To follow this story, you should first read A REALLY CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT and A WHOLE NEW INDUSTRY, in that order. All characters in this story are fictitious, but the two follow-up parts are dedicated to Tim and the gang, but for whose encouragement and bright ideas, nothing more would ever have come of the original manuscript.
THIS BLOODY NEW INDUSTRY
My name is Jason [just 'Jase' to most people] and I am 18 years old. I came to the Cape from Surrey with my parents seven years ago and am now an apprentice Cooper, working for Mr. Jean-CLaude le Roque, who makes all the wine barrels that are used out here. He has said that, when my time is over, he will have a job for me if I want to stay on with him.
Whether that is still true, I don't really know, because his other two apprentices and I have become the latest three recruits of this bloody new industry which has sprung up in Cape Town and which seems to involve a large number of the local people, almost the whole garrison and quite a lot of others as well. I say it is 'bloody' because it is an 'industry' that is based on whipping boys' tails and because ours are soon going to be thrashed raw as our part of it. The good part of it is that it seems to be making more money than all the other businesses in Town put together, but I just wish right now that some of that money wasn't going to be made out of my backside.
You see, at the moment we are standing, stark naked, at the foot of some steps leading up to a platform, on to which we are going to have to climb, just now, to get the birch on our bare bums, which is the punishment for which our employer has registered us for a long string of offences, which were reported to him by our foreman, Mr. Dessault, last Thursday.
I blame Timmy, who is the youngest and also by far the naughtiest of us, for our getting into this mess. He is Mr. le Roque's little pet and always assured us that 'Old Jean' would never do anything to us as long as he (Tim) was around. I think he got a terrible fright when Mr. le Roque didn't just warn us about a trip to the Castle this time, but actually gave us all the choice between getting the sack on the spot or joining the next punishment parade [which should have been that Friday] for a good hiding.
We all need our jobs and both Samuel [the senior apprentice] and I know, in our hearts, that we deserve a thrashing, so we all took that choice after begging hard for mercy without getting any. Even then, Timmy still said that it would never happen and that it was just a big bluff to give us all a scare. It seemed as if he was right when the Friday parade was cancelled 'as there were no Army Boys to be flogged', but then I heard from one of the local boys who is ALSO in the 'industry', as an usher on 'public' days, that our names WERE on the list for the next parade, so we all spent a very miserable weekend and have worked very hard every day, in the hope of being let off, this one last time.
When nothing was said this morning, we all relaxed a bit, but then, at about half past eleven, two soldiers came along with rifles and fixed bayonets to escort us to the Castle and we nearly wet ourselves. Mr. Dessault wouldn't even let us change into our ordinary clothes as he said it didn't matter what we wore. We didn't understand what he meant, but off we had to go, just in our shirts, overalls and bare feet, jogging between the soldiers half way across Cape Town, while all the people we passed had a good laugh at us, as they probably knew exactly where we were going and what was going to happen to us there.
When we got to the Castle, they took us in by the Nassau Gate, checked our names against a list and marched us over to some soldiers on the other side of the parade ground. One of them had no shirt on and another, a boy of about 17 or 18, had no pants. His shirttails covered him to about halfway to his knees, so he looked very funny with bare legs between his shirt and his socks, which stuck up out of his boots.
Then our own troubles started. As soon as we got there, they told us to take all our clothes off. Of course, we didn't want to and Timmy, with a loud mouth, as usual, argued fiercely until this huge soldier with the big moustache, shouted him down and warned us that any one of us who wasn't naked by the time he counted up to 10 would get the 'cat' as well as the birch. Luckily we only had two things to take off and we were barefoot already, so we all made it, [Timmy only just] and then all five of us were marched over to the platform in the middle of the ground, which is where we are now.
Since we got here, they have taken the soldier with no shirt on and tied him to a post on the platform. Then a boy of about Timmy's age stood behind him and hit him hard six times on his bare back with the 'cat', which is a whip with lots of lashes. It must have been terribly sore, because he screamed from the third lash on and it seemed worst when the tips of the lashes curled round under his arm and made his side bleed a bit.
