for the duration of the cadets' time in School. Johns’ uncle was Minister for Justice, he had proposed securing the post of Cadet Commander for him. Top cadet in the School. Johns didn’t have to think twice. Under Janus’ tutelage, Johns had deduced where the real power and influence lay. Cadet Commander .. just a title, Johns had smirked. The controlling power in the School. The fear of Johns’ discipline instilled into every cadet. There was the real power .. the RAT Captain dominated the School.In Janus, Johns had the best advisor, an invaluable resource, he had seen it all before. Years dealing with bad-tempered slaves. Squeezing obedience out of reluctant captives. Bending the backs of the unruly to the task in hand. A mine of invaluable insights. Johns consorted with Janus secretly to his room at night. Building visions of the strictest discipline instilled into every new recruit to the SchoolAnd that guidance had never been more needed. Since this RATSHIT had just arrived. A nasty piece of work, a danger to the ethos of unquestioning obedience Johns had built in the School. Rebellious, out of control. An arrogance combined with that muscle-head physique .. the kind that gullible young cadets drooled after .. this RAT posed a real threat. Johns had spotted the risk immediately, he had set out stamping his authority on the RAT. And every move that RATSHIT had made since had proved Johns right.Johns was not letting one bad apple spoil the barrel of obedient discipline Johns had installed. He WOULD be restrained. Jointly Janus and Johns had evolved tricks for trip the RATSHIT up. And Janus’ advice had been rock-solid. The traps they set him … the RATSHIT had tripped every single one. Johns had never doubted it. Janus’ expertise was extensive. His parallel experiences with that Irish barbarian .. out of control, rebellious too, his personality a threat to the running of the quarry … that Irish brute too had undergone the strictest discipline.Since the RAT had fouled the threshold of the School, Janus was housed permanently in the secrecy of Johns’ mind. There they had conferred at length. Besting the rebellious RAT. Bending the RAT’s indiscipline to Johns' goals. Janus advised using the his unruly RATSHIT misconduct as a deterrent. An object lesson to any miscreant tempted into following. That lead justified the most extreme measures taken. Johns did envy Janus his freedom. He could punish at will, he was not answerable to a School Commandant. The harsh measures Janus employed to discipline that Irish slave .. in the School they could not be used per se. But they set the tone, they showed the way. They provided a springboard off which Johns’ own tricks could leap. Their goal was the same .. strictest discipline, unquestioning obedience. Johns absorbed the images of Janus getting on top of that barbarian Irish troublemaker, he branded them onto his brain. Johns had burned the lessons onto his eyes. Targeting that same goal on the RATSHIT’s hide …. These visions set Johns’ afire with Janus’ zeal. The strictest discipline. Firm. Harsh. No hint of weakness allowed. And SEEN to be done. Effective punishments had a deterrent effect, Janus emphasised. Not just the recalcitrant slave was being taught. In Janus’ slave quarry, here in the School .. cadets and slaves, they watched and learned. Let one bad apple get away with it …. others followed its lead, others tried it on. Firm. Visible. Memorable. A lesson for the slave. A deterrent for the gullible who might be tempted to follow in its wake.Johns had spotted the that the appearance of the RATSHIT posed a real risk. Too eye-catching. Hero-worship might be acceptable in these moronic sporting champs. But in a scumbag like this RAT? These younger cadets, they got starry-eyed over a muscle-jock. Weak at the knees. They longed to look like that themselves. If they could not, they would imitate. Easily led astray. Likewise with that obstinate Irish slave, Janus had faced the same risks. If the barbarian got away with insolence … others would follow. If he was allowed to get away with it. The moment Johns clapped his eyes on that newly-arrived RATSHIT, Johns saw the parallels. This RAT spelled trouble. Johns would not have some johnny-come-lately RATSHIT undermining the discipline ethos Johns had wrought.Firm. Memorable, A deterrent. A public warning. That was the way. Janus had shown Johns the way.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Beauty17145017208500The brute had gone too far. The barbarian had been trouble from the start. Awkward with his guards, seemingly knowing no restraint. He was powerfully built, plenty of demanding work had been squeezed out of him. The hardest, most exacting toil. He was tough, he could work. But then he could turn. Just for a flick of a whip over his head. Or a shove from a guard. That was all it took. Truly a barbarian.Guards had come to Janus before, they’d complained. They wanted him disciplined, they wanted him whipped into shape. A bad influence, they said. Others watching, they’ll be following his lead.Janus had been reluctant. The project was behind schedule, he could ill-afford to waste a tough worker. Flay the skin off his back as the guards demanded …. how much work did you get out of the brute then? Janus could ill-afford wasting the time for a punishment parade. The other slaves lined up to witness what a troublesome slave deserved. Keep on his back, Janus had ordered. Make him knuckle under. Force him.But he hadn’t knuckled under. That attack on a guard .. deplorable. A broken arm. Three other guards had to beat him off. He was so demented, a wild animal pulverising the guard’s face. And other slaves had been cheering the Irish barbarian on. That was it! There was nothing for it. End of the day, he’d get what he had coming. The guards would have what they craved. End of the day, all the captives had been assembled to watch.Secretly Janus had to admit to a certain fascination for the creature. He spoke a barbarian tongue, there could be no communication. There was, though, a connection. From the first moment Janus had spotted him he’d felt a special vibration. It was not sex, Janus could have plenty of that .. and, anyway, men held no attraction. He’d order a male captive raped. As punishment, debasement. But Janus had no part in such acts. As slavemaster, there was plenty of female stock around. Janus had his pick. More conciliatory objects than the Irish would prove.Not sex. The attraction was tantalisingly indefinable. Otherworldly yet very real. There was something ethereal here. There was a magnificence about him .. a strong alluring spirit. The way he held that muscular body. A leader, definitely. A magnetism about him. Which was what made him a danger.Janus was in two minds. He didn’t cherish the idea of destroying that charisma. What fascination would be left if Janus had that attraction annihilated? And yet …..Wasn’t there a tantalising sweetness about doing that task too? Crushing that allure that made this barbarian creature so mesmerising? What did that make the man capable of doing that? Destroying a force of such potent power? What did that make Janus? When he dominated a life-force that virile?Never had a whistle sounded so sweet. Never before had a drumbeat stopped his heart. Never had cymbals clashed with such breathless elation. Janus held his breath in exhilaration. Another strike, a whistle of leather through the air, streaking through the wind, a cutting whistle in its slipstream. Slicing its path towards the broad tensed back. A thick rawhide flogger with knots interwoven to maximise the effect.The smart of leather jerked on taut whipped skin, the thud of knots smacked against muscular welted flesh. Another biting sting on burning skin, a crippling whack beating on spasmed muscle. A suddenly rigid torso, palms jerking sharp together. The hiss of pain smacking against the back of teeth, a stifled cry crushed in a strangled throat. Janus’ heart leapt at the twist of pain that scratched its claws into the Irish’s face. The whole torso spasmed forward into rigidity, then he was shaken by a pained tremor rippling down the arrogantly muscled body.The Irish’s flush of heat had not settled when a further whip-stroke was flying through the air. It caught him by surprise, still recovering. His eyes still closed against the pain, body still quivering from the sting on his back. From shoulder to waist, the leather smacked into the uplifted chest. The Irish’s head spun back, his chest spasmed forward, his arms jolted, his body thrashed, twisting off his bonds. A silent cry of pain remained locked in his chest. His two whipmasters were throwing their anger into a barrage of attacks. One striking from the front, the other planted his welts down the Irish’s spasming back. The guards had enough of this slave’s insolence. This pair were honoured to be selected for this task. They would not let their master down. They couldn’t face their mates if they didn’t do for the beast. The mates had told them what to do, how hard. The Irish slave had dented the guards’ self-belief, he’d hurt their pride .. both offences combined to fuel every mean-minded strike. Front and back they’d positioned themselves. Alternating, leather slapping into pain-whipped flesh. The knots smacked punishingly into pain-twisted muscle on the damned slave’s broad chest. Struck so fast, no cry of pain was possible. So rapid, another sting of leather ignited like sparks off the expanse of the dog’s muscular back. The slave was twisted sharply, shaken by never-ending slaps from the whip, the everlasting thuds from the knots. He jerked in a frenzied dance of pain, an unremitting twist of agony. Janus watched with his heart in his mouth. This was glorious. This creature was magnificent. How could Janus bring himself to annihilate such beauty? And yet that temptation .. that power. To bend such beguiling masculine might to his own will. Janus could scarcely breath at the beauty of this Irish arrogance dancing to Janus’ painful tune. Twisting like a puppet on a string, his wires pulled at Janus’ command. Janus was conscious of his exhilaration. A sweat had broken out on Janus’ own face. The rush of excitement awakening a delirious elation beneath his kilt. There was a beauty in this pain. Breath-taking. Janus was gripped by the pleasure .. watching his victim writhing .. overwhelmed by this vision. Janus’ Irish slave gripped in these motions of torture. Mesmerising.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Putting on a show17145016954500Ka-Lan stared back at Johns unable to conceal his anger. The jumped-up prick. Johns’ military baton again stabbed into the air. An unspoken “THERE!” Pointing out the spot when Ka-Lan was to stand. To line up like some tame puppy and take his disciplining. Jabbed at a spot. Like Ka-Lan was some well-trained dog.His arse burned like crazy. His heart was still racing. Fifteen. Fifteen crackers he'd just taken off that Fox. Embarrassingly bent over, his bare backside filling the gaze of every jeering cadet ogling it in the gym. Fifteen .. Embarrassing. If it hadn’t hurt so much. Smarting. Bringing a tear to Ka-Lan’s eye.Fox had really gone for it. Fox had shown off. School sports champ. He had a lot to be proud of. A lot to live up to. Fox had made a show of his manliness by throwing fifteen of his hardest hits into Ka-Lan’s bare arse. Stinging. Smarting. And earning himself a deluge of cheers from his hero-worshipping followers.Humiliating. Ordered with his back to the whistling cadets. Ordered to catch hold of his ankles. His bare arse filling every eye in that gym. Fuck, how they’d cheered. Fuck, listen to their jeers. This over-sized muscle-head made to display for them his bare arse. And taking fifteen of the best.Each strike had got increasingly hard to bear, Fox didn’t mess about. Stinging on his arse. Each seeming to fall increasingly hard. Some hitting so hard, Ka-Lan had been thrown a step forward to keep his balance. Then a snapped-out order yelling him to assume the position, grabbing his ankles. That had made his blood boil. As well as his arse sting.The only thing he could take solace from in that position, showing the cheering mob his bare reddening arse .. bent over, Ka-Lan had been able to hide his tears. He’d managed to hide that shame.But not now. Johns had got him turned around, now Ka-Lan was facing the cadets. With a snapped order. Johns had ordered Fox to desist. The arsehole, that Fox had kept on working up his crowd. Posing, gesturing for more applause.Irritated, Johns had ordered Fox to stand down. Struggling to stop that posing muscle-stud working to his cheering fans. Arms up, bicep pose, showing off the muscled shoulders that had done the job.Good-naturedly, throwing Johns a condescending wink, Fox had backed off. Giving Ka-Lan a final finger as he went back behind joining the other two muscle-thugs impatiently waiting their turn. A finger promising Ka-Lan that Fox hadn't finished with the punk yet.Johns pointed where Ka-Lan should stand. His baton jabbing at the spot. To stand near him. Centre stage at one end of the gym. The space Johns had had cleared for this corporal punishment parade. Johns’ personal domain. Ka-Lan's showground."At ease!"Ka-Lan was still new to all these military terms. When in the past hours had anyone bothered to teach him a thing about what it meant to be in the military? All he'd learned was that this School was run by a gang of sadist-thugs out for their own dose of fun.They tickled, the tears, as they trickled down his face. But Ka-Lan managed not to wipe them away. Hoping most of the cadets wouldn't spot them. At least, Ka-Lan had managed not to show himself up by yelling out. Those first fifteen strikes he'd managed not to make a sound. Grunts, yes. Grunted noises pushed from the force pounding at his arse, The grunts could not be contained. Towards the end, he'd had to work on it, stopping himself from yelling. Crushing the burning pain in his throat. But he could be proud of himself. He'd not shown himself up. But there were plenty more to go.He was facing out towards the hall. Hundreds of cadets were getting a hard-on in anticipation of his pain. A jeering mob aching to hear what he’d so far denied them .. him crying out. That made this defiance of his more than about holding on to his pride. That was about him .. the stud .. the athlete, the fighter, the bloody-minded motherfucker who always set out to win .. this was him against them.At ease. His backside burned against his clasped hands. Fifteen. Fifteen hard. The hardest. Fox had been showing off. He'd given Ka-Lan's backside the best he could. Fifteen stingers. Only another forty-five to go. Involuntary a shudder of reality shimmered down his backbone. Fuck!? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Tempting07683500Ka-Lan had strode over to Johns, the pair centre stage in the charade. Every fibre spoke of his proud manliness. Strongly contrasting with the scrawny wimp. Chest up in defiance. Belly sucked in, a show of unintimidated strength. Fox had done his bit of muscle-preening, Ka-Lan could more than match that show.This charade was ostensibly Ka-Lan's punishment for daring to strike a Senior, for his attack on Johns, throttling him. “Unprecedented behaviour”. A “heinous crime” against the honour of School. Again later, Ka-Lan had lost it. Persistently wound up, provoked beyond reasonable human tolerance. The second time Ka-Lan had gone for that boasting arsehole Fox. Earning himself in total sixty hits on his bare arse before the assembled School. For that second attack, Johns had supposedly prioritised Fox and let him have his fifteen. A free hand with a leather strap on Ka-Lan’s arse. More likely, Johns reckoned Fox could get the mob all worked up. Win them over on to his side in a way the scrawny sadist Johns couldn’t. Ostensibly this was a punishment parade. But Fox had turned it into theatre. The cadets had been excited before. After Fox’s show on Ka-Lan’s arse, he’d got them all worked up. Trailing in the wake of their muscle-hero. All against one, one against all.Ka-Lan was not blind to the fact that this was all Johns' engineering. Johns had got Ka-Lan’s blood up, goaded him, deliberately. Johns had squeezed him into a corner and made Ka-Lan fight his way out. And stupidly Ka-Lan had been the prick to let himself get trapped. Landing up with a burning arse and plenty more to come.Johns had something against him. From the moment he'd arrived, Johns had been working Ka-Lan into this position. On the surface, Ka-Lan was getting corporal-punishment for wrong-doing. But more likely, that sadist Johns was getting his rocks off. Ka-Lan had been manoeuvred into this setup. For the life of him, Ka-Lan could find no valid reason why Johns should have picked on him on first sight. Was there any? His “criminal background”? Muscle-envy? Then why not go for Fox and the other two goons?"Hands behind head."Johns didn't gesture. He didn't need to. How many times already today had Johns ordered Ka-Lan into this shameful submission mode? Johns was stood sideways on to him, a couple of paces away. Ka-Lan could clock him, easily. He'd have the prick down on his arse before Johns could blink. But where would that get him? He'd have the satisfaction. It had felt good before when Ka-Lan had let rip at him. But such moves had only made things worse for him. The three Seniors behind would be on to him in a flash, fists gleefully flying. Given the hostility to him, others in this crowd would pile in. And Johns would up his quota to a hundred.Best put up with all their shit. Survive this sixty, best he could .. with as much pride intact. Tomorrow was another day.Ka-Lan felt Johns’ gaze from sideways run down Ka-Lan's muscular profile. Lingering over the solid cliff overhang of his chest. Skipping over the stepping stones in his abs. Ka-Lan felt eyes swishing creepily through the thickness of his bush. Before invading the privacy of his groin.Was he some faggot, this Johns? A puny faggot eaten up with muscle envy? Was that what got Johns’ rocks off. Ka-Lan returned the favour. His glance slid to Johns' groin. What was that? Was the faggot throwing a boner?But his curiosity was cut short."Mr Murray. Mr Fraser. Step forward. Do the School the honour."Fifteen already. 45 zingers to go. And a fresh pair of school champs out to put on a good show. Ka-Lan readied himself, hands behind his head clenched tight with anticipation. For the benefit of the red-faced slavering onlookers out there, Ka-Lan lifted a determined chin. He took a big breath .. filling a muscled chest. Tension sucked in the shredded abs. Here we go again."On my command."Again. Johns was making it clear to all. Ring-master. In charge. This was his show. The prick hadn't got the muscle to make any impression on Ka-Lan's hide. But he was cock-of-the-roost. Top dog in this shit-pile. This next pair of muscle-thugs were instructed to take their lead from him. On Johns’ command. Targeting Ka-Lan's burning arse.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Jeers127001397000Ka-Lan shivered at the catcalls. His heart grew heavy. He felt very alone. He WAS alone. The world seemed against him. Friendless, no one showing a shred of concern for him. His arse already burning. And about to take another forty-five. Murray and Fraser had been called forward, Fox would be handing over the strap. Already slick with Ka-Lan’s sweat. From Fox’s fifteen. Fifteen hards.Over-forty more devastating strokes on his aching backside to go. And that Murray had a screw loose too. Ka-Lan seemed to bring out the worst in that sucker as well. Forty-five to go. And no one cared a shit about him. Or whether this was deserved. Not a fucker in this gym cared. No one was interested. They looked at him, wide-eyed. Eyeing the muscle-stud who was going down. Did they give a fuck that he’d gone for Johns? Were they so concerned about the honour of the School? All that Ka-Lan saw ogling him over were pain-hungry cadets who’d screamed themselves hoarse. His pain, Ka-Lan’s stinging arse-pain. Red-faced yelling for Fox and Co. to beat the shit out of him.A voice punctured the air. “Give him all he deserves, Johns”.A cry encouraged by Johns’ glare at the RAT for his defiant stance. A single shout that cut shimmering through the static in the air. A cry to steel the resolve in Johns’ posture, his fist clenched on his baton by his side. Fox had won them over. They were on his side.The single voice was a trigger. It set the others off. Ka-Lan glared angrily back at their unjustified animosity to him.“He’s a disgrace.”“Teach the RAT his lesson, Johns.”Encouraging the puny wimp who wouldn’t dare lay a finger on Ka-Lan himself. They were sick, Ka-Lan told himself with hatred, these cadets were sick in the head. What did they put in their food? What did they do to them to turn them into animals?“Give him hell, Johns”.Hostile calls burst out from all corners of the hall.“Bust his arse wide-open”.Ka-Lan stood alone against the world. The hard worker. The easy-going guy. Popular with the girls. Admired by the guys. Idolized for his athletic physique. Alone against the world. And completely defenceless. Exposed. .“Teach him respect, Johns”.“Make him pay”. “Give it the RAT. Over and over”.Johns heard the calls for the RAT’s pain. Coming faster, coming louder. Feeding his desire, feeding his lust. His heart was full to bursting. Fox’s exhibition had done the trick. He’d won the whole gym over to Johns’ side.He had to breathe in deep. He felt a rush of blood. Yes, these cadets, Johns would give them what they wanted. The RAT would get it. Sixty times over. Or more. Who’d be counting?Thrashed till he begged for it to stop. Everything, all he deserved. Everything and more. That musclehead stood there. He was daring to put on a show, chin up, abs sucked in. But how long? Trapped in this situation, no getting away. Not till Johns had done with him. Butt-naked. Vulnerable. Looking the fool. Johns’ fool.Johns could feel the pressure pushing hard against his own pants. Trapped down inside his shorts. Pressed against the material. Maybe others saw it too. Maybe the RAT had seen it. Seen Johns’ lust for this cocksucker’s screams. His cries begging for it to stop. Begging Johns to stop it. That was power. Who needed all that muscle-crap when you wielded the strap?Johns didn’t care. He didn’t care who saw that Johns had a hard-on. This was the power. That strength in his pants symbolised his power over this punk. Raw power, naked power thrusting in his shorts. Musclehead was gonna get it. Under his command. Look at the sucker. Still he dared to stare back in defiance. But he was about to have his arse strapped to kingdom-come. About to know pain like he’d never known. Glaring back in defiance now. Putting on some futile bravado show. But soon Johns would have him tottering on the threshold of hell. “Let him have it, Johns!””Let’s hear him sing!”Straps lashing into his arse until he could barely stand. Stinging lashes into his bare back. Biting lashes till tears flooded down his face. He’d not sit down for a week.“Singing out-of-tune!”Johns could barely hold himself in. That force in his pants needed feeding. His mind’s eye had seen this moment time-and-again. Strapped across his cocky muscled arse till he cried out and begged for it to stop. “Go for it.”“Give it him. Good and hard!””Burn him! Burn him!”Till he cried out for mercy. “Burn!”But it would not stop. It would end only when Johns chose. “Burn!”This was his world, here Johns’ word was law. It would end when Johns called a halt. Then and only then. It would end when Johns called out “Stop!” “Burn! Burn!”Stop when Johns had cut the RAT down to size. Then the RAT would fall. Crawl away. Crawl away into some dark hole and howl.“BURN! BURN! BURN!”? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Fraser17145017208500The atmosphere in the hall was punctured with shrill calls to hear the muscle-head’s cries. Tension crackled like electric sparks. “One!” On my command, Johns had ordered. He counted out the first strike. His command sounded to him like a lightning crack. A sound that burst over the back of the naked musclehead. His authority slit through the heavy curtain of cheers and commanded silence. It ripped up an atmosphere tense like the air before a hot summer’s storm.And then Johns heard it. The sweetest sound. Fraser’s first strike. The whoosh of that strap cutting through the air.One. Johns had briefed Fraser. Ambush the RAT. Five strikes across his back. Spare the whip, spare the boy. No truer word. Not Johns’ style. Someone should have laid the whip across this punk’s back before. Instead, it fell to Johns to put things right. Muscles jarred on that muscular body. Hands up behind the head, biceps exploded to near-bursting. Fraser had ambushed him, the RAT had not expected the lash to fall across his shoulders. Outwardly Johns remained unmoved, he just glared back at his prisoner. His stare bored into the pain that trembled through Musclehead’s flesh, the prick who’d dared to defy him. Who’d knocked him to the floor. The motherfucker .“Two.”The muscled pecs jarred to rectangular perfection. Shocked muscled stacked on shuddering muscle. Like he’d taken a solid punch between the shoulder blades. The over-muscled breadth of his chest danced to Johns’ jarring tune.Johns gave him another calculated sneer. Janus had told Johns about the power of fear. He understood how to use it. A difficult balancing act. Too afraid and they panicked and became dangerous. Not afraid enough and they got bolder. In the case of this one, Johns had made his calculation. He was all show, he’d soon be coming apart. All that macho stuff, full of bravado, posturing and glaring. Johns remembered what had happened earlier. Johns looked down at the RAT’s dick. Looking for signs. Before, nerves had got to him. He’d started throwing a boner he could not control. Johns stared at it. Would he shame himself again? Fear on a stick, Janus called it. Was it going to happen again?“Three.”A stinging slash of leather tore across his upper back. Muscle rippling into spasms of throbbing pain. Johns looked into his face. Saw him struggling with the shocks. He’d not live today down. Johns would make sure of that. Muscle and might. Posture and posing. The cadets out there would see him for what he was. All wind and no air. Johns would take him right to the bottom. Screaming and yelling till he hit rock-bottom. And Johns kicking ass all the way.“Four.”At his command Johns fancied he saw dejection slash anxiety across the punk’s face. Sculpted muscles like on a gymnast shook in a jarring flash. The muscled torso twisted around. Convulsed by the burning pain. He was hurting. Fantastic! Rippling ab muscles contorted in sharp spasms of pain. Four already. He’d be dreading the next strap landing. He’d not know things then changed. Fraser gave way to Murray. All part of Janus’ plan. Keep him on his toes. Stoke up the fear.What Johns would give to be inside this arsehole’s mind. Seeing him battling with himself. Hearing the pounding of his fears in his ears. Eager to know what he was thinking. What it was going to take for all this futile muscle-bravado to give up the fight. And let go his first yell. How they’d cheer out there at the dickhead crying out. That first cry. Sign that Johns was getting Musclehead broken. That bravado and defiance punctured. And plenty more to go. Sixty, punk. Sixty. We’ve hardly even started. And three moronic muscle-hunks here .. competing to out-do each other. Who’s gonna be the first to bust a cry outta you? D’you stand a chance, RAT?Not so cocky any more, eh? Twisting away in desperation to dodge the sting of the next strap. That brawny back tight with terror at the sound of leather cutting through the air. Sweat flying off his hair, arms rigid, body pumped with pain. A fearful twist of effort to dodge the next cut slicing through the air. In vain. One after the other, pain building on pain. There’s nowhere to go, Dickhead. Not till you cry out every bit of your suffering. Beg for the agony to stop. “Five.”The punk’s eyes nearly started out of his head. Pain shivered through his whole torso. His body lurched sideways, shocked by the scorching pain. He gasped. He let go his hands in shock. From the gym shouts of encouragement welcomed Fraser’s last strike. Pain burned across the RAT’s shoulders like a fiery map. Swollen and sweating for the next round of pain, In the gym, the air dripped with lust. Cheers echoed off the bare walls. The temperature shot up. The hounds had scented blood, The animals were baying at the wind. Saliva dripping from snarling jaws. Fangs bared, the quarry hanging before them. Escape impossible. Defenceless. Trapped. Friendless, jeered. Vulnerable. Snarling the dogs prowled, their fangs snapping at his heels. Blood pounded in their veins. Shouts cutting through the atmosphere heavy like an electric storm. Fists pumped at the air. Fraser took a bow. Cat-calls were whipped up into a frenzy. The punk shuddered. They called out for his pain, they howled for his blood.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Murray17145026733500Daniel savoskinBetween each round, Johns ordered the prick’s hands down. Not out of any concern that his arms were getting tired. Janus had pointed out the humiliation when the prisoner was ordered to put them back up again. Repeatedly submitting himself to Johns’ will. Constantly forced into obeying orders. Time-and-again proving that the muscled hunk was just a pawn in Johns’ little game. Ka-Lan was sweating it out. Five across his back. Breathing hard. Hands back where they belonged .. covering himself. Not out of modesty. Hiding his junk. Not because he was embarrassed, not coy. They’d seen enough of it already. Pig-headedly he was denying this red-faced mob the sight of him exposed and looking vulnerable.Ka-Lan was looking out over the jeering mob. Angry that they’d cheered every stroke of punishment cracked into his bare back. His temper was up. If he looked at Johns, he feared he’d lose his cool. He was so pissed off he could floor him. Had it with this charade. What was the betting that hiding his cock got right up Johns’ nose too. Covering himself was a poke in the eye for that prick too. Ka-Lan’s way of saying he was tired of this shit. He’d have to go along with this. But think he’d crumble? Think Ka-Lan was going to break down and beg. Not on his fucking life.Murray had been called forward. An even bigger arsehole than that Fox. He struggled to make it in the evil-sadist-stakes alongside Johns. Not in the same league. But Murray too had a screw loose. This was no fucking punishment parade. This was Johns at his sadistic best. Ka-Lan had taken a quick glance at the prick earlier. He was definite. Ka-Lan didn’t want to look again, he wasn’t sure he could control his temper. But he was damned-certain. Johns was throwing a boner. Johns was getting a hard-on at his expense, the sadistic fucker. Johns was getting his rocks off on having the shit strapped out of Ka-Lan’s hide.One thing was good, though. Ka-Lan was grateful for small mercies. That change where the strap had fallen. For some reason, Fraser had given it him across the shoulders. Probably pre-planned. Probably another part of Johns ‘ evil plan. His back stung. But his battered arse had been spared. Not by chance, he was sure. Ka-Lan couldn’t imagine Johns doing anything for his sake. The arsehole was pure evil. The prick was up to something. But at least his arse had been spared. For now.But his relief was short-lived. Murray stood there, threading the leather strap through his hand. Glaring at Ka-Lan. Thinking he could psych him out. Five strikes from Fraser, that last time .. five hits. Is that how they were pacing it? Five goes a time. So here came five-of-the-best from arsehole-in-chief Murray?Ka-Lan had had dealings with Murray before. They rubbed each other up the wrong way. Ka-Lan felt Murray's bare chest against his own sweaty back. Flesh-on-flesh."Gonna bust your arse, motherfucker."Ka-Lan looked down. Murray's arm had circled his chest. He'd folded over the strap in two. He was tapping it against Ka-Lan's sweat-drenched chest."Remember. .. before … what I promised?"The thick leather was sliding in the glistening sweat down Ka-Lan's red-blotched front. It tapped at his upper abs."When you went for Fox …. "The tapping was now below the waist. Was Murray going to slap him in the cock? He’d clock him. Could he stop himself?"Pain like you've never known. That was what I promised …."Like with Johns, Ka-Lan seemed to have the key of bringing out the worst in Murray. Or was he just another closet sadist? Who just needed the excuse to come out?"Mr Murray."Ka-Lan glanced over at Johns who'd angrily snapped out for Murray's attention."The School is waiting. Do your duty, sir."There was a slight pause. Ka-Lan imagined Murray glaring back at Johns. For shitting on Murray’s parade. Then the strap gave a downward slap. Ka-Lan twitched backwards as it caught his hands over his shaft. It wasn't much, just a threat. But enough to make Ka-Lan's blood boil."Mr Johns. Yes, sir."Murray’s response was tinged with an eagerness to get down to things. He was going to make this motherfucker scream.The sweat contact between two manly-muscled bodies broke with a slurp."You show the punk, Murray."The lone voice from the floor of the gym got a resounding cheer. More shouts of encouragement joined in. But they didn't drown Murray's voice whispered down Ka-Lan's ear. He repeated his mantra."Pain like you've never known."Ka-Lan’s heart was pounding. Anger building in his blood, Ka-Lan didn't hear Murray retreating for the cheers echoing in the hall. That fucker Murray really got up his nose. Ka-Lan was more determined than ever. That threat from Murray had reinforced his resolve. He’d stand up to these punks, he’d show them. They were bullies. And you didn't give in to bullies. Sixty lashes on his arse. He had no doubt he'd be screaming himself hoarse before the end. But that was his body speaking. What mattered was his will. It was easy enough to cause enough pain to a body .. even as muscled and manly-looking as his … even if Ka-Lan was pig-headed enough to swear he’d not give this howling mob the satisfaction ….. Truth was …. Reality promised …. It’d happen. They’d have him screaming his throat raw. Sixty fucking hits … it was inevitable. But in the war of wills, what really counted? What shaped character was the mind. His strength of will. That little chat with Murray had just confirmed his determination. Determined-as-fuck. They’d NOT break his will."On my command, Mr Murray."Ka-Lan could see Johns looking behind him. The hall had now stilled after Johns had silenced the cadets with his glare. Lording it. Pretending this was some serious punishment parade and not some muscle-envy bully's revenge. The hall was heavy with sweat and anticipation."One."There was a brief pause. Then Ka-Lan heard footsteps. Then more. That arsehole Murray was taking a run-up. More footsteps. Then voices found themselves."Show the punk, Murray.""Give it him.""Teach him respect."? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Respect18288019367500Johns was lording it over these proceedings. He sneered at Ka-Lan and told him to get his hand were they belonged. Not hiding his groin. Up behind his head. Ka-Lan was already tired of Johns’ contemptuous attitude. And these sneering demands. Hands where they fucking-belonged!But then Johns had called out for the first hit And Ka-Lan’s heart had missed a beat when he heard Murray’s feet pounding behind. The fucker was taking a run-up. Momentum behind Murray’s muscular bodyweight.The strike lit up Ka-Lan's lower back. The sting arched his back forward. The momentum behind Murray's hit knocked Ka-Lan forward two stumbling steps. His arms flew out from behind his head. Fuck, that had shocked him. Murray wasn’t playing around. He was out to make his mark.In turn, equally determined to put on a good show, Ka-Lan stepped back to his appointed place. He righted his arms, placed his hands firmly behind his head. He pushed out his elbows to expand his chest. He knew he’d look good that way .. elbows back, emphasising broad bulging shoulders, muscular chest, shredded abs sucked in. Scornfully he was setting Murray a big target. Can’t miss that one, motherfucker, eh? Ka-Lan got some satisfaction from sensing Johns looking daggers at him for the arrogance. For looking undaunted by this threat."TWO!"As it confirming that he was pissing Johns off, the RAT Captain quickly snapped out the command. Murray burst into his run-up. Immediately. Like a greyhound out of its trap. A resounding smack across his lower back again. Ka-Lan had readied himself, he'd planted his feet firm. The burn of hard leather across his skin arched his back. His muscle plated chest rose up. It trembled, it went rigid, expanded to full muscular might. Ka-Lan gritted his teeth, he stared wide-eyed into nothingness. His body shuddered with the shock. But he’d managed the pain.Again he had to be thankful for small mercies. It wasn't his arse. If Murray had applied this force on his backside …. Well …. Those fifteen zingers he'd taken from Fox there .. they'd really for some damage. Johns must have briefed these two to concentrate on his back. But then ….why? Why would Johns show him any consideration? Did he fear too much damage? Were there limits here after all?"Three."Ka-Lan steeled his mind. Elbows back, he projected the full force of his manly physique out at the cheering cadets. Wanna see this break? Gonna be disappointed, punks. He broadened his back and set firm the target on which Murray was to implant his pain.He did. It struck. The strap lit up Ka-Lan's back. Not with so much pain, Ka-Lan thought. But the blow hit with such force that Ka-Lan was sent stumbling forward. He shoved out his hands from behind his head .. fighting for balance. That sudden move with his arms, though … firing up the burn on lashed flesh .. it made him gasp out. A trickle of pain ran down his cheek. He was wiping it away before he thought .. drawing the cadets' attention to his tear. The hall lit up with cheers."Good on you, Murray.""More like that."“Give it the arsehole!”Ka-Lan was glaring his anger out at the assembled School."Resume position, RAT."Johns snarled at him. Ka-Lan saw the slightest crack in Johns’ frozen demeanour. Murray unbalancing him …. Johns liked that. Nearly knocking Ka-Lan off his feet .. now THAT was getting somewhere!And that thought could only put steel into Ka-Lan's resolve. Three already .. three down, only two more to go. He’d show these fuckers! On Johns' command, he heard Murray taking his run-up. He steeled his back. He gritted his teeth. Murray surprised him. The strap hit on his right shoulder. The burn tore diagonally down his back. The impact reignited the welts Fraser had earlier left behind.Pain twisted Ka-Lan around. He gasped out. His face twisted into a pain-contorted mask. But miraculously he kept his hands plastered to the back of his head. He crushed the cry of pain back into his chest.It took effort. But he did it. He was panting, hard. But that time he’d shown these fuckers. He was showing them what he was made of. Ka-Lan made himself right himself. He tightened his grip on the back of his head. Breathing deep. His chest expending to full manly capacity. His abs sunken in like athletes on a Greek statue. Ka-Lan took deep strengthening breaths. Chin up, he stared out disdainful over this assembled School. Punks, wimps, scrawny bullies. Every fucking one of them!Chest up, abs in. His elbows back, broadening the muscular breadth .. he invited Murray back. Come and get it, motherfucker. He was ready for the prick. His last strike. Whatever that sadist Murray threw at him, Ka-Lan was ready for the arsehole. He’d show him. The might of his muscle-knotted back invited the punk to do his best. A display of muscle to taunt that prick Murray. Whatever he tried, Ka-Lan’s show said …. it wasn’t going to be good enough.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Payment in full20955016954500Johns stood before his RAT. His eyes burrowed like ice into the naked musclehead. Still believing himself in control he posed there, flaunted himself. Murray didn’t get a yell out of him. That had to have pissed the sports moron off. And still that cockiness on the RATSHIT’s face, that really had Johns going. A look that was cockily sneering back. “Think you can scare me with that little toy?” The little "toy" had just painted that muscled bubble-butt crimson-red. Laid a few distinct welts down his sweaty back. Not finished with you yet, RAT. Not by a long way.Still he dared stand there. Breathe in deep, tensing his chest, flex his muscles. Still he gave out haughty conceit in a muscle parade. Daring to glare out disdain over the School, disrespect in every cell of his body. Holding himself impudently. Invincible, unassailable, he thought himself. Did he believe his endurance under the strap could draw hero-worshippers to him. To form his own gang. No chance of that!Johns remembered .. how earlier this RAT’s dick had flared up. Lifted. Jutting out. He’d got himself an erection from his sheer bloody-mindedness. Back earlier before he’d gone for Johns. Anger, insolence and defiance had bloated him up. Throwing a hard-on. He’d dared stand there. Poking his dick in Johns’ face, taunting him, challenging him. The musclehead was taunting Johns with it. Challenging him. Match that! Got one like this?Just let him try that on again! Fire burned in Johns' gut at this punk's insolence. But on the outside, no one would ever know. Johns’ bearing was commanding. An icy-steel look in his eyes. Johns had got these three sports stooges to do the idiot-work, no need to get himself worked up. Johns wasn’t going to be seen losing his cool over this insolence. That would show weakness.Although this punk behaved like he still had some say in this, Johns was the man of the moment. This was his show. The RAT was HIS “toy”. And pretty-soon Johns would have the RAT recognising that. Acknowledge Johns' indisputable position. Johns was using this RATSHIT to make a public announcement. He was here the dominant force. Announced with the whole School looking on.I’ve got your number, RAT, Johns sneered in his head. For now, thought Johns, go on. Flex, swagger. Put on the act. For now. But Johns knew. Johns was convinced this RAT was all posturing, he had an instinct for detecting mock-insolence like that. Posture and flex as much as he wanted, Johns knew the RAT was worried deep down. Soon Johns would have him shitting himself.Johns knew he scared the RAT with “his little toy”. Where was that lift of insubordination in his cock now? No hard-on, punk? Can’t get the defiance up? It was fear keeping that dick down this time. The RAT knew he couldn’t win. No chance, trapped, isolated, not a friend in the world.No escape. That limp dick of his was scared shitless. It was Johns’ erection that was master of this scene. Johns was forcing himself to control his excitement. Tempting. But it would be undignified to give himself a stroke. He couldn’t wait to get on with the show. The stooges had warmed the prick up. Now came the main act. Johns would nail this cocksucking piece of shit. He’d suffered from muscle hunks like this in the past. Back in college, humiliated by over-muscled sporting jocks. Jocks like this prick. Jocks that we all muscle and had the girls wet between the thighs. Girls who'd never given Johns a first glance. They'd made him sick .. the flighty girls, the conceited muscle-jocks. Pricks like this RAT. Johns would have this punk paying for every moment of humiliation moronic studs like him had made Johns suffer.Soon he’d have the RAT sweating in his pain. Soon have him twisting in his pain. Twisting and squirming in terror to escape the next whistle of pain. Watched by them all. Every cadet cheering with every pained ungainly squirm the punk made. Watching him sweat, watching him writhe. They’d watch his cock wither under the strap. They’d watch it uselessly flap around. Where was his big virile boner then?They’d cheer at the dickhead crying out. Johns would see Musclehead gyrating in his pains. In a situation he'd never have imagined himself in. Disoriented by Johns' ingenuity, befuddled by Johns' commitment to disciplining him of this insolence. Not so cocky any more, twisting in desperation to dodge the sting of the next strap, that brawny back tight with terror at the sound of leather cutting through the air. Sweat flying off his hair, arms rigid, body pumped with pain. A continuous twist of effort to dodge the next cut slicing through the air. In vain. One after the other, pain building on pain. There was nowhere for Dickhead to go. Not till he cried out his suffering. Not till Johns made him beg for the agony to stop. That was the only way he was coming out of Johns’ trap. Grovelling for mercy, tears streaming down his face, unable to stand, unable to walk.Earlier he’d paraded his boner, his dick thick and long. Proud in projecting that symbol of his insolence. Heavy with his throbbing, sticking it in Johns’ face. Soon, buried in his cries of pain, it’d wither to nothing as he cried out. As stinging pains shook his body, swept the sweat off his face. Tat incy-wincey cock of his shrivelled to nothing.Jocks in college had requisitioned the best, had the pick of the girls. Muscle-cretins like him had them dropping their pants at just a wink. Leaving Johns with the dregs. That last prom … it had topped every previous humiliation. Well, there'd be no Laura for this muscle-dick at Johns' prom. Johns would see to that. This RAT would get everything coming to him. And he’d not cockily preen because a Laura threw herself at him.This punk would have only shame ripping through that posturing physique, tonight and forever. He’d not hold his head up high again in the School. His dick would not lift in defiance after what he'd experience tonight. Every goddamn motherfucking inch of him would burn with pain. His pain, Johns’ pain, burning him up, twisting him in agony. His dick dried-up to nothing in his shrieks of pain. Shrivelled. Every goddamn cocksucking moment he’d writhe as if consumed in heat, in Johns’ fires from hell. The beat of the strap on his bare blazing arse. Burning in hell, burning in shame. ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Round ThreeEternal truths063500With fascination, Janus watched the torso ripple. Never before had man-flesh looked so alluring to him, so mesmerising. This feeling was odd, strange. But whole obsessive. Janus had known from first spotting the barbarian slave that he held some strange magnetic draw for him. He’d dismissed any idea that this attraction was physical. The hold that the slave drew Janus to him was beyond sex. Sex came nowhere near. This draw felt like Janus was making contact with something godly, this was eternal. This was art, spiritual. He watched the sight of the Irish convulsing in his pains .. twisting under the sting of the lash … and Janus knew he was in the presence of an eternal truth. A truth only revealed in the giving of pain. Every muscle stood defined and bulging, suffused in every tissue with suffering. Every twist of the body under the sting of the lash heightened by the beauty of pain. It brought Janus face-to-face with an eternal godly truth. In suffering was beauty. A beauty made-human by the inflicting of pain. A beauty akin to the hardness raging under Janus’ kilt. The Irish slave was no god. But his suffering brought Janus into the presence of the eternal. And then it happened. First blood. The first trickles of blood adding colour to the canvas of his ribs. A stinging strike from the front cut into his ribcage and ripped a long thin stripe. A few glorious trickles of blood seeped out and dribbled down his side. But No! The whip was cutting him up. The flow of blood blunting the lines. The beauty of his suffering defaced by flesh ripped open. This Irish in anguish was too good to spoil. He was destined to suffer, his fate lay in his defeat. There was a beauty in his torment that should not be spoiled. Every blood-soaked lash of the whip defiled the godliness in Janus’ loins. Janus would fulfil the slave’s destiny, eventually. It was inevitable that the demon in his ear would have his cruel way, at some time. But Janus was reluctant to defile the godly emotions this intense suffering aroused. The Irish dog had still much to suffer, so much more to give, he’d suffer beautifully. Janus was not inclined to withdraw from the presence of these godly feeling so fast.The whipmasters were tiring. Their attack had slowed, their lashes less frenzied, their blows less precise. The slave rippled gloriously with slowing intensity. Muscle pumped with pain. His torso was covered in red stripes from shoulder to waist. Fresh pain was laid on top of burning flesh. Sweat lit his torso in the dying sun, his thick black hair lay flat on his forehead. There was a beauty in his pained exhaustion that held Janus’ gaze. Pain laid on top of pain wrote its cruel hand across his face. Penning the slave’s life-story. Janus called a halt. Almost grateful, the whipmasters bent forward, hands on knees, groaning with their effort, sweat pinning their tunics to their backs. Janus’ eyes, though, were fixed on the slave. His head down, chin on his chest, rolling from side to side. His pain streamed down his flesh in glistening trickles, his skin burning as if illuminated in the flames of an eternal fire. A moan of pain seeped treacherously out of his throat, quickly crushed between his protective clenched teeth. Janus smirked. The brute had suffered. But pride still pumped up every muscle. It did not escape Janus attention, this barbarian’s fight not to sing out his pain. The Irish was still playing his truculent self. He’d fight Janus every inch of the way. That thought brought a fresh rush of pleasure under Janus’ kilt. This presence in the realm of pained beauty was rare, Janus would savour it.A personal one-on-one combat in the presence of something ethereal. The Irish brute was still cherishing that goal that he would deny his tormentor that pleasure. Janus squeezed on the strength in his loins to that response. A vain hope. A futile try. It would come. Janus would hear him scream. Sweet music to enhance the beauty of his Irish suffering. We’ll see, smirked Janus to himself. We’ll hear you yet. But how Janus relished the idea of this barbarian keeping up the fight.He watched the stretched muscled arms crunch tighter together, the fingers balled together into a fist of pain. The beauty of pain rippling through perfectly honed muscle. The hard chest squirmed slightly from side to side, light shimmering off his skin. A sharp pang of pain suddenly shook him, his pain fluttering through like dying leaves in a tree. He was magnificent. A supreme beauty in his male suffering. But .. at a time dictated by Janus’ caprice …. the Irish WAS doomed. That was a powerful thought. At a time dictated by Janus. A fresh rush of blood rushed to his hardness at the thought. The eternal truth. Might would prevail.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Mockery2540016954500The slave's head was down, slumped at the shoulders. The torso striped with the gift of Janus’ pain. His back was running with the sweat of discipline. The thrashing had been violent .. blows falling at a pace, hardly a chance to absorb the sting of a blow on the chest before knots thwacked him in the back.Janus had horse-straps brought. The whips were destructive. He was disturbed by the visual marring from blood trickling off his cuts. Thick leather, long and broad to gird the horse’s stomach. Thick straps producing less blood-loss, less unsightly flows of blood to spoil the beauty of this scene. Instead, thick bludgeoning leather laying wide burning welts across his back. The beauty of this suffering would endure longer.Janus imagined the scene. When that horse-strap caught the Irish again across the stomach. How a fresh onslaught would bring him out of his reverie with a shout. His chest buckling forward, arms tightened, the eight mounds of bulging muscle knotting tight around his waist. He looked magnificent. A work of art. The Irish was a living statue. A Greek beauty. He rippled like liquid stone. The skills of the master stone mason, the litheness of a dancer, the flow of gold liquid in the mould .. all came together in the Irish.The rows of slaves watching him looked on in bored silence. They were not interested in the barbarian’s fate. He couldn't speak to them, he'd gather few friends in this place. They were hungry, that was all that mattered. Their food was delayed .. forced to witness this punishment for a slave attacking a guard. Janus had feared the strength of his charisma. He had worried his truculence could have lured others into following in his path. He’d worried in vain.They were hungry, Janus saw they didn't give a shit. They wanted him to break under the lash, they wanted him torn apart by suffering. So they could fill the holes in their bellies. If he kept up holding out, he’d not be winning himself any friends. No moronic captive would be trailing slavishly in his wake.Janus was surprised, more than a bit disillusioned. He have been expecting the Irish to last out longer. He wondered whether he had almost set this slave up on a pedestal? Praising him for a toughness of spirit which clearly he did not have. Head down, shoulders crumpled together under the punishment frame. Beaten? Broken?And was that his torso shaking? Was he sobbing? Janus peered at him, framed under the glare of the light. Was he seeing this slave sob? Shoulders shaking, head rocking slightly. That was a disappointment. Had Janus been promising himself too much?Janus was surprised. The lashing had been intense, undoubtedly. He saw his men, even now, they were bent over, hands on knees catching their breath. He couldn’t have asked any more of them. They'd worked him hard. They were doing the brute in for their mates.And they'd broken him already? Janus felt a pang of disappointment. This was far from what he'd promised himself. This was a mockery. He’d been fooling himself. Janus had over-estimated the doggedness of this Irish. Stupid! Why had he raised this slave up? Raising him on a pedestal that could bring Janus into the presence of the divine. Janus had been kidding himself. This slave was mere flesh and blood. Thrash him hard and he hurt like anyone else. Put a stinging whip across his back enough times and he'd scream. Those emotions, those powerful signs that had illuminated the divine fire in Janus crotch .. a chimera, a mirage. This Irish barbarian was a charlatan. Janus had been deluding himself, he could kick himself. He was angry. The Irish disappointed.The shaking had got more visible, the outstretched arms peaked supporting his weight. Slowly he lifted his head. Hair and sweat first covering his face. But it was like he was magnetised to the man who'd ordered him broken. Was he raising his face to Janus to admit defeat? Begging for this stop? His head lifted, his dirt-streaked Irish face was raised to Janus. He was laughing.His arms knotted to limbs of supreme physical strength. His chest lifted, filled with snarling defiance. He looked Janus in the face and he roared. He bawled. He swore in his barbarian tongue. Words that could not be understood. Deep-voiced bellows. Combined with the features on his sweat-streaked face. They were laughing in Janus' face. He was laughing at Janus. He was mocking Janus. Every incomprehensible word screamed mockery into Janus' face. Unintelligible, yet his curses made sense. That face was creased with scorn. His eyes alive with derision. His alien curses spoke for themselves. His every fibre in that muscular tough body was taunting Janus with the provocation. That the best you can do?? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Intensify17145017272000Janus was not the only one watching. He'd made this Irish's punishment a public display. An object lesson. What happened to ill-disciplined captives. What would happen to any tempted to follow in the footsteps of this stubborn slave. Every slave working here had seen him mock. Every reluctant captive taken in war and forced into hard labour had heard him laugh at Janus' pitiful authority. He'd even caught a few of them snigger. Cheered by that gesture of defiance. The brute’ curses were incomprehensible. But not their meaning. Janus himself had just arranged what he'd been attempting to avoid. He himself had given the Irish barbarian an audience. He’d offered the Irish brute a platform.Janus could not let that be. Any surge in support for this Irish had be squashed. Immediately. Harsh. It took some effort to reposition the slave for a more intensive punishment. Intensified punishment that he had brought on himself with that act of disdain in public. The Irish fool had given Janus no choice.One of the guards had had to keep a stranglehold on him to complete the change. His bare chest pressed to the whiplashed back running with grime and sweat. Forearm crushed across the dog's windpipe. Leaning back throttling the beast while three others released the outspread arms and bound them tight to the bar above his head.He thrashed. The Irish was near-passing out, he could get no breath. But still he was wildly thrashing with his head to break the chokehold. Janus fancied this was also the Irish making a break for freedom. Warrior instincts knew his arms were unbound, he was fighting to break free.What would happen then? Janus watched open-mouthed. Partly in fear that the Irish dog would manage to throw the guards off. And what would happen. Would the other slaves join him? Would Janus have a riot on his hands? Part fearing that risk … but at the same time Janus found himself in awe of this invincible fighting spirit. He was relieved. Only minutes ago, he’d been disillusioned. Regretting that the Irish was broken. But look at him struggle. Battle magnificently. Four guards against this savage free spirit. The invincible spirit that infused his every fighting muscle lived on. This belief in itself was what had first draw him to Janus’ attention and had kept luring him in. A belief that his spirit was unconquerable. His body was captive. But not that will. Again Janus could rejoice, this show went on. Janus’ doubts had been unfounded. Irish did not disappoint. The guards struggled with him. All that struggling must have given the slave a fresh burst of energy, optimism, an extra shot of self-belief. He was being throttled, he had three burly guards trying to tie him down. And not for one moment did he give up his efforts to break free. But now they did succeed, they had him secured again. Four against one indomitable spirit. Hands tight-bound above his head to the bar dangling down from the two posts. Janus saw the guards back off, tentatively. Wiping the sweat of effort off their faces, swiping sweat-streaked hands on their clothes. But keeping an eye on him. The guards looked as if they too were unsure of the powers of this barbarian. He was yanking at the bar above his head. Did he think the ropes fastening the bar to the uprights could be snapped free? It did look as if the guards were worried he might. Muscle in his chest peaked as he grimly hauled on them. His belief in himself so strong it looked like he thought his mighty shoulders could snap thick rope in half.But then he must have seen the futility, he realised he was secured again. Janus watched as he abandoned the chance to free himself and take revenge on his captors. Instead, he swivelled his head .. straight over to Janus, trapped him, pierced him with a fiery eye. For a brief second, Janus did sense a shiver of fear. He knew the Irish was secure. But that harsh look still tightened a knot in Janus' gut. The hard-on under his kilt seemed to shrivel.Then the Irish face lit up. It broke into a laugh. The Irish slave, re-bound in place, due for a more intensive thrashing … again it was laughing in Janus' face. The mockery intensified. It broke out into loud barbarian cursing. But not snarling incomprehensible cursing. Laughing curses. Curses that mocked these efforts. Curses that denigrated anything these guards could try. Curses that invited Janus to try his best. Here was a spirit Janus could never beat.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Surreal0381000This couldn’t be happening. Ka-Lan was sweating. Not just from this brutal beating. His arse was on fire, his back stung like crazy. That did have him running with sweat. Like he'd run a thousand metres, full sprint. But he was also worked up over the injustice of this charade. He was fucking furious, he was going mad with frustration and rage. He was going to clock someone, he knew it, he could feel it in his blood. This collective hatred against him .. the cadets going mad .. raving like animals seeing him hurting .. crazy for his suffering .. like he'd read about mobs in ancient gladiator fights. SICK!Why? What had he done to hurt a single one of them? He’d not even talked to a cadet. Yet they were like a mob at an execution. Raving mad. Blood racing in their veins. He’d done nothing to upset a single one of them. But just listen to them. And that had his sense of injustice boiling on his blood. He'd have thought after the pain lashed into his arse .. sweating pain out of every pore .. he'd have thought his dick wouldn't have had it in it. That, after so much pain, it couldn't find the strength. But he could feel the pricklings in his nut-sack. Anger, that was it .. the extreme emotions thudding in his blood .. his heart racing …. The sheer injustice of this farce was getting him worked up. If it persisted, he'd be showing pretty soon. And the way he felt right now … he didn't give a fuck who saw it! Let these puny arseholes see him hard. It was a symbol of how he felt. A hard-on was his manly response to this outrage. He couldn't remember ever feeling so enraged.Or trapped. There was no walking out of here because he'd had enough. He could call them out .. call them for the fucking sadists they were .. but they’d laugh in his face. It was mob rule out there. Every single cadet worked up .. yelling to hear him scream. It was all unreal. And the fucking unfairness as well …... There was no getting out of here, though. He had his dedicated cohort of sports-studs with him on this stage. And if he put them down .. he could deck that preening Fox .. he’d enjoy hammering his fist into Murray’s evil face … and then? There were hundreds of cadets between him and the outside. And where then …? Where was there to go? Trapped.None of this made sense, it was surreal. But truth was, he was locked into a system. A system which condoned such madness. An ethos sanctioning this savage bullying that went all the way to the top. This was the way of the world in this place. The place he'd been sentenced to five years.That sickening reality just added to his sense of frustration. He had no way out! NOTHING! No escape! And the way Johns was looking him over right now ….. he reckoned the sucker was mad on this power. He was one sick power-mad bastard. He was getting off on this. Ka-Lan was sure he’d glanced that sadist throwing a boner himself. Not a hard-on like Ka-Lan’s, justified by an overpowering sense of frustration and injustice. That fucker had a power-mad boner. Getting his fucking-rocks off on having Ka-Lan thrashed. The fucker was sick! He had it in for Ka-Lan .. for no reason he knew. He'd been caught under that sick predator's microscope from the moment he'd arrived. And Ka-Lan had no hiding place. Johns had a hard-on for him. He had his claws in him. And fuck-knew when he would let them go!Heart thudding against his muscle-solid chest, Ka-Lan threw the scrawny dickhead another fiery look of anger. These fifteen lashes .. burning on his arse still .. Then those ten stingers laid into his back …. not something you’d just overlook. That Johns was weird. Sweat was still running off Ka-Lan’s hair down his neck. Ka-Lan eyed his foe. Johns was the source of all his troubles. And there was no sign yet that Johns had had his fill. Sixty fucking-strikes. And Johns had a look on him that even sixty would never be enough. There was something eerily scary about the way Johns was looking at him. Cold. Icy. An evil behind those eyes. He was up to something. That look had a depth into depravity that Ka-Lan couldn't fathom. But it was scary.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Clutched029146500Ka-Lan forced himself not to show his anxieties. He fought to get control. He forced himself. Breathing in deeply, expanding a muscular chest, controlling the flutters in his shredded abs. Control. Power over his emotions. Breathing more calmly. He was doing well, getting a grip. Till he felt something touch his balls. He shot a look down. Nothing there, nothing had touched him. Nothing had moved. But Ka-Lan would swear there was a hand on him. Enclosing his nut-sack in an icy hold. A chill. A cold hand had him in its grip. Squeezed around the sack. Crushing down his nuts. Icy-cold. Unreal! There was nothing to be seen. But it was real. A chilly hand was clutching on his balls!It was Johns. It had to be. He knew. But how? There was nothing to see, A virtual hand. But as physical as the real thing. Icy-cold. As tight a grip on him as a real hand. This was unreal. Icy. Evil. How did Johns do that? Ka-Lan threw the scrawny prick an angry look. Straight into the possessive glare that Johns was throwing at him. That was how he knew .. that grip it belonged to Johns. Somehow. That look on the prick. Ka-Lan was feeling a chilly invasion on his manliness that matched Johns’ gaze. Icy. Malicious. Ka-Lan felt a growing panic. This was imaginary. But it felt real enough. Like Johns had summoned some supernatural presence and had grabbed hold of him. Creepy. But that was madness. Such things didn’t exist. This was surreal. NOTHING was touching him. It had to be nerves, it wasn’t the real thing. But that hold on him felt every bit as convincing. It had him by the balls, it had him shivering. Nerves, this prick was getting to him with that icy-cold stare. The iciness of that touch ….! Sometimes Ka-Lan had been grabbed just as punishing from an underhand move in a close tussle in a wrestling match. Just like that. Just as convincing.Johns glared back at him in return. And Ka-Lan felt the grip tighten. Johns’ eyes hardened into a glacial stare. Determined not to be outdone, Ka-Lan returned the look. He faced off the slit-eyed glower boring into his face. What Ka-Lan saw nearly convinced him … He didn’t know how but was this some evil influence Johns was throwing at him? This some voodoo or something. Ridiculous! Ka-Lan was conning himself. His stomach pulled in hard, his breath held, tension tightened across his chest. On the one hand, wary and nervous, not understanding. On the other …. Defiance. Take that, motherfucker. Ka-Lan threw resistance back at the prick. A strength of fight-back that was filling out his every sinew. Don’t know what you’re up to arsehole, but this stud isn’t backing down.And then he felt his growled defiance transform … to a sound of rasping in his throat. The virtual grip had tightened! The fucker was crushing his nuts! Bad enough he was developing a boner. Now he had his sack getting squeezed. Ka-Lan’s eyes flared open at the pain. Real pain. It hurt as much as the real thing! That grip was crushing his nuts. He jerked, his torso gave a lurch to throw it off. That fucking hurt. Was this Johns’ way of saying he had Ka-Lan in his grip. Had him tight by the nuts. He was possessing them. Possessing him! The hand on his balls had got even tauter, closed into a claw. This couldn't be happening! This wasn’t happening! Chilly fingers were crushing his family jewels into the palm, squeezing Ka-Lan’s balls in-between. As convincing as the real thing! It hurt as much as the real thing. How?Fingers twisted and turned, rolling one ball hard against another. Squeezing and crushing. Ka-Lan gasped. This was scary. How could this be happening? Johns’ eyes evil bored into Ka-Lan’s face .. and the grip tightened further still .. in celebration of Ka-Lan's shock. The impossible was happening but that evil fucker had got Ka-Lan convinced. Crushed by an icy hand, crushed by an icy glare. Sweat broke through on Ka-Lan’s pain-red face. The groan in his throat broke through. Then the hand was gone. A flash of pain shot down Ka-Lan’s leg at the release.“Fuck you, Johns.”Johns meet his curse with a smirk. To the whole School looking on, nothing had passed between them. Johns had done nothing to provoke that outburst. What the School had heard was unprovoked insolence. This piece of RATSHIT cursing the RAT Captain. For what? The RAT was out of control. Discipline had to be meted out.What Johns was presenting them with .. a RAT that hadn’t the first notion of self-discipline. And that was the first thing they’d learned in an Army School. Completely out of control. For no reason .. unaccountably swearing at the Rat Captain. Confirming it. This discipline was both warranted and just.Ka-Lan heard the voice. Johns’ voice. Icy-cold, commanding. As cold as the grip Ka-Lan had had crippling his nuts.“String the RAT up!”Discipline … warranted .. just.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Monkeynet09207500What the ….! Ka-Lan jumped back in surprise when something fell down from above. He stood back .. defensively. He jerked when the heavy weight slammed on the floor in front of him. It took some seconds to take it in. He looked up. He peered through at the silenced cadets. It looked like a curtain had dropped down from the ceiling .. landing in front of him. Anchored to the ceiling above, the bottom resting solid on the floor. A climbing net. Coarse rope woven together into a curtain. Used for assault courses, obstacle races. A monkey climb. Swaying .. swaying in front of Ka-Lan.Johns’ snarl broke into his thoughts.“Prisoner. Approach the net.”Unthinking, Ka-Lan did as told. No point in anything else. For the life of him, though, he couldn't make this thing out, where this was going. He had been momentarily bemused. But this net had everything to do with his sentence. The rest of the stinging strokes he was sentenced to.“Grab hold the ladder. Two hands.”Johns was on the far side, turned sideways so he had control over the hall and over his naked “prisoner”.“Grab hold the net, Rat! NOW!”Ka-Lan was still trying to piece things together when Johns snapped the order again. He had no choice. Still confused, he’d stood puzzled a bit a few feet from the net. On view in front, through the net, stood the whole School .. a buzz of confusion there too. Were they as intrigued as him? Breathing deeply, calling up his reserves of will, steeling himself for what had to be, pulling himself up to his full height, puffing up his chest in a show of bravado, Ka-Lan stepped forward and grabbed hold of the net. He was obeying orders. But his body was saying there was a limit to how much shit he was putting up with .. even if that was hardly true. No running away from this .. whatever it was. If he did make a run for it, what then? Where would he go? Run for the School Commandant. Ka-Lan had already got the idea that the officers did not interfere. “Discipline” was the task allocated to the Seniors. And Johns was Rat Captain. Ka-Lan was RATSHIT. No running, no hiding. The School authorities were in on this.Ka-Lan looked at the scrawny RAT Captain through the rope ladder, his eyes locked on Johns, his look far from respectful. Looking at the scrawny prick, arms crossed over his puny chest. Imperious, like some insignificant conqueror .. insignificant but victorious. Ka-Lan was aware of hundreds of others in the hall. But he saw only Johns. Suddenly he noticed how the temperature had soared. It was stinking hot in this hall. Hot male bodies, crammed together. Sticky, laden with anticipation, heavy with stale sweat and bristling with suspense. At the edge of his vision, all faces seemed turned to him, naked, holding on to the rope ladder. Intrigued, hoping for the worst.The hall felt even more crowded now. They’d poured in from all over the School to see. Hardly a space in which to move. Crammed up against each other, barely room to breathe. Here for the prime show of the evening. A once-in-a-lifetime performance. Musclehead on the ladder. Him, taking another beating, strapped for indiscipline. A RAT getting sixty of the best, already on his first night, attacking a Senior, not once, twice. But now the mob were not jeering, there was no hollering in the hall. An almost painful silence, tension crackling through the air like lightning about to go. Like a jungle rainstorm about to burst. Curious? Puzzled? Or were they in on-the-know? Waiting for the bomb to go off? Intense silence. If a pin had dropped, the whole mass would have shot in the air. Suspense held everyone in its grip. A suspense reduced to two glares. Ka-Lan and Johns.Hundreds of eager sweaty bodies in the hall. But Ka-Lan had eyes for only one. Ka-Lan felt his mouth tighten, his eyes draw tight. He couldn’t help himself. He’d returned Johns’ stare, furious. Their eyes locked. He saw no one else. But intensely aware of a nervous expectancy vibrant in the air. The hostility in that silence was palpable, unbelievable. It would take just a single match for the place to go up in a ball of fire. So incredibly combustible. “Climb. Up two rungs.”Ka-Lan wondered what-the-fuck was going on. Climb? Climb the net? Ka-Lan had again been struck by the silence in the room. The words cut through the atmosphere like broken glass. Hundreds of boys crammed in there. Heat soaring with suspense. Tension so intense, it was almost hard to breathe. “You want ten more for insubordination?” Ka-Lan snarled at the RAT captain. But he didn’t need to add to his problems.Ka-Lan lifted a leg and mounted one rung of the rope ladder. It swung slightly under his weight.“Another one, RAT!” Ka-Lan did as he was told, his bare knee grazing against the rope. Then he’d noticed, in his head he swore to himself. Shit, no! With all this tension .. with all this aggression .. he’d not noticed. He’d overlooked the tension building in his groin. That tense tingling in his ballsack. That burning at the root of his dick. The eager sizzle at the tip. Christ, not that as well. Why-the-fuck couldn’t it behave itself?? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Network2235205905500Ka-Lan obeyed. Ordered by Johns to mount two rungs of the net. But he was aware of his heart racing. It was the uncertainty.Johns’ eyes .. cold, menacing, the predator toying with his prey, keeping him wondering. Had he spotted what was happening down below? Johns was turned to the expectant cadets, half-turned away from Ka-Lan. His hand gestured dismissively at Ka-Lan, obeying the command to do something stupid. It didn’t seem to make sense. But the RAT was doing as told. Obeying. Evidence of the control the Rat Captain commanded over him.Ka-Lan was standing on the second rung. He was having to pull himself up close against the swaying rope. He could feel the net coarse against his bare thighs. It scraped against his chest. And he was conscious that his hard-on was sticking through one of the gaps in the rope ladder. Erected on a bed of nerves, anger and his defiance. Refusing to lie down. And highlighted by a frame of coarse rope.Fuck ‘em! He was not going to feel embarrassed. This was the manly thing to do. It was a manly reaction to threat. To stand up and fight back. Was there one single prick out there that didn't wish himself one of those? As strong as this. How many times had it Involuntarily gone up? WHAT had these sports-thugs put it through? And still they couldn't make it lie down! You got a Johnson that can stand up to all this shit, Johns? Fuck 'em. It was envy. That was the root of this insanity. Johns hated himself for being so puny. He couldn't stand the way he looked. He hated Ka-Lan for his build. He drooled over his physique. And jealousy drove Johns to want to punish him for it. Well, here’s a cock to match!THIS IS A MAN! Cocksuckers. This is what a real man looks like! See that down there? Get an eyeful of that. That's how a real man stands up to your crap!The net started swaying more violently.“Mr Murray. Mr Fraser. You will join Mr Fox in doing the honours.”Ka-Lan saw how this was all pre-planned, these goons had been briefed. Without an explicit word, his two minders were also mounting the net. The pair had joined Ka-Lan on the net. A Senior was climbing up alongside him, one on either side. This was a first! Ka-Lan couldn’t for the life of him work out what was going on. But Murray and Fraser knew. Well briefed. Tension began to seep through him. Tension born of uncertainty, not know what-the-fuck was coming next. Ka-Lan glanced down at the Rat Captain, trying to judge what was coming his way. Ka-Lan took a deep calming breath. He’d swallowed down his nervousness. This was leading somewhere, probably somewhere he would not like. “Hands higher, motherfucker.”Murray’s hand grabbed hold of Ka-Lan's wrist and had yanked it off. Ka-Lan had to pull with the other to keep his balance.“There, motherfucker. Up there.”Murray let his hand go, Ka-Lan grabbed the coarse rope to stop from falling off. His arms were straight, high above his head. The angle pressed his chest right up against the scratchy rope.“Both hands, dickhead “Ka-Lan had already caught on. For balance sake, he was already moving his left arm up in parallel. But what-the fuck-for ?He got his answer. What fucking-shit was this? Murray had produced strong cord and was looping it around his wrists. Ka-Lan looked on in anger. Defensively he was about to pull his wrist away when Fraser on the other side was doing the same. Ka-Lan had to grab on tight to stop from falling. What the fuck!Tying his wrists to the net? His head flashed up to one side. Fraser alongside him on the net had lashed a thin cord around his wrist and looped it around a strand of the net. Fuck! He was being tied to this net. Before Ka-Lan realised it, the cord had been pulled tight. Bitingly tight. And was being knotted. Murray on the other sides was doing the same thing, lashing his wrist to the rope net. Damn tight. Ka-Lan tried to shake them off. He tried to prise his arms off the rope but his hands needed to cling to the rope for support. His struggles on the monkeynet were making it swing ponderously under their joint weight. They’d been fast. Had they practised? In a flash, both his wrists were tied to the rope net. They had strung him up. Then Ka-Lan heard Johns’ voice back in his head again. That was what Johns had shouted, “String him up!”Confused, angry, Ka-Lan looked through the monkey-net at Johns. Looking like every bit the impresario. This was his show after all. He'd briefed this pair of morons on what he wanted. A smug smirk met Ka-Lan’s glare. A guy looking triumphant. And seen through his eyes … how much better could it get? Ka-Lan felt a rush of panic. They’d used the word prisoner about him. But he’d never thought that meant getting tied up. Johns had to gloating. He had his unruly prisoner .. guilty of a heinous crime, extreme disorderly behaviour .. Johns had his prisoner helplessly tied up. Trapped on this net. There’d been no escaping before … but roped in place ….? Suddenly things had shifted up a gear …. Fully on display, up in the air. Every cadet had the best view. No one was going to miss a single strike. His every grimace was on display.And so was that fucking hard-on. And what-the-fuck help was that going to be? What was the point of a manly show of defiance when you were tied up and helpless? When Johns looked up at Ka-Lan, what did he see? He saw his prisoner FUCKED. Well and truly fucked.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Vulnerable1968510414000The RAT captain had come up close. Ka-Lan noticed his groin and Ka-Lan’s out-of-control protuberance was just below Johns at shoulder height. Suddenly the enormity of this position thudded into his heart. Blood raced through Ka-Lan’s veins. His arse was at shoulder height. Just right for vicious swinging swipes with the strap. All the shoulder weight, giving him all their swing. The full momentum of a twisting body, the thick leather strap whistling in its slipstream. Swung at shoulder height, devastatingly centred on his arse. And those arseholes had just tied their victim inescapably to the net. Ideal height. And no getting away.Ka-Lan yanked and pulled on the ropes around his wrists. But all he got was a leering smirk from the two Seniors either side. Panic pumped through Ka-Lan. This was getting serious. Things had already got out of control. Now roped to the net .. it felt like it had just got much worse. What did they have in mind if they had to rope him down? And blood had pumped his fears down into his groin. Shit! Tied up, no escape. Even if there was anywhere to run …... Ka-Lan saw himself through Johns’ eyes. How vulnerable he looked. And his body had known it before his head. His body had started to react. Shit! No stopping it now. He was nearly at full mast. Fuck, he had that to contend with, too.“My Fox. Change over to the cane.”Ka-Lan glared back. It was starting again, then? His last thirty-plus strikes. Twenty-five so far. On his backside, his back. Thirty-five too go. And it was bound to be worse than the first half. His flesh was already zinging with the pain. They’d be laying their vicious damage on muscle already pinging with pain. They were kicking off again. His heart gave a lurch. Despite himself, his throat swallowed down the bitter truth. Truth be told, this situation did have him scared. This monkey-net thing .. tied to the net .. up in the air … nowhere to hide a wince, a grimace …. Totally exposed. Up here, on full view, … not gonna be able to hide the pain. Like this, it felt so much more vulnerable.But then … that prick Johns had planned it this way, hadn’t he? Where did he get these ideas from? The fucker was sick! Ka-Lan had no idea if he was going to cope. He was determined-as-fuck to carry himself off well. But being honest with himself, he didn't know how. He was on new ground. And sure as fuck, Johns wasn't. That arsehole knew what was going on. Why the change? Using the cane instead of the strap ….. that was no coincidence. Why was Johns making the change? Why was he announcing it openly? Was he making sure Ka-Lan knew the change? Why? Ka-Lan’s pulse had picked up. He was struggling to work out the point behind that change. Did a cane hurt more? Sting, bite .. instead of burn. Would it be turn out to be harder to fend off the pain from that kind of strike? Would a cane get him howling sooner? He didn’t know. But he’d bet his life on it, Johns knew. That fucker Johns had a clear idea of what he was doing. He’d thought every move of this through. Knowing Johns … he'd be going for the max. And why-the-fuck had Johns made no show of Ka-Lan’s boner? He’d seen it, it had almost poked the prick in the eye. He’d made such a show of it when that had happened before. But .. this time …? No reaction. Which only made to heighten Ka-Lan’s own nervousness. He knew he shouldn’t be letting it. But that prick Johns WAS getting through to him. He was losing his cool. Ka-Lan couldn’t let that be. But this was all so uncertain. THAT was what was throwing him.The three muscle-goons might be doing the damage. The gym was buzzing quietly with wide-eyed curious cadets .. they’d turn on him at the first chance. But there was only one sucker counted here. Ka-Lan glared down at Johns. Johns was looking up and smirking. Not even giving him a bollocking for the boner. Not even looking at it with his disdain. Not taunting Ka-Lan with loss of control. Not like Johns. Not like Johns to miss an opportunity.That was unsettling in itself. This prick was up to something. Just what? Unnerving. That smirk didn't touch Johns’ eyes. Icy-cold. Johns was ignoring the hard-on, Ka-Lan knew he shouldn’t let the sucker get to him. But with all this uncertainty going on ….. He watched curious, nervous, as Johns turned his head to the hall full of questioning cadets. Looking imperious, the man of the moment. He had them intrigued.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Ill-discipline014732000Ka-Lan glared back down at Johns from his position up on the net. Fury pounded in his chest. His nervousness thudded in his ear. It was all too uncertain, he didn’t know what to think. He was a guy used to being in charge of his emotions. He was fighting to get control over himself but he was struggling. He’d been pushed beyond the limits since getting here. Obvious to him that Johns had made a beeline for him .. no idea why.He’d been pushed over the edge, nothing he had done to attract that attention. He’d been stupid, maybe. He’d reacted badly .. in their eyes. Earlier knocking Johns down to the ground like that! Man, it had felt good. Seeing him fly to the ground, pounding him into the floor with the force of his own body. It had felt like his old self again. Ka-Lan had the strength, the bulk, he’d knocked puny Johns over like a feather. The satisfaction of holding him up throttling the scrawny prick. That had felt good. But look where had it got him. He’d lost control. He’d given in to his temper. And here he was. On this monkey-net for a maximum dose. As if Johns had been reading where Ka-Lan’s thoughts had been heading, Johns turned to the cadets.“Ill-discipline is punished. Insurrection will be stamped out.”Ka-Lan thought to himself, When had he fomented insurrection? Did standing up for himself count as that?“This RATSHIT has been guilty of unprecedented foul behaviour. You’ve seen it for yourselves.So standing up for yourself .. standing up to jumped-up bullies … that was unprecedented? What did that say for that mob of feeble cadets out there?“He has sought to evade his punishment. You have seen for yourselves, this scumbag is totally out of control. Behaviour that cannot be countenanced.”Johns drew his shoulders back. A flawless figure of military discipline.“You have seen the arrogant way he has taken his punishment so far.”Was he referring to Ka-Lan’s defiant hard-on?“Any sign of contrition? Any remorse?”Ka-Lan had to admit that was true. Why SHOULD he feel sorry? Except for earning himself 60 lashes. Johns glanced back him. Ka-Lan saw himself through that snakelike bottomless gaze. He saw Ka-Lan up on the ladder, his dick poking through. Helplessly trapped, tied in place. Johns felt himself in charge. No escaping his punishment this time. Tied in place because it was going to get much worse.“Gentlemen. Three Seniors. Seven strikes each. In sequence.”Johns again glanced up at Ka-Lan. Then his cold eyes instructed his henchmen.“Hold nothing back, gentlemen.”Johns drew the sports-thugs attention to the eagerness of the cadets. Under the cheers and encouraging shouts, Johns confirmed the truth.“They want to hear him scream.”A shout broke out from behind Johns.“Give the fucker what he deserves.”The lone voice in the gym got cheers from the sweaty mass. The gym rang with encouragement at their sports champs. Johns indicated with his head towards the jeers. Under cover of the din, he mouthed to his three Seniors.“Lay it on hard.”Johns looked up at Ka-Lan. Now Ka-Lan did feel his gaze whiplash across his boner. He saw those frozen features curl into disdain at the sight. Then Johns moved to stand slightly to one side. So that no one in the gym was blocked from seeing the impact of each-and-every stroke. Steeling himself, Ka-Lan glared back into Johns’ evil look. Chin up in defiance. Chest out. Setting his will to stand up to bullies.“Mr Fox. On my command.”? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? EnvyCameron McElroyPrice of beauty1708159969500Janus advised Johns, Keep his prisoner on his toes. Catch him unawares. Do the unexpected. Unsettle his routine. Janus too had ambushed that Irish slave, his greatest challenge, his greatest enigma. An object of fascination. Akin to the way RATSHIT had drawn Johns in.Stuck with his arms above his head, hands tight bound to a bar, Irish had seen he wasn’t going to break free. He’d have to take his punishment. Predictably his macho self-belief had then cursed back at Janus. But not in anger. Mocking him, laughing him in the face. He couldn’t escape this punishment. There was no breaking free of this beating. But this was not going to break his will. That vain message was what his mockery had bawled out in his barbarian tongue.He was playing to his audience. The brute could not communicate with words. But he could with his actions. The other slaves looking on …. they could understand every gesture he made. Janus had seen one prod his neighbour in the side, he’d nodded .. admiring the Irish barbarian’s fortitude. Not intimidated.What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, smirked Janus. He ordered his men to haul on the ropes. Jerking the barbarian off his feet. Two of them to each rope, hauling them through the rings at the top of the uprights, slowly, grunting with effort, they had Irish dangling in the air. A foot off the ground.His face first betrayed some shock. He’d shot a look up at the rope snaking through the rings. He’d looked down at his feet hauled up off the gritty earth. Then he hung there, swaying slightly. As two fresh men grabbed the horse straps and positioned themselves, his Irish gaze then settled on me. He’d challenged me, he’d invited this. Put up or shut up, brute! Now he was going to have to put up the fight.Keeping him dangling, as-good-as crucifying the obstinate brute. He had been gathering support. His defiance was being noted by the other slaves. Janus deemed the punishment would need to be long and hard. He had no intention of cutting this short. The others had to learn .. this was not an example to follow. Having Irish brutally lashed as he hung suspended in the air could end matters too fast. Lashed dangling in the air risked dislocating joints. Crucified he could suffocate. The guards were out to put him in his place, too much savage thrashing risked stopping his heart.Before he ordered the lashing to restart, Janus had a pair of guards roll rocks beneath his barbarian feet. If he spread his legs, he could stand on them, they could take his weight. Was he concerned? Was he cautious? Knowing what he risked opening himself up like that. He’d been on the receiving end of these vengeful guards. It would take nothing for a thwack up between the legs. His thoughts did not concern Janus too much. He neither wondered nor cared. He did note that the brute did take up the offer. He doubted he could take a savage thrashing suspended in the air. Janus noted his realism. He noted that down as a point in his own favour, he got the brute to recognise a weakness. He accepted Janus’ conciliatory offer. Not that a set of stinging swipes to the back of his legs wouldn’t send him flying off the rocks. Or that Janus could easily have the boulders rolled back away again ….. But that was for Janus to decide, it was not something some stinking Irish brute had any say in.His face stiffened under the pain of the first strap. Every sinew in his face .. yes, it was an eye-catching face, rugged, manly .. worthy of a place on any temple facade .. every sinew, every tendon went tight with shock. Pain illuminated that face like carved by a god. Every flicker of pain creasing his face was caught in a battle for him not to cry out. Denying Janus his offering of pain. Refusing him that sacrifice. Long-term a futile fight, though. His struggle to hang on to his dignity only added to the beauty of his torments. His body twisted under a sting from the strap. A hip rotated sidewards, his shoulders crunched together. Muscles rippled, a tortured beauty swelled like the waves of the sea. Janus told himself he would never have enough of this slave’s agony. His was beauty in movement, his was pain personified. For the statues to adorn the temple Janus was constructing this pain-twisted torso could become Janus’ muse. An eternal source of divine inspiration. Held in eternal torment and suffering, he was again opening to Janus an almost divine meaning of life. Revealed the eternal truth of beauty in suffering. There again, once more under the lash, the Irish was revealing that beauty in his suffering. The strap slashed into his back. A resounding slap of thick leather against burning flesh. The Irish turned to stone. Every bit of him carved in marble. The muscles etched, the sinews taut, solid in every corner of his flesh. For a delicious eternity, Janus stood in wonderment at this flesh-turned-stone. Mouth gaping wide, an effigy of a warrior caught mortally wounded in battle. Statue-like. Head back, neck strained, a stone-mason’s master-stroke. There was art in his torment. Pain swamped every sleek limb, expanded his pumped-up chest, inflated his muscular arms.Then the trembles, the quivering. Rigid pain transmuting into a liquid bubbling beneath the skin. The statue turned fluid, pain trembling through the flesh. The statue become human again, the miracle of life pulsating through his veins. Pain transforming him, twisting him, writhing and squirming. Sweet music resonated in the grunt torn from his muscle-hard chest, the pained hiss in his mouth, the tortured groan constricted in his throat. Pain made him beautiful. Pain gave him meaning. He was born to pain. Irish was born to suffer. Magnificently.There was a price to pay. Tor suffer so beautifully. Janus watched in awe. This magnificent beast was putting Janus in touch again with the celestial. The Irish in torment was again awakening those ethereal sensations. Rising in his blood, rising in his groin. Janus was again welcomed into the presence of something eternal. Preternatural. In having the beast thrashed, Janus was doing great work, he was enhancing life. Creating new artistic inspirations out of human torment. Like a phoenix arising from the ashes of his agonies, the Irish was transformed into suffering-made-eternal. A sensation that was almost divine. And there were infinite variations. Infinite torments. Janus knew he had to offer them all. The Irish deserved to know them all? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Resentment-95885889000He was just the sort that Laura had gone for. His winning smile had no trouble in grabbing her attention, he had her swooning over him. She never resisted HIS hand up her skirt. With that boy-next-door face, a smile full of dentist’s tricks. Strutting his muscles at every chance. Tight shorts to show off his bulge, sleeveless shirts, that kind of thing. Girls such as Laura .. she only went for studs like him. Johns had fancied Laura .. in a big way. He'd lusted after her but he'd never have shown her that. Johns was too much of a gentleman. He respected her. He’d not approach Laura that way. The RAT, though … he would. He'd have no scruples in that way. Guys like him .. he reckoned he was put on this earth to lust after girls. He excelled at everything physical .. and not just sports. Think of it as a kind of duty, his posture on the beach in his board shorts declared. He owed it to his image of himself. Laura was supposed to see he could hardly keep it in his pants. She was supposed to see the reaction she had on him. And boy, did she go for his tricks! College jocks, college dicks, surfer dudes. Shredded abs, nothing between the ears. All flexing, all bulging, muscle and dick. She’d said it straight out to Johns. Go with him to the prom? Over her dead body. Wouldn’t be seen dead with a puny wimp like him. What would people say? Laura had her type, muscled, bit-of-rough. She too had the pick of the bunch. The RAT got first look in. They made a right pair!Johns had been so humiliated. He’d had to take that fat girl from Laura’s class. She’d been an easy lay. Desperate. But why should he care what he was fucking, in the dark? He couldn't get the fat bitch out of the gym fast enough, round the back up against the wall. After the way Laura had looked at him across the dance floor. A look of pity …. Loathing. That was all Johns could get. And he’d thought she might go with him! Johns with that hefty Joanne bouncing her fat tits in his face, Laura’s sneer resting on the overblown chest of a college footballer. He’d been the spitting image of the RAT. Johns had got that fat bitch outside, fumbled his way with loathing through the layers of body-fat. Fuck, how he given it to her! That image burning him up …. Laura and her RAT smirking at him .. mortified by that sneer as Johns stuck it to the desperate bitch.The humiliation. Johns still felt his anger burning into his being like a brand. That had been years ago. But it still pained. Later that evening, Johns had come across them outside. The footballer seemed to be washing her feet with his tongue, from the inside, so deep down her throat. Johns had burned with resentment. An anger that swamped his confidence. A searing sense of manly inadequacy. All he wanted was for Laura to like him. And she'd made it clear. She'd not be seen dead with a puny wimp like Johns. Look at the magnificent stallion she rode.Johns had told himself he didn’t care. He was made of better stuff. Not just some over-muscled college jock. Just like this RAT. All brawn, all good teeth, popping biceps. Shredded abs getting him the pick of the girls. Johns told himself he'd didn't give a fuck, he was destined for better things.But shit, how that rejection had eaten away at him. It still could. It still did. How he could still burn with searing humiliation when the memory of that shaming ambushed him. Every ounce of his will swore … He'd get his own back. That evening there’d been a raging in his head so loud he could barely think. He went off in search of revenge. Not against Laura. He'd never turn on her. And he’d only make a fool of himself if he took her stallion on. Johns wasn’t stupid. That RAT could floor him. Johns would only make an arse of himself.But that sense of helplessness had only made things worse. How he’d fucked that wobble-arse Joanne that night. Merciless. Got her round the back of the gym and fucked her so hard she cried. Her back against the wall, he’d let rip. Pumped and pounded at her till she begged him to stop. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not till he’d burned the image of that sneering RAT from his mind. Joanne warned him she’d never go with him again. But she did of course. She was desperate. She was grateful for anything she could get. And that only made Johns’ resentment worse. All she could get was Johns.Johns scowled up at the RAT on the net. College jocks understood only one thing. So full of themselves they needed taking down a peg. Disciplining. Even the three morons Johns had recruited to do his dirty work …. they had struggled to control themselves. Playing to their audience. They were full of themselves too. They’d threatened to turn this earnest disciplining into a sideshow. Preening, showing off. Souring this act of revenge on muscle-studs. These three were made from the same mould too. Good for only one thing. But these three danced to Johns’ tune. Johns had this ceremony of revenge totally under his control. “At my command.”Johns had spotted the punk the moment he'd arrived. The RAT’s appearance had been magnetic. Johns had recognised the type. All that agonising resentment against Laura's prom-stud had burst to life in Johns' gut. An instant conflagration of resentment. But here, in this School … it was a bitterness he could now do something about. And the RAT had proved Johns right. At every step. Muscle-studs understood only one thing .. strength, power. And Johns was the man to show them. All of Laura's college jocks and the likes of them. Over-muscled boner-heads that had condemned Johns to searing humiliation. Fucking fat cows like that Joanne. Best he could get. Those boner-heads sneering at Johns …… best a wimp like Johns would ever get. Only the ones who were so desperate, fat cows who were grateful for whatever they could get. Who'd do it even do it with a puny wimp like Johns. Because a scrawny under-sized arsehole like Johns couldn't get his hands on anything better.That thought made him seethe. He'd spotted the RATSHIT when he’d arrived. In a flash Johns had seen red. Here was Laura's jock whose every breath was a lash of humiliation across John's back. Muscle-dicks just like this RAT. Laura’s humiliations had made him feel inadequate. So inadequate.But Johns wasn’t inadequate. He was man-of-the-moment. He was all-powerful. Johns’ eyes homed in on the RAT’S dick. Would you believe it! He was getting off on this! He snorted to himself. Yes! Stuck up on the monkey-net. In full view of the whole School. It was getting visibly thicker. RAT-face here was getting a hard-on. How did he fucking dare! No! Johns took another long look. NO, he thought to himself .. this was not some symbol of male bravado. What was sticking through that net wasn’t a defiant poke in Johns’ eye. It was nerves. He was shitting himself, shit-scared. Johns had Laura’s RAT shit-scared.Johns blatantly stared at the dick. Examining it, understanding it. This was the boner-head’s nerves betraying him. Fears pumping through the RATSHIT's blood. Johns had her stud shit-scared! He had calculated what he was up against. He was up against a vengeful Johns. And up against those strikes. Sixty strikes. Even Laura's jocks could count up to sixty. Johns had this arsehole worried. Nerves were pumping fear through his veins. His muscle-stud blood had computed what his few brain cells could not. Sixty strikes. Sixty of the best. From the School’s best. That was what was pumping him up. The punk was getting hard. Out of fright. Johns had this muscle-stud running scared. That wasn't a symbol of defiance. It was a sign that Johns had got Laura's muscle-bound hunk shit-scared.Frightened of Johns’ power. So frightened of what Johns had got in mind for him he couldn’t keep it down. Stuck up on the net .. tied to it .. Johns liked that little touch …. And for all his bravado and macho posturing, Johns had Laura’s muscle-boner pissing himself with fear.Behind his cold exterior, Johns smirked with evil satisfaction. Laura’s stud couldn’t keep it down. Couldn’t keep it to himself. These jocks were all the same. And soon the rest of the School would see what he was worth. This posturing was all veneer. That bloated dick told it so. He couldn’t keep his dick down. The sort of jock who had it easy with the girls .. who always got lucky .. who got to spread it around. Nice and easy. But tonight Johns would help him with his problem. Johns would help him keep it down. Johns would soon have that dick shrivelled to nothing. They’d all see it. The muscle-bound college jock, strutting his stuff, showing them what he’d got. Sticking it through that net. And when Johns had finished with him … he’d shamefully be reduced to an incy-wincey pinkey. Johns was going to shrivel this muscled-boner-head to nothing. Shrivelled by pain. Johns’ pain, slashed into his bare arse. Another thirty-plus times. And who was counting?? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Conceit27432017208500How dare he make Johns feel so inadequate? By what right? All that sweat and zinging testosterone. This cocksucking RAT had her, Laura wouldn’t have had it otherwise. She was gagging for the punk. Afterwards in her dad’s car, on the backseat. Laura was hot, Johns had always sensed it .. though she’d never have let him find out. She had the RAT’s shirt off in an instant. He wouldn’t fight, who would with a girl like Laura? And she was up for it like crazy, he needn’t do anything. Johns felt ashamed for her, she was his on a plate. Johns wouldn’t have belittled her like that. The RAT took it for granted, his due. He’d take Johns’ Laura for granted. His eyes wouldn't even wonder at the glory of Laura's firm tits in his face. The hardness of her nipple offered to his lips. There were his due. What Johns would have given just to look and admire!Had Johns put Laura on a pedestal? He’d have worshipped her. But she had no time for gentlemanly behaviour like Johns’. She wanted it muscled. She craved it rough. That RAT! Befouling Laura’s proffered hard nubs. Laura was throwing herself at him. What was a guy to do, the RAT had thought! A stud could hardly say no! Nipping at them with his lips. Accepting his due as Laura made all the running, her fingers quivering with excitement as her hands slipped inside his zipper. The stinking RAT lay back against the back of the seat and indulged himself .. letting her hand worship him inside. In his mind's eye, Johns had stared through the car window .. with a mixture of seething and crippling despair. What he would have given to change places. Johns wouldn't have treated her with such jock-disdain. He would have revered her, not believing his luck, not knowing he was born. And this conceited RAT just took it for granted. Johns' goddess was working the stinking RAT over, SHE was worshipping HIM. FUCK THAT! The prick never deserved that.In his privacy Johns had seen her at the RAT numerous times. She went down on him first. Johns knew she always would. He’d played that horror over in his mind a hundred times. She always went down on him, she couldn’t stop herself, she had to worship the boner-stud. She swallowed him till the RAT could hardly catch his breath. Head back against the headrest, his eyes open in amazement looking at the car roof. Not even looking at her. Selfish to the core, these jocks. Mouth gaping like a fish out of water, barely able to breathe, taking slow deep gasps. This was his due, girls like Laura worshipped at his feet. Sucked on his dick. He was put on this earth to accept her adoration. Laura would be expert, Johns knew that. But she was wasted on this punk. Through the steamed-up windows, Johns agonised with despair. Laura played with the RAT, sucked him down to the root. He wasn’t even responding, stroking her hair, He had his hands clutched into fists behind his head, bodybuilder-pose, sucking it all up. Feeling a surge in his balls like the roar of the highest surf. The motherfucker was getting a blowjob like he’d never known. Like he’d never know again. And the prick couldn’t even be bothered to appreciate the value of what he'd got. Laura could give head. Johns was convinced, she’d win the gold medal. State champion in giving head. She could blow your brains. Johns knew that. HE'D have appreciated it. He'd have worshipped her for it.Almost lethargically the RAT turned her over to do his bit in return. After all, he'd got what a stud like him was due, hadn't he? He’d return the favour. But there was still plenty to be had from sticking it to her. Still plenty in it for him. Johns world give his right arm to swap places. John watched them through the car windows. Laura was giving the RAT everything Johns could ever wish for. The excitement from Laura still raging in his groin, the foul RAT had turned her and he had taken Laura from the back over the backseat. He stuck his dick in her, he drive himself in again and again till he thought he was in heaven. Did the punk ever once wonder what Laura's was getting out of it? Muscle-jocks like him, it was all about self.He'd make Laura work for it, grateful for what she could get. Johns felt her squeeze so tight on him pulling inside till she’d sucked him all the way in. The foul punk didn't have to work for it, he was letting Laura do all the work, the ungracious arsehole! Again and again she’d come back for more. From him she’d take it any way she could persuade that motherfucker to shift. Groaning, moaning, her head rolling in ecstasy. Ecstasy she had to work for self.It was years since that prom .. and Johns still seethed. She'd given her all to the stud. And he'd taken it like it was what she owed him for him going with her. He was worshipped every minute, every hot moment, for every drop of sweat Laura adored him. With her every touch on his sweaty skin, fingers clutching wildly at his muscled back. Her fingers digging into his perfectly pumped-up butt pulling him tighter inside. Unwilling ever to let him go. The RAT on top, his bare arse rocking, muscles pumping. Laura rolling hard against him, her teeth crazedly sinking into his muscled shoulder. Worshipping the RAT. Johns still seethed.Johns threw a harsh glare at the RAT on the ropes. Yes, just the sort she’d go for. Massive shoulders, Laura’s perfect male animal. Strutting his stuff, as if sweat and muscles were all that mattered. His gaze dropped to that affront sticking through the net. Johns felt a surge of vengeful heat rush up from his legs. The sight of that pumped up chest, tapering waist, those bulging rows of muscle in his gut … the RAT brought Johns’ humiliation back to him. That over-bloated dick sticking through the net. A slap in the face. Johns would make him regret bringing that on parade. Laura could barely keep her hands off him. Johns glowered back at the bastard. His fists tightened. His eyes narrowed to slits. This cocksucker of a stud had offered Johns the excuse on a plate. Like Laura had offered herself. This dumb bastard had knocked him over. This college-jock had humiliated him. The RAT had breached army discipline. And he’d taken Laura. He’d pay.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Payback349258699500She deserved better, that prick was not worthy of Johns’ Laura. He was sickened when Johns caught them again later, the car parked in the woods, peering through the windows steamed up, the sounds of the RAT’s grunting as he gave it to her. Johns wanted to scream. Her tongue wild with infatuation for the muscle-prick, licking the sweat-off his slickened chest, her heart racing. His foul hands everywhere. Over those divine pert breasts, digging obscenely up her hot fanny. She put up with him, she let him mistreat her again and again. Why! WHY! It was like he’d hypnotised her, poor silly thing. She was just lapping up his uncaring treatment. Like she was that desperate undeserving cow Joanne. She kept going at the RAT as if she was undeserving. Peering through the window, it was sickening. He’d beguiled her, that cocksucking RAT, this dickhead had bewitched her. Tricking her into thinking SHE was the lucky one. Johns seethed. She was wasting herself, Laura could do so much better. She deserved so much better than some stinking over-muscled RAT. John would get him back for mistreating his LauraShe was swallowing him down whole. Lathering the end of his overworked dick, fiery-red with her lust for him. She had worked him over in her bewitched lusts, with her hot mouth .. all her lips going at him with abandon, top and bottom. What power this stud had over her. Johns shuddered with anger and despair as she wasted herself. Clutching his hands together in anger as she took the muscle-cretin deep down her throat. His back was arched, arse was lifted by muscle-bound thighs. Still the foul motherfucker kept taking his due. He worked his muscles, arse off the seat, humped his dick into her mouth, slid down the back of her throat. Johns felt sick. Sweat streamed off the brute’s hair, guttural groans of animal-lust cut through every thrust. Through the window, Johns watched Laura’s head bobbing wildly on his pounding dick, her fingers wildly clutching at his bare muscled waist, nails digging passion-deep into flesh. Till he erupted. Till he bellowed obscene like a bull. Till the bastard befouled Laura’s mouth with an animal roar.Johns wanted to flee from their laughter in the car as their lips met, deep inside his mouth, her tongue slick with his spunk, sharing the bastard’s fluids in his mouth, sharing their sick fun. Disgusting. That the RAT thought so little of her to do that.Johns’ gaze lifted with icy vengeance at his RAT tied to the monkey-net. Poking his nerves-erect manhood though the net. Ah yes, the perfect jock, the kind Laura went for. But things for this motherfucker of a RAT weren’t turning out rosy. Far from it. The RAT knew his situation was fucking terrifying. That bloated obscenity was betraying him. He knew he’d have to pay for the humiliation he’d put Johns through. He stood there high on the rope ladder, raised to be seen by all. Trapped. Getting a hard-on with his fears. Displaying to all the others in the gym that Johns had him shit-scared. Scared of the power that Johns now wielded over him. The scrawny wimp.Yes, for the moment, he was managing to glower back at Johns. Bravado. Skin-deep. He was trying to make a good face of it. Yes, looking cocky for now, giving the impression that he was invincible. Thinking he was some Roman hero, indestructible in his peplum. A matchless warrior, peerless champion of the oppressed. But deep-down, Johns had the prick shit-scared, Because it was Johns who was cock-of-the-roost here. Not some over-muscled college-jock. This was Johns’ empire, his own world where order prevailed. In Janus’ world, Johns would have the bastard crucified. Arms wrapped back over the crossbar, scorched under the harsh sun, shoulders back-twisted with his pain, body stretched in agony. Choking to death on the cross, slowly, roasted naked in the sun. Janus would see him destroyed. Throw him to the lions, their claws ripping to shreds his brawny back, jaws ripping into those arrogant thighs, his screams piercing the sky. What good was all that preening muscle then?He’d have him face-off with his best gladiators, razor sharp swords cutting him to pieces, slashing at those bulging shoulders, opening gashes across his heaving pecs. The crowd baying for his blood. The slave defeated on the ground, sword raised two-handed up over his guts. The mob screaming, giving him the thumbs down. Screeching at the gush of his blood.Yes, Musclehead was Laura’s type. This RAT was the sort most girls went for. Brawn not brains. Muscle-strength not power. They didn’t know what they were missing! How Johns would have treated Laura so differently, with due respect. Johns would make this pay. For the sniggers that fat Joanne was all Johns could get. For the bitterness that had eaten Johns up. Pay for it 60 times over, he would, Johns guaranteed it, sixty of the best. Johns had the bastard. Naked on the ladder. His wrists tied up with rope. Helpless, trapped. His. No getting away from it. No escape. Getting a fucking hard-on with fear. Here tonight, that jock would pay the price. The motherfucker of a RAT would pay for fucking with Johns’ Laura. For fucking with Johns’ pride. For this foul RAT’s disrespect.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? NettedHampus BotvidRope ladder17208517081500Ka-Lan stood on the rope ladder, two rungs up. Conscious he was visible to the whole of this gym packed with hostility. Conscious especially that every single eye was lasered in on his hard-on sticking out through the net. His emotions swung between embarrassment at this lack of self-control and seething aggression to stick it to the pricks.Under the icy glare from the RAT captain, the hall stood for once in silence. When those arseholes had been laying into Ka-Lan, the din had been ear-piercing. The shouts of encouragement wild. In-between there’d always been some sadist with a good idea what to do to the RAT.Now …. An oppressive blanket of anticipation pressed down on the cadets. Like the lull before a vicious storm. Before the heavens opened. Crackling with electricity, setting nerves on edge. Tension quivering in the air. Tension quivering on Ka-Lan’s skin.Were they just as intrigued by the positioning of the RAT up on the net? And why his hands had to be bound to it? Not a single one of them was missing that fact that the RAT was pushing a boner. Cadets nudged each other to show the neighbour, smirking. The neighbour nodded back, grinning. Yes, they could see it. But no one was shouting out. Johns had laid an oppressive layer of control over the rowdy proceedings. Even the more boisterous were stilled by the RAT Captain's glare. No one was sure how he was going to react to cheers of encouragement. With sneering disdain at this shocking loss of control? Or with blistering fury at disrespecting this punishment parade? All the cadets felt cowered. No one called out. They just stared at the RAT tied to the monkey-net. And watched him grow to full strength.Stood on two rungs of the net above the cadets, every eye was on him. Ka-Lan wondered at his varying reactions. Why he should feel embarrassed at displaying a full manly erection in front of this assembled mass, he did not know. They were all males after all, they knew what happened. Sometimes, it just could not be controlled.Years back, he’d jerked off with mates. Plenty of showing off, ribald laughter, good-natured put-downs. But since he’d been active … getting erect had been more personal. That bitch who’d turned on him and got him sentenced for rape … before she’d turned, fondling his strength had been an eager anticipation of what was to come. Something shared .. but only between two.A public parade of what had become intimate. Yes, he did feel embarrassed. More, he felt mortified. He had nothing to be ashamed of, he could match any one of them in this room. He hesitated to look down at himself, knowing it would draw attention, bring a few more leering smirks to the faces below. But he knew he was thrusting strong and powerful through the net, he could feel the strength. Not anything to be embarrassed about. An object of wonder, something to be proud of. He’d bet most of them were jealous, couldn’t compare. They would be jealous if they knew even a bit about its history. The things it had seen. The places it had been in its short active history. Shit, would they be jealous!It was the fact that a boner .. here, now .. was out of place. He'd taken twenty five does with that strap. His arse burned, his back stung. And he had another fucking-thirty five to manage. That was enough to concentrate on. He didn't need any distractions. But it wasn't going to go down by willing it. Might as well make most of the situation.He pulled himself up on the ropes, stood tall, pulled his stomach in. He had nothing to be ashamed of. They could look all they wanted. He’d seen it all before. He'd been in situations where other guys took sly envious looks at him. Just not today, if he could have avoided it, not like this. He felt his face flushed with his awkwardness, he fell ill at ease with being tied up against his will, waiting till that stupid scrawny prick got over enjoying Ka-Lan's embarrassment. He was growing that woody partly because Ka-Lan was bursting with stress and anxiety. It was his nerves pumping through his shaft. Knowing that, straight after Johns had had his bit of fun .. letting the School watch Ka-Lan's embarrassment grow to full proportions .. then it would kick off again. Ka-Lan still faced the rest of his punishment for knocking Johns down. And Fox would have another go at him for Ka-Lan showing him up. Johns had already called Fox forward .. waiting for Johns to call out his command to start. Of course, Ka-Lan was jittery. Especially with this wait. Another 35. And he was burning up already. He was as jittery as hell about how this would turn out.But that was it. That was just the point. It wasn’t his sexual prowess he was displaying. He wasn’t competing in some virility contest. It was his apprehension that was on parade, for all to see. His anxiety and tension at what was to come. They could all see it. They could hardly miss it. He was signalling his fears. And there he was, the scrawny motherfucker. There was Johns that Ka-Lan had to contend with, the slit-eyed bastard, glaring up at him, icy-cold. Waiting while the whole School watched Ka-Lan's nerves visibly growing on him. Ka-Lan could feel his eyes boring into him like lasers. He could feel an ice-cold touch on his balls when Johns’ stare dropped to his crotch, the sneer that painted his lips. Shit, no, he didn’t want to be sporting his hard-on visibly like this. He wanted it to die down. But circumstances weren't gonna let it. Tied up, unable to hit back, condemned to take whatever Johns was going to throw at him. Three vengeful sporting champs out to compete with each other for the best show. Fear of his arse not being able to take the rest .. of course, he was jumpy. Dreading the shame as he cried out. The shame that he might end up begging Johns to stop. His dick was provocatively standing at attention in Johns’ face. Fuck, if only he could control it. The provocation could only work Johns up. Ka-Lan wasn’t setting out to give the prick any ideas. Ka-Lan was in enough shit already, still another thirty-five to go. He wasn't about to prompt any more punishment ideas by poking his dick in Johns’ face. No trusting to this fucking sadist.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Sadist1968516764000Sadist. There, the word was out in his head. Sadist. Johns was a fucking-sadist. And fucking off his rocker. Was there a more worrying combination?Ka-Lan had fallen foul of the biggest fucking sadist. A shiver passed down Ka-Lan’s spine at the thought. A similar idea had gone through Ka-Lan’s before. But like this … mysteriously tied, stood up on the monkey-net .. the word took on more menacing proportions. You'd have to be fine pretty sick fucker to come up with this! Tying your victim to the net. Emphasising his helplessness. Spelling out the total sense of hopelessness. No way out. No escape. No reprieve. A fucker who could come up with something this warped was going to go all the way. And who was there out there to stop the arsehole? If things got out of control? This wasn't about punishment. This was about power. Control. Domination. That fucker Johns was sick!His eyes shot over at Johns. Ka-Lan looked at him in this new light. Johns' face now seemed empty, his eyes bottomless. Snake-like. As if his mind was somewhere else. And that sent a shiver through Ka-Lan’s raised arms. Ka-Lan gripped harder on the net. Cold, empty eyes, seeing only meat tied up on the net. No glaring blazing violent stare. Johns was burrowing down into Ka-Lan’s depths .. with ice-cold evil. Cold, calculating, sneering. Evil is born with eyes like that. Smug, sinister, in charge. Ka-Lan swallowed, he felt his heart rate begin to zing. Controls. What controls were there here? Who was in charge? Who was there here to stop this going too far? What had started off as a bit of light strapping of the new boys .. a warped rite-of-passage idiocy all new RATs were put through … it had finished up with Ka-Lan tied up, naked, his dick at full standing. In the hands of a power-mad sadist. And Ka-Lan was about to have the heart ripped out of his arse. And what else? What else could a warped mind like Johns’ come up with?That thought sent shivers down the spine. Knotted up the gut. Who would call a halt if Johns went too far? If Johns went stark-staring off his head? Who was there to stop Johns getting carried away? Ka-Lan had heard the screams. This gym shrieking for his pain. No one out there was going to intervene. They were getting hard-on’s on his suffering.Ka-Lan sensed the tension in the hall. He read this heavy expectant silence like the cadets were tiptoeing around Johns. These others knew what they were dealing with in Johns. No one would go up against him. He was top-dog here tonight. He was making the most of it. Johns had them cowed. Listen to the enormity of that obedient silence. This was their tribe. They herded by instinct. Johns was alpha male here and he’d ripped the throat out of any rival. It was this fucking sadist in charge.Ka-Lan began to fumble with his wrists. They suddenly felt like they'd tightened, they were digging in. Nothing had changed. Just his heightened state of nervousness. He wrestled with the cords digging into his skin. He shook on the rope-ladder in frustration. Teeth fletched, knotted arms, bulging shoulders, chest fighting with those thin bits of cords. But useless, there was no going anywhere. All he was doing was confirming to himself his hopelessness. He was trapped on this ladder, two rungs up in the air, visible to all. With no way out. And opposite, staring at his futile struggling, Johns, a world-class psychopath under the skin. And you didn’t have to scratch the surface deep. In an instant, frustrated by his futile struggles, Ka-Lan found himself blazing with anger. He was letting this get to him. Stupid! He was letting that fucker Johns dominate him. Out of the question! He was almost at the point of willing the fuckers to get on with, he wanted this over with. No. That was letting these arseholes lead him around by the dick. Ka-Lan was letting his anxieties run himself down. His head had to channel that anger. He had to use it to build up his resolve. To strengthen his spirits. Fighting them back.Fuck ‘em! Ka-Lan fought back. He got a grip. This was going to be hard enough without Ka-Lan becoming his own worst enemy. Psychologically he had to stay strong. As muscular as his shredded abs. He breathed deep and slow, he battled down his heart rate. His hard-packed chest scratched against the rope, his stomach pounding reviving air into his torso .. bringing himself back under his control. Deny Johns. Putting himself back in charge.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Fighter028194000Getting a grip on a fight situation meant understanding the enemy. Seeing things through their eyes. As these red-faced cadets saw it .. silenced for now .. ogling his boner .. from their point of view, Ka-Lan had gone too far. Going for Johns, showing up their hero Fox … the RATSHIT was out of control. Words like "heinous crime", "unbecoming behaviour" were being bandied around. If he had to, Ka-Lan could rationalise, see it as they saw it. In this world of warped values that they inhabited .. he was irrevocably guilty. Guilty of "unprecedented conduct. Granted, this whole stinking world of theirs was unjust, twisted, upside-down. But they’d lost sight of that, the perversions of this regime had become their norm. In the real world, what they were doing to HIM was a crime. Just as great. What had he done to provoke this attack? He'd gone for Johns. But only after being pushed beyond any reasonable limits. What had Ka-Lan done for Johns to pick on him in the first place? Nothing. He’d just arrived here and there was Johns on his back. He'd set Ka-Lan up from the first moment. He’d engineered it so Ka-Lan was late for parade. Dirty, sweaty, inappropriately dressed. Because Johns had knowingly sent him away on a hard-labour job. And when-the-hell was Ka-Lan supposed to know about any parade? And it had just gone downhill from there. And every step downwards, Johns had contrived Ka-Lan’s misbehaviour. He’d provoked. He’d goaded Ka-Lan into making mistakes. What was the betting, though, Johns had not expected Ka-Lan to have him dangling in the air, with Ka-Lan’s hands throttling the prick? Looking back .. that had felt good. Looking back, Johns had provoked Ka-Lan into these sixty-fucking strikes on his bare arse. And deftly woven Ka-Lan into this trap.Whatever ... in this perverted world to which he had been sentenced .. in their twisted world of warped values, they lived by other laws. He’d grossly offended against those rules. “Breached military code” .. no doubt that was the kind of reasoning these warped bastards used to justify these crimes against him. In their eyes, he had to get what was coming to him. No need for a trial, a tribunal wasn’t necessary .. they'd witnessed his crimes themselves. Had Ka-Lan been a gullible prick? He’d walked straight into Johns’ trap. In these cadets’ perverted worldview, he had gone too far. Shit, they’d dished out pain like he’d never imagined. Leaving him endless hours in that sweatbox …. the agony pressing on his nuts. All justified, The RAT needed to know self-control. The water torture they'd put him through under the showers. These 25 lashes. It was all unreal. They were torturing him. Collectively. Did anything here make sense?But this was their world. And this was HIS world too now. Five years he was sentenced to here. Ka-Lan told himself he’d better catch on. Fast. For tonight, he’d have to take his punishment. Get it over and done with .. best he could. He’d been stupid, maybe, to go for Johns. But how could he not have retaliated?OK, he’d take what was coming. What choice did he have? Johns had had him tied in position. No matter how much it hurt .. and Ka-Lan had no illusions about that. He could see that written in those cold empty eyes of Johns. It WOULD hurt. He’d felt the strap already. And whatever being tied to the net was supposed to foretell .. it WAS going to get worse. Preventing him from escaping by tying him to the net seemed to guarantee that. He already hurt like crazy .. even just stood still like this, his whiplashed back stung like crazy, it ran with sweat. Only 25 so far, many more to go.Those bottomless emotionless eyes from Johns promised he'd make it worse. Much worse. But what was the point in Ka-Lan making things even worse for himself? He was stuck here. Going to have to survive here. Sentenced to five years.He could promise himself, there’d be other days. He’d get his own back. Get through tonight .. and get them when they were not expecting it. And he would. Ka-Lan had never given in easily. He was a fighter by nature, he reminded himself. At that rebellious thought, Ka-Lan felt his spirits lift. Yes, he fucking-would. He’d get these arseholes back. He'd promise himself that. He’d get that Fox, just the two of them together on the wrestling mat … Was Fox really that good? As a youth still, in local matches, Ka-Lan had won against full-grown men. How much would it take to take the school champ down a peg? Batter that preening muscle and reputation mercilessly into the floor. And as for bully-boy Murray ……? Ka-Lan was a fighter, he didn’t believe in giving in. Ka-Lan would make Murray his own special target for sporting humiliation. Murray would be shamed in every challenge Ka-Lan threw at him. Get his own back ….? Yes .. That was the way to go. If it was the last thing Ka-Lan did in this place. Survive tonight, get through this tonight. Then surprise attacks, ambushed the pricks. What did they have left, these cocky sports champs … when they got taken down in every sport where they’d triumphed? Who was this School going to be cheering on then? That was the way to go. That was how to get his own back. That was the smart thing to do. That was how to fight-back.And as for Johns …..? Ka-Lan had to look away. The sight of Johns staring up at him just got him all worked up again. And the thoughts of the revenge Ka-Lan would exact had to be painted on his face. No point in letting the enemy in on his little plan. And the idea that this sadist gave himself the right … it got Ka-Lan’s back up. He’d get this prick. Ka-Lan didn’t go into the ring planning on losing. There’d be a way. He’d get Johns back. 100% guarantee.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Resolve17145017208500Back when his scalded hide was slithering over the wet tiles in that shower torture …. every time Fox's strap lashed at his red-sore arse. …. with each stinging hurt from Murray lashing out at his back …. something nasty took control of Ka-Lan’s brain. And each time it had Johns’ picture plastered all over it. His attitude had kept mouthing off back at Johns. And, in return, it was Johns who kept hitting him harder and harder. Johns had responded by doing more and more serious damage to Ka-Lan’s magnificent but pained, writhing body. It had become personal. Justifiably. But too much?. Didn’t Ka-Lan have to think smarter to get through today?. What was the point in provoking more? He had enough to contend with. Who was going to win that kind of battle? Johns. He had the resources, he had the power. This warped so-called School gave HIM the right. Ka-Lan was RATSHIT, he had nothing, he WAS nothing in their eyes. The rational part of his brain warned him. Back off! He had no one, not one single person on his side. Play smart. This was not the way. Defiantly standing up to Johns like he’d been doing …. it had just got him deeper-and-deeper into Johns’ shit. Where Ka-Lan hadn't got a fucking chance. Passive resistance would spare him a lot of pain. But somehow every time he threw Johns a look, every time Ka-Lan glared down at the sadistic monster from his perch on the net … his blood got up. The tension in his roped wrists tightened, his hackles went up at the idea getting himself trapped on the ropes … He couldn’t help himself. He just snapped, he was in danger of losing his composure. He fell off his hose and stupidly he simply climbed right back in the saddle. Offering Johns another chance. He’d throw Johns the chance to draw a little more blood. He’d invite that scrawny prick to bounce Ka-Lan off the walls a little harder. In the mental crisis in which his mind spun, Ka-Lan ran the risk of forgetting which part of his brain was the rational side and which controlled his emotions. But those two sides were fucking-well at war with each other. Ka-Lan was roped to the net, caught in a sadist’s cross-fire. With that sniper’s crosshairs zeroed straight on his fully-fledged dick. Which side of him stood the better chance?“Come on, Ka-Lan”. The rational side got his attention. “You’re 20. Excelled at every sport you've ever tried. Fit-as-fuck, a born leader. You can work this out. All you have to do is give him what he wants. For now. Give in to Johns. Take your punishment for now, stop fighting him.”Even the thinking part of him being rankled at that thought.“OK, you’ll have to live with a bit of shame. But YOU will know .. this seeming submission .. it’s whitewash. It’s a trick to get you through the day. Plenty of time to get even later. Everyone has something to hide, a few blemishes they’re ashamed of. Why are you any different? What makes you so self-righteous?”And then Ka-Lan glanced down. In the bottom part of his vision, he saw the end of his dick sticking through the net. He caught the smirk on a cadet’s face in the gym .. grinning at his humiliation. That did it! He flipped, he lost control. His eyes flashed in anger to Johns. Arms crossed over his puny chest, watching Ka-Lan’s every squirm of embarrassment. That was enough. Ka-Lan flared. Anger erupted. Blood boiled in his veins.”Who the fuck does he think he is! The scrawny shit!”The emotions-voice exploded in his head.“Look at what they’d made of you! WHERE you are.”The other, the defiant voice snarled. “These guys strapped your arse. Fox had you bent over .. bare arse to the cadets. Laughing at you."The rational part of him yelled back that it was wrong to let go. But Ka-Lan could feel the blood boiling."Gave it to you. On your back. That arsehole, Murray. Hard, mean, spiteful. What you gonna do about that cocksucker? Just gonna take it lying down? They mean to hurt you. They are out to get you. Not others, YOU. They picked on YOU.”Anger knotted up Ka-Lan’s gut.“They gave you the strap till you thought you would scream. They froze and scalded you in the showers. They're holding you up for humiliation. Taunting you till you snapped. You just gonna take it? Gonna turn the other cheek?"The taunting inner voice continued to taunt him. Ka-Lan knew he was winding himself up. But the fighter in him knew this side of him was right. He should be hitting out, fighting back. He couldn't help himself."THEIR fault. They made you deck the bastard. They got you so wound up, flooring that scrawny git … nothing else you could have done. Not and stay true to the real Ka-Lan.”Every searing emotion zinging through Ka-Lan was reflecting that truth.“They squeezed you into a corner. They got you where they wanted. They've got you on this net. Tied here. Up here for more. You. Only you. None of the others. No fucking reason. They pushed you. Pushed you to make you snap. Their every move got you here.”The sneering voice snorted into Ka-Lan’s ear.“You gonna let them? Let them get away with it? Mortifying you, your defiant manly hard-on on full display. And you want to let them get off?” Ka-Lan burned. His hands gripped tight at the rope ladder in anger. There was strength to be found in anger like this. Here was the resolve he'd need to get himself through those other 35 strikes on his arse. He was mad enough to spit. But he’d settle for revenge.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Mastery2349515875000Johns felt cold as an iceberg. A freezing irresistible force, he could sink a battleship. A. overwhelming sense of power filled his being. A cold calculating force that would not be thwarted. His eyes roved over the rebellious RAT. He kept on provoking Johns, kept up that glare, letting Johns .. and the rest of them .. know he would not be browbeaten. Johns would see about that. An icy loathing for all the RAT represented pulsed slowly, consumed Johns totally. The muscled power of that chest .. the kind that gullible girls like Laura had ached to get her hands on …. Johns would soon have that writhing in pain. The attraction of that handsome face .. soon to be twisted with the agony burning on his arse. That magnetism .. that great risk .. the muscled charisma that Johns felt too .. and feared its evil influence .. the sort of male charisma that drew naive fawning fans to him .. that soon was to be seen for what it was. All show. Muscle-and-air, empty. Soon Johns would have it crushed. The muscled bubble burst. Seen crushed.Johns’ gaze again scoured down the length of this helplessness .. from flaring shoulders down to protruding dick. Tied to the net and soon Johns would have the RAT’s features streaming with tears .. crying like a baby in front of the School. No super-hero. Pitiable. The all-of-him that Laura had had her hands all over -.. soon to be beaten into submission. Soon to be crying out in pain, begging for the agony to stop. Pleading for pity from Johns' mastery over his pain.It WOULD stop. The RAT's torment would end. When he, Johns, gave the order. When the RAT had denigrated himself enough. When this RATSHIT had debased himself before the whole School. Shown himself to be the sham that he was. No demi-god, no super-hero. Flesh and blood that burned and hurt. A RAT that had learned to bend the knee. On his knees pleading with Johns.He'd be kissing Johns' arse before Johns was finished with him. He'd be offering to suck his dick. His pain so immeasurably unbearable that the RAT would perform every debasing act to dodge the next sting of the strap on his naked arse. Laura, that is what counts. Power. Not bulging biceps. Not shredded abs. Power is what makes a guy a man.Johns cast a sneering glance over his Musclehead. Up on the net, naked for all to see. Bristling with anxiety, his shaft pumped up full with his nerves. He could put a brave face on it for now. But Johns could see below that sham. And he’d strip the fucker even further .. get down below the skin. Show any fawning cadet what this prick was made of.Fearful of what Johns was to unleash on his body, his fears protruding through the net. Johns breathed in deep, barely able to control his impatience to unleash his power. To dominate, to best this show of false defiance. Johns clenched his fist together in nerve-straining impatience. He knew he had the whole School on edge. Casting their eyes greedily over the “victim”. All looking to Johns, impatient. Just waiting for Johns to give the order “Begin!”And the RAT WOULD give in. That Johns swore that to himself. The RAT would give his All. This RAT would demonstrate the futility of insolence to the others. They’d all see where being cocky got you. No gullible cadet would be trailing in his wake. His pain this night would be so intense he’d always have second thoughts. Every time he forgot himself and reverted to type .. every time his natural insolence bubbled to the surface … would he want to repeat this? The fear of Johns would be implanted on his arse.And …. Johns sneered to himself …. Janus had offered Johns a novel idea. Every induction .. every time the newly-arrived RATs were introduced to the School .. he'd have the RAT back up on this net. Naked, an object-lesson for new RATs. An innovative Johns’ modification of the traditional induction. To the fresh RATs, Johns would re-narrate this RAT’s crimes. And the sixty strokes he’d earned himself. Stuck up on the net. A visual object-lesson, every induction day. Naked, on the net, the RAT would be held up for humiliation. He’d watch as the newbies paid their dues. Then the RAT himself would take the strap. Once a rebel, now no more … that was the story Johns would narrate. Telling this RATSHIT’s tale …. shaming him time and again. Standing clothed only in his disgrace, waiting to be strapped over the arse so others could learn from the error of his ways. Strapped till tears leapt to his eyes. Johns shook his head in admiration at the idea. Janus was ingenious. Yes, every time new RATS joined the School, yes, this RAT would step forward, that would be the deal. He would step forward and volunteer his arse up for punishment every time. Voluntarily. In penance for his behaviour, disgraced and shamed time-and-time again. Tears of pain and cries of repentance would flow from his eyes. Weeping in regret at his earlier insolence, weeping in gratitude that Johns had illuminated the path for him. His burning arse offered as proof that he'd reformed. His tears of pain expressing his thanks that the RAT Captain had shown him the path of discipline. The RAT’s heart leapt forward at the opportunity of being strapped naked on his arse .. eager that others should not follow him down the path of destruction. Willingly debased so others could learn from his mistakes. An ardent disciple of Johns’ reign of firm discipline.So Laura, who’s the strong man now? She’d thrown herself at him. She’d debased herself for his conceited muscle, she’d sacrificed herself to his uncaring vanity. He’d seduced her into dropping her pants in exchange for the chance to paw his strength. And where was that now? Laura had thrown Johns’ civility into his face. His gentlemanly ways rejected in favour of a muscle-brute’s groping. Look at him now, Laura. See what that’s worth! Who’s the man here? Who’s in charge? Who’s calling the shots?Johns gave that raging strength in his own pants a squeeze. That preening, over-confident muscle up on the net .. Johns would make it his lap-dog. It would be over-eager to serve Johns’ every need. Any humiliating task would not be enough. His shredded mannequin, that’s what Johns was going to make of all the muscular showing-off. Johns’ fag. And yes, the RAT WOULD beg to suck his dick.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Intimacy44451079500What a strange memory to flash through your mind at this time! Ka-Lan was astonished. Was he losing it .. having thoughts like that at this moment?Some trashy action-novel he’d read at the beach that summer. A war story, a Marine captured and tortured by the enemy. Tied between bamboo stakes in a hut, alone, just him and a malicious enemy who tortured him for days. Some theory of the writer about torturer and tortured getting closer than lovers … that was the odd notion that had flashed into Ka-Lan’s head as he stared down at Johns. “Anyone who’s ever been tortured for some time”, the author had said “will tell you it’s an intensely intimate experience”. What a fucking thing to remember at this time! Ka-Lan had never before had to encounter that idea. Closer than lovers! Like shit! thought Ka-Lan. With Johns. Nothing like!He could feel Johns eyes drilling into his body. Watching his every move, every muscled lift of his chest, every flex of angry hands on the rope. Piercing steel darts stabbing into him searching for Ka-Lan’s breaking points, mental and physical. His eyes like the hands of some of Ka-Lan’s girls, unable to stop themselves. Yet more so. But not seeking out pleasure. Why-the-fuck was Johns pawing him with his eyes? When-the-hell was he going to get on with it? Johns had already summoned the three muscle-thugs back. He’d ordered Fox to switch over from the strap to cane .. worryingly. Ka-Lan could only suppose at the reason. It was going to hurt more. Or differently. But what-the-hell was Johns waiting for? Eyeing Ka-Lan all over. Was Johns feeling it? That closeness. That intimacy between tortured and torturer?Like hell he was. Or it wasn’t the closeness Ka-Lan felt with a girl. By the look of him, Johns WAS getting off on looking him over. Ka-Lan reckoned he WAS feeding a hard-on. But not for any intimate closeness with his partner. Johns was sadistically fucking with Ka-Lan’s head by dragging it out. And Johns was torturing himself with this delay too. Dragging it out. Getting off on it. But in no pleasurable prick-tease from a giggling girl. Not a bit a prick-teasing fun like that. Not in that way. Johns was fuelling his sadistic urges. And torturing Ka-Lan’s nerves.Sexual, yes. But it was the sexual response of a sadist exercising domination over a victim he’d rendered helpless. Not togetherness, power. Power over a vulnerable victim getting Johns in the crotch. Just like Ka-Lan on this net. Ka-Lan could sense those eyes touching him, probing, searching for his vulnerable points. Places where Johns could hurt. Johns was not out to move from prick-tease to pleasure. Johns would launch straight into inflicting searing pain. Ka-Lan swallowed, he could feel a chill on his balls. Johns’ stare zeroed in on his crotch. He could feel the icy touch of an intense glare on his dick, stood powerfully up, at full strength. Ka-Lan licked his lips like they were dry. He did not like the way Johns’ eyes were riveted there. As if they had found a point of weakness. He wouldn’t dare! Surely he wouldn’t! Fuck the bastard!What would Ka-Lan do if Johns went down that direction? What could he do? Would anyone intervene? Who was there to stop Johns? The way the School out there had been screaming for Ka-Lan’s blood … could he count on any moderating voice from there? And Murray ….! Just give that arsehole the idea and there’d be no stopping him laying a cane into Ka-Lan’s boner.It was already bad enough that Ka-Lan was preoccupied in searching for ways to protect himself from the agonies of Johns’ thrashing. Did he need to worry about this taking another direction? Is that what that writer had meant … about intimacy? From the murderous look that had crept into Johns’ eyes, Ka-Lan had been assuming Johns just meant to beat the crap out of him. With his glare down there …. Ka-Lan gulped. Johns had been surprisingly silent about Ka-Lan throwing a boner, hadn’t he? Before when it had happened, Johns had screamed him out. Not here, not today. Did he have something else up his sleeve? Was that why Ka-Lan was tied to the net? No getting away .. no matter how sadistic this went. Fear cramping his guts, a chill shivering in his balls .. Ka-Lan swallowed hard. Was the sight of Ka-Lan’s boner giving that arsehole even worse ideas? Ka-Lan’s blood was running cold at the thought. Primeval almost, Ka-Lan was studying Johns’ every move, intensely. Scanning every twitch in his face, a change in the look in his eyes. Struggling to read his thoughts. A trapped animal, heart pumping, eager to spot any sign of a predator’s worsening ideas. Ka-Lan’s eyes scanned every gesture to prepare himself for the next move. In a strange kind of way, Ka-Lan felt himself studying Johns closer than any other man he had ever known. Perhaps the book was right. They were probing each other like lovers. Looking to understand the other’s mind, know the other’s body. One searching to avoid suffering .. the other to send Ka-Lan humming with pain.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Closeness5334013144500Janus’ eyes followed the trickles of blood dribbling over hot whipped flesh. Thinning as they mingled in his pained sweat. Losing the intensity of colour. Without realising he had moved, Janus found himself close up to the writhing slave. Drawn magnetically to his suffering. Against his own face Janus could feel the burning. The twitching and squirming as residual pain stirred through the Irish’s body. Fascinated Janus watched the trickles of his blood oozing down the grooves of his ribs. Trapped in his belly, hindered by the mounds of strength there. Janus could feel the heat off the skin radiate hot on his face. Like a woman fiery in her heat, radiating her essence, elemental. Janus felt the body go rigid at his touch. Without knowing, Janus had pressed his face into the heat of the whipped ribs, his tongue reached out and licked slowly at the dribbles of his hot blood. Like he was imbibing divine inspiration. The Irish’s life force, hot, sticky, the slave’s own blood. Savouring his lifeblood on Janus' tongue. Janus cherished this essence of creation on his palate, swirled it in his mouth like a strong wine. Heady, intoxicating, pungent with his Irish sweat. Earlier Janus had walked around his Irish to the back. Curious at how he was managing not to cry out, he had circled his raised victim. Had the whipmasters not tried hard enough? Janus was conscious every eye in this place was focussed on him. The attendant slaves, his own guards .. the man of the moment triumphing over this rebellious slave. From behind, Janus saw instantly the whipmasters had not spared themselves. As ordered, only in a few places had the skin been broken. The Irish was not to be weakened by bleeding, he’d said. He was to be crushed by the intensity of pain. Irish’s back burned in an fiery-red hue. From shoulder to backside, his back flared in blotched crimson, scarlet. The heat so intense the sheets of cooling sweat had no effect. And scored on top of the heat-scorched flesh, a hatching of vicious broad stripes. Criss-crossing over each other in a network of thick interlaced pain. Janus looked closely. In patches, darkening blemishes had formed. Painful blotches where lash upon lash had criss-crossed and centred. Agonising to the touch. A fresh source of pain had been squeezed out of his Irish rebelliousness every time his body spasmed under the lash. Lashes interwoven in a web of pain over his crimson back. YET … he had not cried out. How was he managing that? What secret powers did he possess? Janus felt a twinge at this challenge that this rebel’s obstinacy threw down, it erupted under his kilt. Irish was, indeed, manly perfection made sublime by the imperfection of the lash. Janus buried his face in the heat of the slave’s tortured front. He heard the barbarian curse above his head. Janus could sense the bewildered gaze looking down on his scalp, while his own lips relished the taste of tortured blood warm on his mouth. Janus paid no regard to the slave’s concern, here was a living work of art, the finest wine, the sweetest meat. Janus licked his tongue up the length of a whip cut. Savouring him, languidly lathing the tip of his tongue through the dripping wound, the heaviness of the slave’s blood mixed with the salt of his sweat. It was an aphrodisiac. A heady wine. It shot straight to his head. Tingled down his spine. It resonated in his crotch. Janus felt drunk with the beauty of the moment.Slowly Janus raised his head. Above him, looking down, he met eyes burning with rage. A look of fury greeted his upraised eyes. Such rage. Such power. What splendour in that fury. Janus just sneered back. What met his eyes in reality was a helpless fury , a futile rage. He was destined to suffer, this Irish, this body was fated to surrender to beauty. A beauty that only comes from suffering. In doing so, it created a new aestheticism, new life. Indeed, it illuminated the word beauty with the sacrifice of his energy. Beyond hope, helplessly bound, defencelessly suspended, the heat inflicted on this body by Janus’ pain was irrevocably eating away at his whipped body. This was Janus’ fortune, it was his destiny. He was pre-destined to release that inspired magnificence onto the world. His eyes may stab at Janus with anger but the slave was fated. Here was his destiny. New life whipped out of this old body. Janus had sensed it before. A latent beauty that awaited release through suffering. Janus had been drawn to it, almost hypnotised at first sight. The allure had been returning again and again to him in his private moments. Already the slave had faced blinding moments pain. He’d know much more as the beauty of his torment was torn out and sacrificed for the beautification of the world. He’d give up more suffering, yield more of his lifeblood. And a new creation would gush forth. Janus fed off that thought, quivered at the manly grandeur of that searing look. So helpless. He’d resist, he’d fight. The splendour of his soul locked in the straining muscles of his body, standing firm, withstanding the pain dragging his very spirit screaming through the splendour of his hard battling body. Yet slowly and surely, every bit of his essence would be torturously squeezed out of his quintessence. The Irish would illuminate the world with the beauty of his suffering. Played over in what would seem to him a lifetime of torment. This body was doomed to be left an empty shell. But the creations his agonies inspired would linger on.Janus pressed his face into the rockface of his stomach. Irish tried to squirm away with a curse. Janus trapped him, his hands on his pain-viscous back, pushing that torture muscle into his face. With that move, face pressed into the sweat and tortured heat, Janus breathed him in. He felt his own spirit open up, He absorbed the energy into himself. Sucked the doomed life-force into his own. From above, he sensed the vigour in that look of fury pointlessly targeted down onto his own shoulders. He opened up his soul and soaked in the Irish’s vitality. Janus felt blessed by the gods. He flushed as if infused with their divine breath. He’d fed on the energy of the Irish. He’d tasted his blood. He felt invincible. ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Round FourDan Khan? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Potency010414000Wrapping his hands around the slave’s waist, Janus blessed the beast for the gift of his strength and beauty. He pressed his palms flat against the slave’s sweat-slick back. The skin seemed to burn against his palms. The heat under the slave’s flesh was like meat roasting over the fire. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled with his flat palms the muscle-defined body forwards. He felt resistance in those muscles, he felt the reluctant weight of a hard body under his hands. Still he wasn’t giving up his strength easily. Janus pressed his Irish suffering into his own face. He rubbed his face into the heat of the solid stomach wall. There in that suffering Janus sensed the presence of the divine.Above him, foul barbarian curses rained on his shoulders. The Irish brute was trying to wriggle away. But Janus held him firm. He felt the sweat break out on his own face from the heat of whip-beaten flesh. Like the first cleansing flush from the steam in the baths. Ridding his being of toxins. His nose nuzzled against the rocks of the whipped stomach. His face luxuriated, rolling in the heat of hard-muscled whip-burnt flesh. Janus breathed in deep. He indulged in the heat, he wallowed in the suffering that was releasing the beauty from this foul beast. Like a gourmet he inhaled the intoxicating odours of manflesh in his nostrils. Inhaling deep the strength trapped in those resistant mounds of muscle. The beauty in that strength that this suffering would unlock.Janus’ tongue licked over the hillocks of strength in the barbarian’s belly, his lips sucked out the sweat trapped in the furrows in-between. Janus raised his face, his eyes half-closed, a male in passion, taking deep overwhelming breaths. There was a mystic power in this anguish. This Irish could indeed put Janus in contact with the eternal truths. Elevating. Energising. His pain was a conduit, a path to a more spiritual plane. A level that was opened up to Janus through the medium of his Irish suffering.Inhaling that whiplashed strength, imbibing his agonies on his tongue, Janus felt the Irish having to surrender his powers to him. Still reluctant but inevitable. A force flooded through Janus’ body, a roar of triumph, the strength of conquest. A force that through the medium of this torment flooded his manliness with the Irish’s strength. He balled his fists together against the slave’s taut back, feeling strength coursing through him like a gladiator in victory. His own chest filled, it rose and fell with the passion flooding his manhood. Authority coursed through his veins like a general in triumph. His loins swollen with this victory. Invincible. Drunk with the power of this moment. Triumphant over this foul beast’s truculence, Janus claimed the barbarian’s mystic strength for his own. Under his kilt, he luxuriated in the strength blossoming in his crotch. There’d never been such potency in his loins. The Irish had gifted him that. Janus shuddered with this sense of invincibility. Later he’d have that gypsy slave-girl brought to him. Unruly, a wildcat. And he'd have her. Not tied down like last time to tame her spirit. He’d take her free. She’d fight him, her nails like claws going for his face. She spit and claw at him like a mad animal. But he’d take her. He’d hold her down screaming and shrieking in her ears. This triumph over the Irish had given him insuperable strength.. Janus was flushed with superhuman powers.He’d take her, the Gypsy she-devil. Pound at her, ram himself into her. He felt like a god. The Irish had raised him up, made him feel divine. He’d have her, he’d thrust his might into her, he’d rape her till she collapsed sobbing defeated by the might of his potency. Till broken her wildness shuddered under him, subjected to his all-consuming virile power. He’d flip her over and give it her up the arse. The ultimate act of superiority. He was invincible, his strength inexhaustible. As good as divine. And he’d thank the Irish .. as he was driving himself into that she-cat. Body destroyed, this Irish potency was on-fire in Janus' loins. He'd bless the broken slave for the gift of such powers. ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Fox has a go4699017208500A whistle from behind warned of the cane heading for his gnarled back. Ka-Lan went taut. He was helpless. There was no defence. He sucked in air, holding his breath in anticipation. His ripped stomach pulled up tight. Rigid with fears, tight in anticipation.White-hot heat ripped up the length of his torso. The thwack across his bare backside paralysed his breathing. Flashed down his muscled legs. Taut, trembling. Every muscle rigid. Inside every cell in his torso screamed.The force of the sting powered the air out of his lungs. He swung, the net wildly swayed, he was gasping. His hands gripped tight on the net, he dug his feet onto the rungs. He fought for his footing. Tortured, his chest muscles seemed to paralyse. Eyes popping in shock. Ambushed by that inescapable sting. Johns was taking his time ordering the second. Fox had more-than-made his mark. And the hall broke into loud cheers. The delay gave Ka-Lan time to guess Johns was letting the full impact get through to him. To appreciate the effect that Fox’s broad shoulders could unleash. Cheers of wild approval broke from the cadets. Cheering on their sporting hero. And drowning the next warning sounds from behind.Another thwack. The force hit. Savagely stinging. Ka-Lan yanked in shock on the net. Pain twisted him from the waist. As if a giant snake had taken a vicious bite out of his bare arse. The sting sent him jolting upright. Then a split second later, a further body-crushing-blinding pain ripped down his legs. Another stinging bite had stung at his backside. Ka-Lan hadn’t heard Johns’ “Three!”. His torso jumped, his arms shuddered with the effort of battling an overwhelming smarting pain. No sound escaped from his throat. Mouth and nose squeezed tight to hold down his grunts. But every muscle, every fibre of his being, every nerve cried out its agony. Their inner screams coalesced. Shrieked for release. Clawed their way up to his throat. Fox was determined. Three champs, intensely competitive. For years, they’d battled it out for a prize. Today there was only one prize worthwhile. To be the first one to make this RAT really give it out. Not grunts. A full-throated man-sized yell.The three of them all wanted it. They wanted him broken. And they wanted to be the one. They wanted him writhing off his wrists from this net, screaming and pleading for mercy. They wanted to be the one to break him. Make him shame himself. Before this collected School. Second place didn’t count. Fox was determined to grab that prize. The first unmanly scream.Three hits already. Tears of pain welled in Ka-Lan’s eye. The yelling and screaming from out there in the gym stung him like a hot sun. But somehow through the din his senses had learned to distinguish the warning signals. A look at Johns. A whoosh of air. Those were the warning signs. He set his jaw. Front teeth showing through tight clenched teeth, biting on his bottom lip. His eyes were fixed on somewhere in the distance from where he hoped to draw strength. The cane caught Ka-Lan hard in the burning welts on his tortured arse. The slap of the cane on taut hardened flesh bounced off the wall. Ka-Lan was swung forward, the force rocked the net threatening to throw his feet off. His back arched off the pain cutting up his backbone. Pain pulled him up by his arms, elbows bent, bulging biceps jerked, searing pain shot through the pain-taut muscles of his back.“Five!”Johns called out the next strike. A callous tone that ordered more pain for Ka-Lan’s arse. Another searing flash from a flame-thrower swiped across tortured flesh. Thwacking savagely at his jerking torso. Tears rushed to his eyes. The bite of torture ripping mercilessly into his pain-rigid back.Despite himself, Johns’ eyes grew wide at the sight. Muscle danced to a frenzied tempo of pain. Pain flared, wounded fleshed ignited, muscles burst into flaming agony across the RAT’s front. He was getting pain ripped out of tight-clenched muscle with every sting. What a sight to behold. A heaving jolting puppet, all muscle, dancing to the stroke of the blow, grunting out to the sting of the cane. Pain yanked him up on his arms, his biceps swollen with torture, bursting, exploding. With every jolt, his body spasmed. With every jerk, his body poured torment. His head shook, his legs swung. Ka-Lan scarcely got his balance back on the swaying net.“Six!”Through the screaming Ka-Lan discerned the whoosh of cane through the air. Almost simultaneously, the slap against bare flesh burst on his ears. A short shrill-throated grunt pounded up into Ka-Lan’s throat from behind his back. A sharp quivering, a sharp intake of breath from the sting of the cane that threatened to escape as a cry.Fuck! Only one more, thought Fox. Last one. Johns’ order came hard on the last. In desperation to win the prize, Fox unleashed every remaining vestige of competitive adrenalin into his strike. Deliberately ambushing the RAT. No warning, the sting caught the RAT at the top of his muscular thigh. Surprise jerked him forward. The force behind the sting swung him wildly on the net. Fox gasped. His heart leapt. The prick had lost his footing. He was hanging off the cords, dangling off his wrists. Swaying wildly, his tortured muscle suspended. Shaken by the ferocity of the cane once more. The School erupted. The cadets went mad. Fox’s ambush was hailed as a masterstroke. From behind the net, Fox raised his arms. Accepting the cheers. Bathing in the adulation. Arms up, he gave them his bulging bicep pose to worship. But privately cursing the stinking RAT. Fox’s seven were up. And the RAT hadn’t given up his pain.Fox turned his back to the cheering School. Biceps up bulging, showing off the knotted power of his back that had knocked the RAT off his footing. But inwardly he seethed, The other two, Murray and Fraser … Fox cursed away to himself …. they were going to be just as determined. They’d do their best to be the winner of this prize. Now Fox just had to wait. Wait for his next turn. And he had to pray. He had to cross his fingers and hope. He had to pray this stubborn muscle-stud would keep it up. Ironically he was pinning all his hopes on the RAT. Incongruously Fox as willing him to keep battling away. Refusing to give in. Denying Murray his first cry. Odd, Fox was willing the RAT not to give in.“I’ll be back, motherfucker.”Then Fox would beat the shit out of the prick.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Plot022161500They’d only been seven strokes. Seven determined and evil-minded hits. Yet, looking back, it had felt like, for a seeming eternity, powerful lashes had thudded into his backside. Smarting, breath-taking each strike. Each delivered by brutish calculated force. An inner strength from deep within Ka-Lan fought and battled against Johns’ brutality.Each thwack of Fox’s vicious assault on his person came accompanied by a jolting sting that sent Ka-Lan’s body leaping. Ripping pain through joints and fibre. The cord chafed at Ka-Lan’s bound wrists as he writhed. His arse was on fire, his back ran with sweat, his mind disoriented by pain. But Ka-Lan battled on, denying them his cries. He suspected these three muscle-thugs would be out to out-do each other. He knew the type, he was one himself. But it was his hide which they contended over. Sporting rivals, competing. He wasn’t invited to the competition. Hero of the hour was the sports champ that made the RAT scream out loud. Lifting the silver cup in triumph over the RAT. There had been no sting from the cane for some time. But Ka-Lan had barely the strength to be thankful. He just hung off his wrists, sweating, sucking in air. His back felt like he was chained to a grid .. being grilled over a red-hot coals, a torture from which there was no escape. He was roasting alive. He was burning up, his head rolled from side-to-side, his sweat-streaked face continuously rolling in agony between his upraised arms. Ka-Lan hung trembling with shock. He’d lost his footing, he was dangling off his arms, the cords were digging painfully into his wrists, the strain was building in his arms, grinding into his shoulder joints. But he hadn’t the strength for now. He couldn’t find the will to flail around with his feet to find a rung and take the strain off his arms. That lashing of his bare arse had taken its toll. Disoriented by pain, he hung letting the cord bite hard into his raw-chafed wrists. He imagined himself strung out, exposed to the harsh glare of an afternoon sun. A captive staked out in the burning heat of a desert. Exposed to a body-crippling heat, the harsh rays of the sun scorching down on him from above. His body was sweat-drenched with pain, his whip-lashed backside on fire. He hung suspended off the net. In front of him a gym full of rowdy red-faced cadets cheering for their hero Fox.On top of the damage these fuckers had already done to his backside, Fox’s malicious strikes had driven Ka-Lan mad. It felt like he was roasting under the sun, his stinging skin baked in the fierceness of its heat. Sweat flowed, his eyes stinging from the trickles of pain. Suspended, Ka-Lan struggled to breathe, his stomach dragged up tight into his chest by the pull on his wrists. He could stay dangling like this much longer. They weren’t finished with him. He’d needed to get his act together. But where was the will? Managing only quick gasps of breath, his head swam dizzy with lack of air. The furnace in his backside had spread like wildfire burning him up from inside. Fires of pain filled out his legs. Every now and then, as he hung helpless, his body trembled with a violent spasm that shook him helplessly. Fox’s punishment still reverberated through muscled flesh. The short gasps he managed shivered with tremors that welled from deep within a tortured soul.Something was up. Ka-Lan was aware of a huddle around Johns. Through the net, he saw Murray and Fraser had come out to the front. Stripped to the waist, ready for action, they were conferring with the RAT Captain. That could only be about him. That thought was enough to rouse him. Ka-Lan, wary, found the fortitude to pull up on his arms, his feet found a footing. Anxious he stared through the net trying to work out what they were conspiring.Johns was frowning, Murray was insisting. Johns looked up at Ka-Lan. He saw they were being watched. He saw that his victim had regained his composure, he’d crawled back onto the net. They stared at each other. Ka-Lan did not have the strength to put his full resolve into an aggressive glare. But it seemed enough. Enough for Johns that …. whatever the three of them had been plotting … the sight of Ka-Lan getting himself back together again … that was excuse enough.Johns gave Ka-Lan a harsh stare back in return. For the first time Ka-Lan saw in his gaze some passion, some fire. Some anger. Gone was his accustomed icy coldness, gone Johns’ bottomless stare of the snake. Ka-Lan’s recovery had made him angry. Annoyed Johns glared up at Ka-Lan. He nodded at the other two. He’d agreed.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Bust your arse!0254000Ka-Lan felt his stomach knot, uncertain. Not sure what this pair was up to. After consulting with Johns, Fraser and Murray had gone behind. Now they were back in front .. acting up for the cheers of the crowd. Bare to the waist, they were showing off what they’d got. What they were bringing to the party.Murray stood arms raised above his head, Fox’s cane coated with Ka-Lan’s pain held between his hands. Ka-Lan saw his shoulders lift and Murray pumped up his chest and gave the cadets the full breadth of his muscular chest. Showing off vacuum abs. Preening with the shoulders that were to inflict the pain knotted as he squeezed his hands together against the resistance of the cane. A classic weightlifter’s stance.Oddly, Fraser had retrieved the strap used on Ka-Lan before. A leather strap on a handle, he swirled it above his head. Muscles of his muscular broad back rippling in the harsh overhead light as he circled it in the air. Suddenly he cracked the handle. A searing shot like from a rifle blasted out above the cheering mob. There was a gasp at the loudness. A temporary silence. Then the gym erupted in cheers.Johns saw the RAT glance over at him, confused. Not understanding. He’d find out soon enough. And he’d not like it. Johns had been reluctant to concede to Murray’s idea at first. But then Janus too had had the Irish disciplined by two whip-masters at the same time. A rapid onslaught of punishment that did not allow his Irish trouble-maker time to catch his breath.And another improvement ….. Johns had decided he’d not call out the strokes this time. If Johns didn’t warn him, how was the RAT to know that the strap was targeting on his back with all this din going on? Every hit would be a shock. He remembered that counsel from his friend Janus. Ambush the victim. Keep him guessing. Catch him off his guard.Johns did not really approve of the way these sporting heroes worked the crowd, their muscle-dance, their showing off. It was belittling Johns’ solemn act. Getting them worked up .. having the cadets scream themselves hoarse …. But it was winning all the School over to Johns’ side. And with all this racket …. the RAT would never know when the next strike was coming. Every cheer for the champs was a jeer for Ka-Lan. Ka-Lan had watched Murray turn and sneer at him. A long stare while his hand twitched on the cane he held. Surrounded by the adulation of his fans for his muscled body. Then, with a final smug look, Murray moved, both of them went together around the net to take up positions. A thought flashed through Ka-Lan’s head. Were they going to take him on together? Fox had taken his seven hits alone. Had these pricks persuaded Johns to put their Seven-each together? Ka-Lan was about to get fourteen in one go?Ka-Lan gave a twitch. There was a hand on his hot sticky arse. He should have known. When he glanced down under his armpit … Murray. Sneering up at him. Groping his bare backside. Because he could. Because Murray knew there was fuck-all Ka-Lan could do about it. Sweat slicked the fingers over Ka-Lan’s fiery-muscled backside. Murray was running his hands over the tautly stretched muscle. Fingers griped towards his crack. Ka-Lan instinctively tightened the muscle against the evil groping fingers. Murray’s hand clenched to a fist. Murray’s protruding knuckle explored a point where several welts over-crossed. Thick dark stripes met in an livid blotch, every fresh stroke landing there had bitten into existing centres of pain. At his touch, Ka-Lan jerked. It seemed like a half dozen stroke-marks were coalescing to sizzle against Murray’s knuckle digging in. Ka-Lan’s pain had betrayed him. Cruelly, Murray again burrowed his knuckle into the fiery mass. Instantly, Ka-Lan’s muscled backside tightened more. He couldn’t hold in the hiss. Under the pressure from the knuckle-pain Ka-Lan pulled upwards .. trying to evade the pressure point. “Remember what I promised you earlier? RAT?” Murray’s knuckle circled painfully in the bruised knot. Pressure transformed the dull ache into a red-hot point. Murray dug the knuckle in again. Turning the spot into a bright-white flare of pain that throbbed with each beat of Ka-Lan’s pounding heart. Another hiss broke, Maciste bit down on his lip. “Gonna burst your arse wide-open, motherfucker.”Fox’s cane-strokes had laid down the groundwork. His cane-lashes had sent the RAT twisting and jerking in blistering pain. Swaying on the net. Fox had worked him over well. This muscular crimson arse was criss-crossed with lash marks from the cane, the sweat of pain glistened like oil on his burning skin. Murray’s gaze missed nothing. His knuckles groped for weak points. The earlier hits on this arse had inflicted serious damage. Somehow the RAT had managed to hold on. The stubborn prick had not given up his pain. Not a single full-bodied scream. Just now Fox had prepped him all up. Murray sniggered to himself. Arsehole. Fox had missed his chance. Now the prize was going to be his. With ambushing the RAT in a joint attack .. Fraser playing patsy to Murray’s real act …. Murray was going to make fucking-sure of it. He’d bust this RAT’s arse. He’d have him shrieking at every swipe of the cane. The prize was his.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? First time20320019875500Johns watched Murray, stood behind the RAT on his net .. Murray indicated to Fraser. Pointing Fraser’s attention with his strap at the RAT's shoulders. Then his own finger claimed the burning arse for his cane. They understood each other. With a quick twist, slyly getting his go in first, Fraser twisted himself away and, torquing himself up, back-handed Fraser slammed his strap across the stinking RAT’s shoulders. Not to be outdone, a split second later, Murray's cane cracked across his crimson-raw bare arse. Without hesitation, not to be beaten, Fraser again responded. Without rhythm, the pair went at the RAT. Wildness broke the tension in the gym, madness45081145643 slashed their weapons into Ka-Lan’s body. The hall burst into cheers, the screaming went crazy. One hitting across the upper body, the other cutting from the waist down. Unimpaired, unhindered by the other. Now both lashes landed together, sometimes landing a split second after each other. Sending the torso spinning, sending the mind convulsing, torso twisting in body-breaking pain. Throwing all their muscular weight behind each blow. Frantic to hear a muscled cry ripped out of this sweated suffering.Ka-Lan’s weakened body leapt forward under the force of the first lash. This torture had started again, already. He’d still been steeling himself for what the new charade meant with this pair of thugs. He’d been used to some kid of warning .. usually he was alerted by Johns' order to strike. In his torment, Ka-Lan never heard it coming. He was totally unprepared. The first hit thwacked painfully across his shoulders. The force knocked him forward, swaying on the net. His back shocked, sent rigid by the jolt of muscle, twisting the rigid arch of his back. Before Ka-Lan’s body swung back, though, the next strike caught him stinging across his arse. Pain twisted him into a sideways jolt. A loud high-pitched grunt smacked into his throat. The third lash from the strap was already whistling through the air. Diagonally down, cutting Ka-Lan in two from shoulder to waist. The cane slashed immediately after, inflaming his backside. No time to curse that the pair were taking him on together .. the hits came hard, fast, stinging. His jerking arms pulled him upright, his face twisted in pain. Ka-Lan’s eyes bulged, mouth open in shock. Had Johns ordered it speeded up? The fucker! The next lash from the strap had already got him, ripping pain down the length of his back .. igniting all the welts burning in muscled flesh. It was merciless, one lash followed on fast after the other. Giving Ka-Lan not one moment to recover before the next stinging lash cut into screaming flesh. It was unrelenting, unremitting, pitiless. Already he was losing grip. Barely catching breath. Drowning. Seemingly going under, collapsing under a barrage of continuous pain. They were animals! Ka-Lan jolted, his torso writhed. Stretched sinews twisted, pain yanked up his arms, agony wrenched into shoulders. Wildly he swung on the gyrating net. Pain tore through his every muscle, torment ripped out of Ka-Lan’s soul.Johns glanced into the hall. All eyes were now on the RAT. Writhing. Jerking. Twisting. A contorting puppet on strings pulled through a cosmos of remorseless pain. Already, Johns heard the whoosh of the next cane. Too fast for the prick to recover from the last crippling slap of leather. This pair were giving their all. Years of sporting rivalry coalesced into this merciless competition. They’d beat the shit out of him. They were going to show who was best.There it was. His first near-cry. The RAT's shocked grunt got twisted almost into a shout. Johns had to stop himself spinning round in excitement, it was coming. The punk had nearly surrendered his first. In a continuous barrage of menacing whistles, leather thwacked into injured flesh, cane stung pitiless into the burning arse. The net swung, muscles twisted.For Ka-Lan, there was no reality. A thick sulphurous haze had formed in front of his eyes. Ka-Lan had descended into hell. Off his back, he was being burned alive in the fires of torment. It felt like metal lashes flayed his body to the bone, like serrated blades sliced through to his core. A choking fog clouded his vision. A pungent vapour made it hard to breathe, he found air only in light choking gasps. Air grabbed between hits. His torso jolted in feverish agonies, fiery waves surged though his body. Agonising flashes of pain were cutting like razor-sharp scythes through him. Hell! Ka-Lan was all pain, all torment, all hell. Tooth-edged blades coarsely sliced up his back. A raging furnace consumed his being. The roar of an earthquake shuddered in his head. His pain demanded release. A pain so intense that unconsciousness would elude him. A deluge of pain so intense it trampled on his mind. His skin, his flesh, his core transformed into one single shrieking mass. His eyes, unseeing, through a choking haze saw only flashes of fiery-red. In his ears cadets bellowed out a deafening inhuman roar. Bellowing for his pain. Flesh-scorching heat consumed his back. Pains in his crippled body overwhelmed his mind. Crushed it, obliterated it, annihilated it. And with a tortured cry his pain broke free.At that first sign that the RAT was breaking, to Johns it looked like the pair just intensified their efforts. All around a cacophony of delirium roared in Johns’ ears. The sweating madness of the two Seniors lashing out like crazed madmen. Cadets screaming, bawling, inciting the whippers on. John could smell the greed, his nostrils full of the pungent desire for pain, he could taste it on his tongue. The RAT was futile muscle twisted into unstoppable agonies. A muscled dance of man-sized pain. The RAT was failing. This was madness, this was sweet. His defiance was drowning. He was on the brink of shaming himself. He was going under in a flaming sea of pain, drowning in scalding surf. His senses engulfed, his brain overwhelmed. He was drowning in a red-raw sea of pain. And his cry of shame was about to break out in a piercing cry.The first spurted out on the world. Twisted out of a slash from Fraser's strap searing scorching agony out of the tortured muscle. Fiery leather exploding on the squirming breadth of the back. The first cry. Ripped out of him, ripped free. Then briefly cut short. Murray's fully fledged determination immediately cut across his burning arse. A momentary shock. Then both strikes joined forces. In a high-pitched yell.Once broken, the RAT’s orgasm of pain was unstoppable. The gush of his cries erupted into the air, pumped by incessant crippling stings cutting into his back. His cries of pain cut in torment through the air like a saw-like blade. Some in the hall averted their gaze quickly as if the pain spewed over them was molten lava. How many strikes was he supposed to get? Two times seven, wasn't it? How many had it taken? Did anyone care? The RAT was breaking. Who was counting?The cadets did not evade his cries. They yelled with each one. Did any one of them want not to? They jeered at his tears. They cheered their champs on. They'd done the job. Humiliatingly his pains were ejaculated before his betters. Shrill, ripped from the depths of his arrogance. His pain spurted on the air like liquid fire. Once started, unstoppable. Irrepressible. Inextinguishable. No taking them back.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? SuspensionCraving1968525400000Janus felt suddenly powerfully self-aware. He flushed with realisation how he had been handling the Irish .. almost admiringly. Grateful for putting him in touch with that mystical potency.But also he had an audience, people were watching. It hit him where he was. What he was about. And who was watching. What must they be thinking? Seeing his face caress the barbarian’s belly. Lick off his pained sweat of this suffering with his tongue.Janus had indulged himself. He’d pandered to the potency in his loins with this adulation. His manliness worshipping at the mystic shrine of this suffering. Beguiled by this proximity to ethereal truths. Brought so close to the divine, he could feel super-human powers raging under his kilt. He could cum without being touched. How must it look? His men looking on? What were they thinking as they saw their master bury his face that that Irish gut? Inhaling the presence of the divine that nestled in that sweating forest of pain .. what did they know?. The dozens of slaves he’d made observe this thrashing … what were they making of Janus hugging the barbarian like some object of his love?Did it matter that they could not comprehend? Should he worry himself? This scum that forever would be denied the insights into the divine that Janus had imbibed? This Irish was no subject for sex. He was a totem. Through the channel of this muscular torso in torment, Janus had glimpse insights they'd never approach. Their vision never got above the struggles to shift blocks of stone, their streaming eyes full of grit and a scorching sun.Janus had glimpsed the ethereal. But he DID exist in a world of captive men. Enemies would gloatingly misunderstand what they'd seen. There were lesser beings who’d use this sight to undermine. It was imperative that Janus correct any misunderstandings. They’d see him finish off the beast. This Irish muscle was not something to admire. It had been in its suffering not in its sweat-streaked torso that Janus had glimpsed the divine. And now he'd shut it off.It was time. The Irish was destined to know the beauty of his sacrifice. He’d served his purpose. Suffering had elevated him and put Janus in touch with the ethereal. Time to return to the point where his story was crushed.Janus had had boulders placed so he could stretch out his legs while Janus used his suffering to gain those god-like insights. No distraction while Janus had indulged his search for the eternal truths. Now he ordered the stones rolled away. The Irish hung. Strung off the overhead bar, still slightly swaying. Janus returned the barbarian’s stern look. He understood that Janus had NOT finished with him. Was he aware the time had come for him to pay the price? Here was the time for Janus to see corrected any misunderstanding of his absorption of the Irish’s suffering. A demonstration that Janus had not gone soft. The barbarian beast had committed the heinous crime of attacking guards. His conduct was unbecoming for a slave .. insolent, cursing Janus out, exhibiting not one sign of remorse. All absence of any self-control. He’d laughed at the guards’ efforts to put him down. He was dangerous. That hypnotic charisma he bore with him was a threat to good order. He could get himself a following if he was allowed to get away with that. That was why they were stood here, the slaves. To witness what became of such unprecedented behaviour. They would see .. Janus had not gone soft. They were here to bear witness … what it cost of any choose to follow the Irish's perilous lead.It was as if the Irish had learned our tongue, but Janus knew he was only reading the cold malice in his master’s voice. Janus spotted the moment the slave realised what it meant when the boulders under his feet where rolled away. All support gone. No using them to strengthen his stance. He was stripped of anything he could use to withstand the rest of his punishment.He hung, swaying still a little. Mentally Janus sensed him preparing himself. Judging what it was going to be like when the force of those lashes tore into him … suspended like this. He knew. Every tense defined muscle in his body was bristling with his nerves. Was he realising his continued defiance was no help to him like this? Was he weighing up his options? Cooperate or be doomed? He knew the moment had come. He had to steel himself for battle. There was no armour, he had no weapons. He had nothing with which to defend himself. All he could do was gird his loins with his strength of mind. Was he foolish? Janus knew he was not. But was he still thinking he could win out? Did he still fool himself he could withstand this impending agony. A smirk of pleasure warmed Janus’ heart. HE knew better. He’d foreseen this, he’d planned this. In fact, Janus had not reckoned on the barbarian linking him to those mystic potencies. That had been a bonus. When the barbarian was destroyed, broken … Janus would still hold those moments dear to his heart. But Janus HAD known for some time … their fates were inter-twined. And only Janus could win.“One!” Janus felt the fiery wave that was lashed out of the pain-stiffened torso wash over him like hot divine breath. The heat of ethereal truths. A groundswell of the Irish’s inner strength was beaten out of him and was showered over Janus was it fled.. The sting of leather, the thud of the knots into his sweating helpless back. Twisting like a tornado inside his guts. Hammering his strength out through the Irish’s spasmed flesh. Heat passed over Janus’ face like a flush of steam in the baths. He breathed it in. He took the Irish’s potent power down deep within his chest. “Two!” The whistle of the whip. A strike calculated to hurt powered across a tapered muscled back. The sudden tautness in the flesh. The sharp sting of leather. A jagged jerk. The numerous jabs from the knots plaited into the whip. The reluctant grunt of pain was choked back in the air above Janus’ head. A jet of steam released with a whoosh out of the twisted marble stomach. With a loud gasp Janus sucked in slowly the slave’s life-force. Like the moment before Janus shot his seed into a slavegirl. That sweet moment when the unstoppable was about to happen. When nothing could halt the inescapable. Janus’ destiny .. to cause the Irish’s downfall.“Three!” A lash slammed with all the slow planned malevolence in the whipmaster’s body. The slap of the whip caught the Irish with premeditated ferocity from shoulder to waist. The whole torso lifted. Every bit of his flesh quivered with the pain. Shook and trembled. The slave’s chest quivered like the first tremors of an earthquake. Above, Janus heard a strangled cry murdered in the slave’s throat. The Irish’s potency was sprinkled into the air, pain burst out of his pores. His might released, it sprinkled over Janus’ head like a soft rain. Janus lifted his head to the silky drops of pain sparkling in the air. He let the raindrops of pain splatter on his face. Gentle with the Irish’s murdered cry.Janus had always known this burning need. It lurked latent in the pit of his groin. There were some men who could release its power. Through their beauty. Through their pain. The Irish was just such a one. But Janus had never before felt the demon’s roar so loud in his ear, his burning touch so hot on his balls. And now again, under this glaring orange globe of a blistering sun, it had come storming alongside him. An unmatched might enflamed in his shaft. A force this Irish in his suffering had brought on. Now Janus could almost smell its demon breath, hear its siren cry at the slave’s fate. Aroused by that first breaking call. Aroused by this beauty in suffering. Janus craved more. He begged for more. The demon demanded more.”Four! Harder. Give me more!”? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Roll-Back539754826000Deaf to his own torment, unknowing Ka-Lan cried out again and again. His senses had deserted him, he was all pain. Agony cut into the flesh, smarting blows bit into him without restraint. Stinging strikes inflamed the fires down his back. A shrieking din foraged pain from every crevice of his being and forged a spear that pierced his brain. Unbeknown to himself, Ka-Lan’s tormented body screamed. Boiling oil was being poured down his back, skinning him alive. Throughout an inhuman assault, his being yelled out its pains. Lashes to his back burst like thunderbolts on his flesh. As if pain could flay flesh from bones. Unseeing, agonising, beyond awareness. Strikes slashed into his body long after his body had collapsed. Ka-Lan was unaware of the cadets’ screams that cheered his downfall. Lifeless, his torso still jerked, still spasmed as muscle memory twisted off imaginary hits into inert flesh. An animal carcase, beaten and broken. Trembling, shuddering, inert, mindless. Ka-Lan's mind had retreated, fled. Unable to take any more. Taken beyond human endurance. It had taken more than forty blows. But Johns saw that the RAT finally had to acknowledge his destruction. He was hurting, badly. Deeply in pain. And despite his customary stubbornness he was no longer able to hide it. The muscle-heads had thrown all they could at him. Intense rivalry. They didn’t want to be second best. And that pair’s joint efforts at the prick's back had certainly done the trick. The speed and ferocity .. it had overwhelmed the punk. He’d yelped. He'd yelled. That last stripe down the length of his back had definitely been a shriek. No chance for the RAT to gather himself. Psyching up some reserves of stubborn will to withstand their devastating attack … no chance of that. The cadets in the gym had gone wild. Screaming, bawling. Roaring encouragement. Sports fan-clubs cheering on their hero’s efforts. Yelling for more. Others cat-calling. Piercing whistles of derision for the RAT who thought he could beat the system. Who'd thought he was so invincible he could hang on to his pain and not cry out. Behaving like they'd never break him. He’d never beg.Johns had let the cadets scream. He'd made no effort to impose discipline. Their derision for the RAT was just as effective a punishment tool. Their cheers as he screamed himself hoarse demoralised his inflated sense of worth. He could hear he could count on no friends here. That too had to grind him down.The jeering for the RAT was still in full flow, loud. He panted like hell, bound by the wrists to the net, his knees collapsed yet still his feet were planted on the rungs. Johns caught Murray's eye. He made an upward movement with his hand. Fraser too caught the pre-arranged signal. They rushed to their places. At a commanding nod from Johns, they started to haul on ropes.The wolf-whistles for hero Fox came to a gradual stop as the cadets wondered what NOW was going on. The base of the monkey-net was being hauled back up in the air. Rising from the bottom up. Fraser and Murray were hauling with some effort the bottom of the net back up in the air.The cheers in the hall slowly subsided, intrigued. With grunted effort, the pair of Seniors on either side of the gym were pulling on the ropes fastened to the bottom of the net. It was held down by the weight of the RAT but slowly and with a struggle they were folding the base back up to the ceiling. Johns had his eye on the RAT to judge his reaction. It didn't take long. He might have been struggling with his breath. The effects of the Seniors’ humdingers were still creasing his face with eye-wateringly pain. But his body couldn't miss the movement. The net was moving under him. Soon his feet were lifting. Johns looked with pleasured curiosity as he looked down .. his feet rising .. his legs being pulled straight out lifting to the perpendicular. Automatically he tensed his thigh muscles, pushing his legs out straight, keeping his feet in contact with the rungs. The RAT glanced up. Nothing was happening above. The top pf the net still fastened to the ceiling. His wrists were still tied to the net above his head, without having to think his hand gripped tighter on the net.The gym had gone quiet. Watching with intrigued interest as the RAT himself was being folded up. His legs now straight out .. thigh muscles peaking, pushing his feet into the net to keep his grip. A look of concentration framed his face, biting on a bottom lip.The cadets gasped. The moment Johns had planned. The RAT lost his footing. His feet slipped off the net. His legs fell. His bodyweight dropped off the monkey net. Swaying wildly in the air. His wrist bonds held. His muscular body was swinging free off the net, held firm by his wrists. Muscles struggled .. strength fought to save the situation. But there was nothing to save. There was only air underneath him. The RAT was swinging free in the air under the folded monkey net. Johns saw his hands tighten on the net, each grabbing hold of a rung above his head .. stopping the cord bound around his wrists from painfully digging in.The hall had stilled. Confused, intrigued. Mesmerised by the transformation. Watching imprisoned muscle writhe freely in the air as the RAT struggled to ease its discomfort. Suspended off the net folded up above his head, dangling up in the air, Squirming, struggling with the pains grinding into his arms, strains beginning to burn in his armpits. Presenting the School an image of trapped muscle hung off its hands .. swaying .. the RAT failing to adjust to his situation.Keep him off his guard, Janus had said. Ambush the sucker. Johns was ready for the look. A flash of anger from the RAT. A fury written in the eyes, his face also betraying his hurt, though. Forty lashes into his back, and his arse crimson-red. A barrage of pain that had had him shaming himself and screaming out. And now ambushed again. For what? Where was this going? Dangling free in their air. The pains from his injured back being painfully stretched. Joining forces with the strains growing in his shoulder joints. Damaged muscle on his stressed arse screaming out. What the hell are you up to, Johns? The question was written there on the RAT’s. But was there also a look of wariness? An anxiety that this change could only herald worse to come? Uncaring Johns pushed his question aside .. concentrating on evidence of the pain from battered muscle in his back taking the strain .. stretched on this human rack. Now the RAT understood why his wrists had been bound to the net. This crucifixion of the RAT had always been planned.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Turning the screw-3683015811500Johns eyed the RAT. He hung, dangling in the air. He’d stopped struggling, there was nothing he could do to save himself, And every movement had to add to his pains. Suspended, taking all that muscled weight on his arms, his back would be killing him. Whiplashed muscle stretched on an air-rack. His arse burning him up. Wisely he was keeping his naked hide still.Not for the first time in the past 24 hours .. was it really less than a day since that RATSHIT had come into Johns' life? .. sullying the purity of Johns' disciplined zeal ….. Not for the first time did Johns envy his friend his freedom. Janus had his troublemaker .. and who was there to oppose his will? Janus was free to impose his discipline on his quarrelsome slave. He could take whatever necessary measures to stamp on that rebelliousness. If only ….. Johns was limited. There were rules, School restrictions. But Johns would make sure the strictest rigours allowed were imposed.Even when the RAT had paid his dues, Johns was not persuaded he'd have had every bit of his rebelliousness beaten out of him. The RAT had shown he was rotten to the core. Insolence flowed in his veins. Even now .. when the net had been rolled up …. the RAT had managed to find enough strength in that muscular physique to thrown Johns an angry look. Solitary. That was the answer. What was the betting that .. once he recovered, once he’d hobbled around for a few days, barely able to sit down … Johns was calculating on the prick reverting to character. Once a scumbag, always a scumbag. Johns would have to keep on at him. He didn’t for one minute think the RAT would take this lying down. He’d have something planned .. revenge, a hit-back, probably underhand …. Johns was convinced ….. he’d have to keep putting the screws on him.Solitary. Keep him isolated from the rest. Preventing him from soiling the disciplined School ethos Johns had instilled. It only took one bad apple, Janus would say. It was a moot point whether any of these cadets who’d screamed for his pain would have anything to do with him anyway. They were practically slathering at the feet of these sports heroes now. Punishing the RAT by solitary confinement .. denying him social contact .. that had to add to the effect of wearing him down. His body in pain. And a social outcast.The School had a cellar .. a cell where an extreme intransigent like the RAT could be held. Cold, a barred basement window to the outside, no glass. Where better to house this piece of scum? Shivering his night away. Thinking over how he'd got himself into the mess. Naked, no covering. Freezing through the night, his injuries plaguing him, keeping him awake through the shivers of the night. Janus, with his freedom, would have come up with something more extreme. But for Johns he had these limitations. Freezing his nuts off … alone with only his thoughts … would the shivers get through to the RAT? Would he come to his senses? Johns could hope so. But somehow he doubted it. He feared that with this RAT .. insubordinate to his core …. he’d need to keep on turning the screw.Johns, elation burning in his crotch, dismissively turned his back on the prisoner. Fraser had finally done it. Murray had added in his dime. Their countless strikes into that writhing torso had got the RAT yelling. These muscle-heads had broken through that stubbornness. They’d smacked all they'd got out the damaged muscle of the RAT's vulnerable arse.Numerous times. Had they exceeded their allocation of fourteen? Johns hadn’t been counting, he didn’t care a fuck. What mattered was the result. Strikes with vicious ferocity. Each strike pounding a hell of pain out of the RAT. On the net, the prisoner had writhed. Stood up on the net .. hundreds of eyes switched to the squirming torso struggling to wriggle the pain free. Yet it was almost like the pair hadn’t been seeing him. All mental forces were in-turned. All their strengths were concentrated on the task. Like in sports, all focus on the prize. Beating the shit out of the RAT. Competing to beat the first yell of pain out his naked sweating hide. Contending with each other. Their old rivalries intense. Johns couldn’t have planned that better himself. The pair of them battling it out. Hitting hard. Hitting harder still. Responding to each other. Each hit more punishing. Battling it out for the prize. Every strike the next championship-winning hit. Johns would have to recommend that technique to Janus some time.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Glory2603521907500If only Johns had Janus’ freedom … What he’d do to the RAT then. Have him as his quarry slave …..? What Johns would put him through. He fancied the scumbag pinned out on the scorching earth. Pegged out between stakes, strips of wet leather contracting in the blistering heat, stretching his joints under a pitiless sun. He’d have him shaved. Totally. Stripped of every manly hair on that torso he was so proud of. Even more hairless than the day he was born. Where was his conceited manliness in that? Looking like a slug.Staked out, racked, drained of all rebelliousness .. scorched into submission by a cruel sun blistering his skin. Honey .. Johns would have honey dribbled over that haughty hairless torso attracting the flies. He’d order an extra dose on his shaven groin to taunt him in his preening manliness. Wasps and stinging insects could do their worst. For all Johns would care.He’d live naked in the quarry, that went without saying. So other slaves knew to give him a wide berth. Naked, unmanly hairless, for the guards he was a marked man. Johns’ special RAT. And end of the day, when every ounce of fight had been sucked out of him …. he’d face the lash. Fraser had made the RAT cry out. In the freedom of Johns' stone quarry, Johns would hear the RAT scream. Man, would Johns hear that RAT scream. How he’d beg.Johns cast his eyes out over the assembled School. The cheers that had greeted the Seniors’ performance had been stilled. Intrigued into silence by the sight of the RATSHIT strung up in the air. Wondering what was going on. Johns’ gaze travelled the gym .. singling out the ones who’d been rowdy before. He lashed them individually with a stern glare .. forbidding them to despoil this dramatic moment. This scene justified respectful silence, Johns would not put up now with a jeering mob. Those who might yell out in ribaldry found themselves crushed under Johns’ icy glare. Cadets whose coarse cheers earlier had enlivened this ritual now found themselves in the disciplined grip of Johns' censoring look. This was too solemn a moment. The RAT was broken. The gym should consider that fact in silence. And understand who’d achieved that. Behind Johns' back he heard Fraser panting away. He’d played his part, he’d put in his all to squeeze out that first yell. All three of them had done what Johns had selected them for. But whose will was the over-riding factor in this success?They'd given everything they'd got. Even the School’s sports champs were fighting to get their breath back. In the corner of his eye, he saw Murray bent forward, hands on knees, catching his breath. Broad shoulders rocking, sweat running down on his face. That was not the way a Senior should be presenting himself in this parade. A Senior set an example. But Johns would let this dishevelled appearance go on this occasion. Its appearance did mar the glory of the moment but their joint efforts had won the whole School on to Johns’ side. Johns wouldn’t thank them, they’d done as bid. Johns had privileged them for this duty. But Johns was grateful that there was no chance now that gullible cadets would go running fawning after some over-muscled RAT. They’d done what he had tasked them to do, they’d done no more than what was required of them. They should be grateful that Johns had honoured them. But all this had been Johns’ planning. The Seniors’ work had simply lent their physiques to the rend-result Johns had been striving for. This moment when the RAT's obstinacy hung broken. When the myth of his invincibility lay visibly shattered. This vision when the cadets saw him for what he was. Some cocky lout, all-show.He looked over at the carcass. The RAT hung. Lifeless. In pain. Chin sunk to his chest. Visibly broken. What had he to brag about now? Over forty strikes into that haughty physique .. hard, envious strikes from sports heroes who didn’t need another muscle-head to rival their prowess. Johns had no intention in sharing the glory with those three, though. This was his triumph. Johns had planned all this out, Johns’ success. Fox and his muscle-goons had just lent the muscle. This was Johns' victory over the RAT. And he wanted the gym to appreciate Johns’ glory. That was why he insisted on this respectful silence. Valuing his success. Johns had triumphed over that muscle-stud's haughty conceit. The whole School stood worshipping at the feet of Johns’ prowess.Taking lessons from his secret friend Janus, Johns had devised this strategy to shame the prick. So he'd not hold his arrogant head high. He’d not walk around preening and flexing muscle again. Every memory in this hall would remember what had become of him. He’d been put in his place. This image of him suspended and broken would be branded into every brain in this hall. He was RATSHIT. And that was how he’d been seen till his last hours in this School. Johns' triumph. His glory over vaunting muscle. All down to Johns. His ingenious plan. Johns had engineered every moment to this glorious success.Ingenious … like the little surprise he still held back for the School.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? The shaming031178500There could be no quarry slave. There’d be no staking the RATSHIT out under the blistering sun. This was an Army School, there were rules, there were standards to maintain. But Johns had his ways around constraints.The RAT would not take this lying down. He’d be plotting some kind of revenge. He’d be aching to get his own back .. payback on a system that had shamed his manliness so. But he was out-manoeuvred. He was up against a force he could not beat. He was up against Johns.Johns would keep him under closest scrutiny. Watching him for the first sign of an underhand move at future rebelliousness. Johns would make the punk his fag. His errand boy. He’d fetch-and-carry for Johns. Useless, meaningless tasks …. But to the on-looking cadets … his every move would be proof that Johns had the prick right under his thumb. Johns' fag would be squirming to please. He’d understand the total control that his Senior held over him. Johns' power over him. John would dominate every waking moment of the RAT. He’d have this troublemaker doing all he could to shame his manly pride. He’d denigrate himself. He'd debase himself. Johns' power would have the RATSHIT humiliating himself .. anything not to have to go through this belittling ritual all over again. Anything to avoid the net.He loved to show off his body, he was that sort. Like Fox and Co. he’d be used to little acolytes eager to traipse in his muscular wake. Drooling over the rippling flow of his ripped physique. Swooning if he might give the gullible fool a glance. That had always been the risk for Johns since the RATSHIT had arrived. His rebellious nature beguiling gullible young cadets into muscle-worshipping and led away from the path of discipline.Johns would pander to the RATSHIT's whims. Johns would indulge his desire to show himself off. Letting young cadets ogle every inch of his muscular physique. Johns would pander to his predilections. Out of uniform, after School, Johns would have his fag parade himself. Johns would design for him appropriate apparel. A body-thong. That was all Johns would permit him to wear. Johns would send his fag on meaningless errands … through the mess hall at meal times .. dressed in just his body thong. Unmanly pink. Tight. Revealing. Showing all he’d got. His appearance would signal to all who’d entered .. Johns’ fag was in the room. No one would be able to miss him. Required by his Senior to parade himself like that. Allowed nothing else because his Senior had said so. Everywhere meeting sniggers. Laughed at. Dressed in this shaming apparel because Johns had ordered him to wear it .. and nothing else. Shortest possible, tightest possible .. revealing all. Johns was doing him a favour. The RAT loved showing himself off. But the RAT would see this body-thong as his subjugation kit .. and everyone would see it like that too. It was a symbol of his suppression to Johns’ will. It was the same as the recalcitrants’ orange all-body-suit. An emblem of shame. A sign of his subjugation. That was how every cadet would understand it. Ordered to parade himself so shamefully as this … because Johns had ordered it so. Johns’ fag. RATSHIT-fag.When every cadet glanced his way, they saw Johns’ RATSHIT. Shamed. Humiliated. Clothed so shamingly to stand out. He might have flaunted his shredded physique all his life. But what was this? Showing his all in a clinging pink body-thong … there was no vaunting manliness in that. Here was only shame. He was clothed only in his own degradation. Here was a statement. He belonged to Johns. And this pink body-thong warned him .. told everyone ….. If you ever see this pink-punk take a step out of line …… this punishment in the gym starts all over again.Johns passed his steely eyes over the assembled School. Silenced by the iciness of his glare. Every eye on him. Behind the net Fraser still panted from his exertions, the only sound. Closer, on the net still, tied to it, no escape, no way free, suspended .. Johns glanced over the RAT dangled in the air. Johns’ fag. Sagging, broken in the air. Like in some ancient torture scene. Johns heard him moan. Power over this RAT had been giving him a powerful urge in his pants. But the mighty victory over this conceited muscle-RAT was a triumph above anything else. It was like his whole body was swollen into a hard-on. This power over the RAT was like nothing Johns could remember feeling. An all-body boner. Inwardly he moaned. Submitting to its force. Fusing his own body with this orgasm of power. Johns breathed in his fag’s pain. Johns transformed that moaning suffering into a passion in his pants. His inner being swelled to such firmness it was hard to keep his hand to himself.But Johns was no wimp. He understood discipline. Outwardly no one would see these inner workings of his being. He stood aloof from his emotions. He had every eye in that gym on him. In control. A man at the height of his powers. Every cadet had seen Johns order the curtain of the net lifted. They were seeing the RAT dangling broken in the air. And Johns had each-and-every cadet wondering, What next?? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? What next16637016700500Mincing around in his skin tight apparel .. a body-thong that revealed all …. Pink! Sent around all parts of the School .. exposed to ridicule .. exposing his all ….that was Johns' plan for the punk. Eye-catchingly muscular, eye-catchingly naked. Eye-catchingly marked out as Johns' fag. Johns' gofer. His errand boy. Running here and there, doing his Senior's bidding, no questions asked. Sporting unmanly pink, sent on meaningless errands to exhibit himself like this. Sent wherever he was met with sniggers and scorn. Dressed in bright pink, barely dressed at all.The lycra clinging to his cock, his man-hair exposed. Carrying out an unnecessary errand through the crowded mess-hall to some Senior. His bare whiplashed arse the object of laughter. His cock framed in translucent pink for all to smirk over. Stood for ages surrounded by smirks while the table of groping Seniors considered a reply to Johns' unnecessary communication. Stood as-good-as-naked. Stood there, made to submit to derision. A marked man. Johns' fag. And every guy there knew .. he knew .. Put on foot wrong … He'd be back upon that net again.Ordinarily, this RAT would have had no problem with going around flaunting himself. He thought he was put on this earth to parade himself. To attract admiring glances. What gullible girl wouldn't swoon at the promises barely contained in a skin-tight bulge, he’d think? The sight of his man-hair peeking out enough tease to get a girl wet between the thighs. But to make an exhibition of himself …. like this ….? Because Johns had forced him into this skimpy body-thong. Forced him into traipsing around the School on meaningless errands …. Just so that he couldn't hide himself away in shame. FORCED into shaming himself. Not proudly parading his physique. Not cockily showing off the manly prowess he came equipped with. Every minor act .. every unnecessary errand … all performed with bitterness and rancour .. yet performed because Johns had a hold over him. Each errand performed with shame eating away at his being .. deliberately ordered to each shaming act by Johns. Deliberately in order to bring shame down on him. Deliberately to attest to the power Johns held over him. One-time proud to the point of conceited, proud of his physique, proud of the charisma that had girls like Johns' Laura drooling by his side ….. Now he was Johns' errand boy, his fag. Running hither and thither, near-naked .. clothed in his shame .. humiliating himself to please his Senior Johns.Because Johns held that total control over this muscular will. Johns held a body-breaking chokehold on that one-time proud spirit. Johns’ power over him was symbolised to the whole School in the shameful lycra apparel. One step put wrong .. one misdeed reported by one single cadet …. and dressed like that, who wasn’t going to spot him? .. the RAT stood out like a sore thumb …… Put one step out of line, punk …. and you know where you’ll be. Back on the net. The whole School would join in the game. Seniors would provoke him .. grab at his nuts trapped in pink. Junior cadets could goad him .. provoke a wrong remark .. tempt his temper into lashing out at them. They’d make themselves the bane of his life, knowing he'd not dare to answer back. Little RATs would drive him to desperation tempting him to put a foot wrong .. relishing having that control over the over-muscled stud.Truth was, this punishment was not finished. Johns had consulted with Janus and decided he’d not finish this punishment today. He’d hold some strokes back. Though he retained the right to reinstate them any second he chose. Janus was amazed at Johns. At the devilish originality of Johns’ idea.That meant the RAT still owed. And Johns meant to keep it like that. For today, Johns planned on calling a halt. Not out of any consideration for his whiplashed arse. Because of the control over this punk that delay gave him. ANY time Johns chose …. Back on this net. He glanced over at the scene. The RAT hung like crucified off the net .. a strong visual image. One that every cadet would remember. Johns' fag. Reprieved .. for today. But that threat hanging over his head. His sword of Damocles. There would plenty more opportunities threatening his bare whiplashed arse. Owing fifteen strike still. Put a foot wrong .. he'd earn strikes for that offence. He would have these fifteen added on. And bonus strikes because the RAT had shown he hadn't learned. And what about causing disappointment? More hits for infringing his parole. Johns reckoned it would take him only the blink of an eye to get the new total back up to sixty.That RAT would know … Johns would relish making it clear to his errand boy ….. whenever he stood cringing in shame in his pink state of undress …. Johns would menacingly point out the fact. It would take only a single wrong move ……. Cross the line, punk …. And his Senior would command him back to this net. Now THAT was power. Not the strength of some preening over-muscled physique. THAT was what Johns understood by control.That was why Johns was holding back the missing strikes. The missing fifteen hits …. They were Johns’ leverage. Put one foot wrong, punk …. There was Johns’ control over this lout. He would have the punk menaced into his best slavish behaviour … permanently. The prick would hate it, like hell, he’d resent it …. That threat dangling over his head. BUT toe the line ….. Otherwise ….Every moment living in peril of Johns dragging him back to the net. And what cadet would crave to become famous? What cadet would not be falling over himself to trip the RAT up? Grassing on him. The boy who'd got the RAT back up the net. That cadet would do down in history, his fifteen minutes of fame. Every cadet would be out to trip him up. Every waking moment. RATSHIT had better watch himself. Johns could have his fag back here any time he wished.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Return16700516700500Johns’ plan wouldn’t go down well. His three muscle-goons had their blood up now. They weren’t up for throwing in the towel. Collectively they’d squeezed those yells out of the punk. They were just getting into their stride. And now STOP?! Look at the way he hung …. as vulnerable as hell. Ripe for the taking.Johns reckoned all three of their were sprouting boners in the eagerness to get back on the job. Call it quits? They weren’t going to like his plan one bit.And the cadets. Stilled for now. Intrigued by this near-crucifixion image dangled before them. But how they had screamed. How they’d thrown themselves into this. One thousand percent into this. Tell them to go back to their dorms? This was over. Fox and Co had won them over to Johns’ side and they’d yelled themselves hoarse every time the RAT shouted his guts up. They were totally into this. They’d claimed this scene for theirs. Giving Johns their total backing. Tell they this was finished? They’d go mad.But that was the point. They didn’t own this, Johns did. They were onlookers, they weren’t participants. All of them. Bystanders. This scene wasn’t theirs. It didn’t belong to the muscle-heads either whose raw muscle power Johns had manipulated for his purpose. They may have done Johns’ bidding but they were bystanders. This scene didn’t belong to them. Not to any of them.Here only one guy dominated. The guy whose person felt like it had been transformed into the hardest all-body boner mankind had ever known. Alive with electrifying power. It was Johns who ruled. He controlled, he decided. It was Johns alone whose scheming had gained domination over the muscle-punk. Johns let his eyes run over him. Hanging lifeless off his wrists, chin sagged down onto his chest. Visibly broken. The one-time Musclehead with his shredded physique of the kind that Johns’ Laura had craved .. the shredded RATSHIT whose charisma to lead astray Johns had been anxious about …. Johns had broken him. Johns, no one else. This was Johns’ triumph. And it was Johns who’d keep the punk broken.Delaying the remainder of his due punishment …. No one was going be pleased. But what did they understand! Others might fear they’d have a riot on their hands. But Johns had proven his power to control this mob. He’d changed them from howling wolves into a submissive crowd by the power of his own charisma and by the threat of his glares. Ambushing them by dangling the RAT off the net …. That had got them back under his power again. He WOULD order the punishment delayed. And they WOULD accept it.Done not out of any consideration for the punk. THERE was the leverage Johns would hold over him. The blackmail. Extortion for exemplary good conduct. The RAT’s sword of Damocles. Threatening the RAT that, one foot out of line, …. Johns would order his punishment completed. The last thing the prick would want … getting brought back to this net. Not just the pain. And Johns could have him sentenced to another sixty in a thrice. No, the punk would not want to face that pain again. But he’d mainly shy away from the shaming. His manly conceit …. Would he want to see himself publicly broken by Johns again? Wouldn’t this prick do everything it could to avoid returning here for his punishment to be completed?And yet ….seen mincing around in his pink body-thong …. he’d be a temptation to every cadet. Provoked into making a wrong move. Every moment of his day, some Senior might come up and goad him into a disastrous move. Constantly tormented. Constantly being tempted into putting a foot wrong. On edge every waking minute. Mental torture. Fearing he’d cross the line and finish up returning to the net. How was that going to go down with this over-muscled manly pride? Knowing every single cadet in the School was out to trip him up? How was he going to like the whole School working its worst to have the RATSHIT back up on the net? Tempting him into a wrong move so that the fun could carry on? Extortion. Blackmail. Call it what you wanted. But it was the tightest straitjacket the punk could ever wear. Forcing him into changing his rebelliousness. Doing Johns’ bidding at all times. Johns' plan was ingenious .. even if the delay was not going to go down well with this hall. Even the more experienced Janus had gasped at the ingenuity of Johns’ trick. He’d praised Johns .. topping off the physical suffering with this added layer of mental torture for the RAT … that WAS clever.Johns was quietly pleased with himself too. At that simple insight ….. no one had decreed all sixty strokes should be delivered in one go. Hold some back …. and Johns was holding the threat over him. A twist of the screw. That threat was the best incentive for the RAT to give only the highest standard of exemplary disciplined behaviour. Even having to put up with the humiliation of his pink body-thong.Johns cast his eye over the assembled cadets. Their eyes were locked on the lifeless broken RAT. Seeing him unexpectedly suspended in the air off the net .. in a crude reminiscence of ancient crucifixions … Johns had every face wondering. Asking themselves, What next?What next, indeed.? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Delay0317500Johns cast a firm eye slowly over the assembled School. Taking his time. Drawing all eyes to himself. They were wanting answers .. why the RAT was dangling free in the air. What came next?Johns took his time .. milking their curiosity. Sternly he glared at likely troublemakers. Cowering them.His call to order rang out harsh over the gym. "Cadets."The hall seemed to tremble with expectancy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few younger ones snap to attention. He would have smiled. He would have gloried in that mistake. This was not a formal parade. But his control over these proceedings was so firm, so disciplined, that some cadets had thought it was. That gave his sense of power over these proceedings an added lurch in his pants. But he’d let nothing show on his face.It was with some satisfaction that he noticed the RAT did not react. He hung, conscious but lifeless. Eyes closed, head down, that muscled physique accentuated by the stretch off his wrists. He was the only one in this gym who was not hanging on Johns’ words. Broken. Too far gone.Johns again showered the assembled gym with the sternness of his authority. Every eye on him. That control shimmered in his blood. Took a tight grip on his shaft."Forty strokes."Johns paused. His voice echoed through the gym. His authority rang out over the assembled heads. “The Rat has taken forty-odd strikes.”This control was glorious. Every eye on him. Johns breathed in deep, relishing this power he wielded over the whole School."This RATSHIT is sentenced to sixty."Other times Johns would have heard a cheer. Earlier one of those unruly harassers he'd just silenced with an icy stare might have yelled out, What are we waiting for? Get on with it. Johns’ stern demeanour had silenced such unruly conduct, however. His control had them behaving like men. Like dutiful soldiers, disciplined. He tested them further."No one said, Sixty all at once."Johns sensed rather than heard a murmur of confusion. But no one said a word. No one would have dared, he felt."Sixty strokes. The RATSHIT still owes twenty for his heinous crimes."Again Johns sensed thoughts shifting in their collective brains. He'd play with them. He'd toy with them. He'd keep them waiting. Then he dropped his bombshell."Later. The RAT will receive the remaining twenty at a later time."The nearest faces Johns could see were creased with doubt. He explained "Forty now. Twenty more to come.”He inserted a brief dramatic pause.“Twenty more delivered when the timing is right."When Johns considered it right. When the prick was least expecting it, the tightness pressing against his pants sniggered to Johns.Johns would keep that threat hanging over the RAT. He’d keep these cadets salivating with the idea of participating in this all over again. Soon he'd have the RAT eating out of his hand .. hoping-against-futile hope that Johns might let him off. That was out of the question, of course. Just as it would prove impossible for this piece of RATSHIT to keep up the act. He’d put a foot wrong, he’d bring this back on himself, he was that sort. He’d be goaded into a wrong move. The punk would be back. It was just a question of when. When Johns decided to finish him off.Forty strokes already tonight. The RAT wouldn't sit down for a week. Every step he took he’d wince. The memory of this thrashing would burn in every cell of his body for days. The thought he'd have to submit to this again .. whenever Johns’ whims felt like it …. the glorious thought of that power had sprung into a powerful force in Johns' groin. A power that suffused his whole being. The control that threat give him over the prick. He'd be bending over backwards to please. He'd not want to go through that shame again.Johns wouldn't let him off, of course. Discipline was discipline. The RAT's behaviour was intolerable. But Johns would enjoy the sight of the RAT cringing in the shadows in his shameful pink body-thong .. staying out of Johns' way. Doing anything to avoid drawing attention to himself. Johns could use him virtually as a slave. To go-and-fetch for him. To suck his dick if he was in the mood.Johns was tempted to turn. Surely the RAT had to have taken that in? He had to have heard he was being let off. But he’d have heard he’d be back on this net. He'd have put two-and-two together. He'd be realising the power this delay kept Johns over his head. Grateful he wasn’t getting more tonight, that Johns was letting him off from more physical pain tonight. But this muscle-head had a brain. He knew Johns was not the sort to let him off lightly .. or at all. Johns had a mental torture weapon in his hands .. he could brandish it every moment of the day. A branding iron Johns could plunge into his whiplashed arse any time he felt like it. Day in/ day out.It was tempting to turn round and gloat over the look of concern that had to be painted on the RAT's worried features. Johns didn't give way to temptation, though. He didn't face his RAT and sneer in his face. Better than that, Johns had the whole School under his control. Johns was the man of the moment."For today. At forty strokes. The punishment is halted …."He anticipated disappointment from the cadets. They’d howled for every stroke of pain lashed into his sweating flesh. Red in the face, screaming, cheering .. their mockery lashing out at the RAT in his pain. And now Johns was telling them to calm down. Behave like soldiers. Obey orders. Self-control.Johns had waylaid them. Raising the net so that the RAT was stuck hanging off his hands .. that had got them wondering, it had stilled the hall. Something momentous had to be coming, they’d thought. Johns' plan had worked. There was a tense silence. Every cadet eager for Johns to announce, What next?This power over the whole School was buzzing in Johns' pants. They'd get their final pound of flesh. But only when Johns decided so."Cadets. This punishment will reconvene. Later. The time will be announced. This foul RAT will stand up. He will complete his punishment. Later."Johns had anticipated protests. This thrashing had got them so wound-up, it would have been normal for some to complain. One might have expected voices shouted out in protest.Silence. Not a word. Nothing. Now THAT was power. Johns didn't dare believe his success but he felt such a rush of power. He had them silenced by the power of his authority over them. He'd done it! He was exerting control over this mad pack of howling hounds. He had imposed strict military discipline over a blood-thirsty mob. There had to be disappointment. There’d be some cadets burning with resentment. Johns listened again. His eyes scoured the gym for signs of trouble. His eyes picked out the likely suspects, lashing them with his firm gaze. No one. Acceptance. Obedience. What power! Military discipline."Cadets dismissed!"? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? Scorn17145018415000Johns was maintaining a stern look on the cadets. He had tricked them all, they’d thought their fun was going to carry on. But this wasn’t their day, it was Johns’. And it was Johns who decided what went.He’d dismissed them. Ordered them out of the gym. Fun over, back to their dorms. Friends had looked at each, Johns had spotted more than a few frowns of disapproval. One or two whispered conspiratorially in a buddy’s ear. Johns would bet on those comments not being complimentary. But they were shifting, the cadets were moving out. Moving towards the doors. Obeying. They didn’t like Johns’ order. But they were obeying him. Like soldiers should. They were carrying out their superior’s orders. An order they didn’t want to obey. But that was the army. You carried out your superior’s orders without question. That was discipline. Johns’ type of discipline.It would take some time to empty the gym. Only three doors and hundreds of cadets. As they shuffled out, a murmuring started. Johns listened carefully. He hadn’t explicitly dismissed them to leave in silence. He’d allow some quiet comments. Main thing was, he’d got them to obey. Minutes earlier a howling mass screaming for the RAT’s blood. Now Johns exerted his complete control over this once-time mob, he’d stilled them. THAT was power.But still he kept his eagle-eye on the cadets .. on the look-out for any outbreak of dissent. Which he would instantly crush. He was so intent that he hadn’t spotted the movement behind him. He was listening out for any negative reactions that he didn’t first hear the words.“Six.” Grunt.“Seven.” Grunt.“Eight …..”Johns span his head around. That damned RATSHIT. He was hanging off the net still, tied to it at the wrists still, suspended off the ground. And the stinking RAT was doing pull-up’s!When Ka-Lan saw Johns had spotted him, he threw the scrawny prick a wink.“Nine.” Grunt.“Ten.” Grunt.This was killing him. The effort of pulling his dead-weight body up only by his arms, it hurt like crazy with every inch he moved. His lashed back screamed back at him. But like fuck was his face going to show it. It was showing only the normal effort of a well-tuned athlete putting in the effort.“What you say, Fox? In for a challenge? Shall we say Fifty?”Ka-Lan grinned down at the school sports champ. Fox stood scowling looking up at him. Without missing a beat .. without a pause .. Ka-Lan grunted through his next pull-up.“You up for a bit of competition? Fifty?”“Fourteen.” Grunt.Sneering Ka-Lan smirked back down at Fox. Grunt. “Too many?” Ka-Lan winked goading the sports champ. Grunt.“Too many for you?”Ka-Lan gave Fox a condescending look.”OK, look. I’ll let you off. Fifty too high? Can’t manage?”Ka-Lan taunted as he completed another painful pull.“Make it easy on you. Let’s call it thirty.” Grunt.Ka-Lan winked. Fox was open-mouthed.“Fifty for me. Thirty for you.”He chortled through the next grunt of effort.“Go for it, Fox!”Johns span around. The hall had not cleared. A good fifty cadets were still there.“Not gonna let some RAT call ya out, are ya?”“Show him what you’re made of, Fox!”Johns fumed. The cadets had turned around. Now all the remaining cadets were looking on.“Eighteen. Nineteen.”Now those pricks were joining in. They were counting out the pull-up’s. “Twenty.”They were joining in. “Get in there, Fox. Show him you’re not a joke.”Fuck, screamed Johns in his head. That god-damned RAT. He’d turned this into a participation sport! Damn that RAT! He’d got himself an audience.“Hurry up, Fox. It’s Twenty already.”Some joker in the hall scoffed out the challenge. The lot of them broke out in a laugh.This was killing him. But Ka-Lan was not giving an inch. He grabbed the chance. Fox was not reacting, he was not taking the bait. He changed tactics.“Murray. What about you? You chicken like Fox? Can’t take a bit of competition?”Ka-Lan’s back was hurting like crazy. But he kept on the pull-up’s as he spoke. Disguising his hurt as the sound of effort.“Tell you what. I’ll make it easy for you, Murray.”Ka-Lan was no friend of Murray. But it suited him to make a switch. He gave his arms and back a rest. And he was giving Murray back where it would hurt him most. A kick in his competitive sporting groin.“Knee-lifts more your stuff? Hundred?”Ka-Lan swung his knees up, thighs perpendicular to his waist.“Two.”The number-calling was taken up from the hall too. The cadets eagerly called it out.“Three.”Mocking Ka-Lan smirked over at the seething face of Murray.“You make it to Hundred? Na. Chicken-shit like Fox.”He snarled down at the Senior who was lost for words. “Make it easy on you, too. Eighty for you. Hundred for me.”The cadets were grinning, joining in.“Five. Six.”Others were getting in in the act.“Chicken.”“Chicken.”"Gonna let RATSHIT show you up, Murray?""Chicken or what?"Damn them, Johns cursed himself. The cadets had wandered back down the gym. At the front, close-up to the callisthenics display they were jeering their school-champ heroes. Johns was incensed. Others outside must have heard something was going on. Some were filtering back into the hall. These cadets were making a joke of this. They were turning this into a sideshow. "Eight. Nine."Seething Johns heard cadets in the doorways calling the others back. Smiling cadets up front were cheering the RAT on, counting out his achievement. Only minutes ago they’d been jeering HIM. These fickle cretins had been baying for more. Their eyes were now full of admiration. Now their faces were glowing with respect. Fuck, this RATSHIT was tough! It was written on their faces. They drooled at the RAT showing off his prowess. Side-twist with the knees to the left. Twist to the right. What a tough motherfucker! They’d witnessed what he’d been put through. What a god-almighty soldier he’d make. Toughest god-damned motherfucker in the School!"Get in there, Murray. Show him what you're made of."But the shouts weren’t encouraging. They were cajoling. They were disbelieving. “If you dare!”The whole crowd erupted with snorting at that challenge. At this tortured RAT showing the School’s sports champs up.Still the RAT was going his knee lifts. Still cadets were counting them out. Johns fumed. SHIT! They were jeering Johns’ men, the school champs. They were jeering Johns! All his hard work. All this control. Destroyed. By a few physical jerks.Johns’ fears had come true. The RAT had his following. The gullible fools were ogling this physical specimen of muscular manhood. Faces aglow with admiration. After what he’d gone through …..! He’d conned them, he’d tricked Johns. He wasn’t done-in at all. He'd pulled himself through this ordeal. And look what this guy was capable of ….. What a tough motherfucker! He had his following. He'd bought himself a fan-club. Johns gasped, things were careening out of control."Eleven. Twelve."Johns could only see awe in those eyes. Stupidly worshipping this muscle-headed piece of RATSHIT who knew no control or respect. Just because this shredded muscle-dick could do a few pull-ups. Because the motherfucker could pull off this trick!Scornful Ka-Lan winked down at Murray.“I’ll make it even easier on you. Seventy for you, then. Hundred for me.”The cadets cheered. Fingers pointed at Murray. The gym jeered.Fuck! Johns screamed in his head. How could he lose this control!? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ? ?? ? ................
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