When his whipping was over, they untied him and he found his own way back to his clothes. I felt sorry for him, because his back was bright red and covered with ridges and cuts and looked as if it had to be very sore. He was trying not to cry, but I could see the tears in his eyes, but then I was more interested in the boy soldier who was going up on to the+ platform. I could see up under his shirt that he was bare bum and I started to get scared for our part, because one of us would be next.
I feel sure that dear little Timmy will go first of us and get the fewest strokes; that way he won't have the torture of watching Sam and me getting ours before his turn comes. I think I am Mr. le Roque's least favourite apprentice, because he thinks Timmy is so wonderful and Samuel is also a Hugenot, so they can talk to each other in French, while I am just an ordinary local boy and go in for what my dad used to call 'dumb insolence' before he died.
I don't think it's fair that Timmy should get off lightest, because he is REALLY the naughtiest of the three of us and he's not so much younger that he deserves to be treated like a little boy. Sam actually doesn't deserve a hiding at all, so he'll probably go second and either get the same as dear little Timmy or only a couple more and then I'll REALLY catch it at the end.
I don't want you to think that I don't like Timmy; he's a really goodlooking kid with fair hair, nice blue eyes, a strong little body, [he's quite short] beautiful legs and the toughest feet of anybody I know, so he can go barefoot anywhere, even up the mountain and he's lots of fun to have around. It's just that he HAS always got away with everything until now and it does seem a bit unfair that he should be punished the least of all of us for what was mainly his fault. I must admit, though, that Mr. le Roque has NEVER been unfair to me and has given me a raise even when neither Timmy or Sam got one, but I suppose it's a bit different when it comes to this sort of punishment and he won't want his little darling to get hurt too much.
Suddenly I see, out of the corner of my eye, that Mr. le Roque is being shown to his seat in the front row and that those two little brats, the Purlali boys, Hassain and Michka, are ushers here today. They are going to love this, because a few weeks ago we caught them stealing staves at the factory. They begged us not to report them and as they are really very nice little boys, we just put them over a barrel and smacked their bums with a stave a few times until they yelled for mercy and then let them go; we even let them keep their pants on, but now they are going to get their own back watching us get it bare bum.
I watch, in a bit of a daze, while they put the other boy over a trestle like the ones we use for trimming staves, but with a wider, padded, top and tie his hands and feet to its legs. Then they turn his shirt up his back, so he is naked from his armpits to his ankles and with his bare bum sticking up and spread just a bit open so you can see his things hanging down between his legs.
This time there are two of those young soldiers, each one with a long thin stick in his hand., one on the right and one on the left of the trestle. I was too busy looking around me to know what happened before they whipped the first soldier, but now I hear them read out the boy's sentence, which is 10 cuts with the cane on his naked backside for sleeping on duty and I wonder what ours will be, later on.
By now I am feeling a terrible fool, standing in front of all those people, lots of whom must surely know me, with my bare bum on one side and my naked _c_o_c_k_ and balls on the other. I forgot to mention that, as soon as we were bare they had tied our arms together behind our backs, so we couldn't even cover ourselves with our hands and the more you turn away from some spectators, the more you show to others. I see the Purlali boys grinning at me and I would like to strangle them.
Now they are lining up the canes on that poor guy's bare bum; they are both lifted clear and then the one comes down with a loud, high whistle, followed by a crack like a gunshot as it hits his naked arse, right across the middle of both cheeks. I am still watching the deep white dent in his bum turning red and swelling out of his flesh when the pain hits him and his whole body jerks against the ropes. He doesn't cry out or anything, but I can see from how the muscles are standing out in his back and legs, that he is in agony. Then, even before he has got over that one, the other cane hits him, just below the first one and now there is a raised red strip over an inch wide, and about three inches long, right across each side of his tail, with the last inch or so of each stripe, on the opposite sides of his arse, already turning purple and looking as if blood blisters are going to come up under his skin.
I just can't believe how hard those two boys are hitting someone they must know quite well and I can feel drops of sweat start to run down my sides at the thought of what they will probably do to us, who are complete strangers. The third and fourth cuts land in quick succession, one above and one below the wide stripe, so now the whole middle part of his bum is a thick, swollen ridge and I can see a few drops of blood forming on the sides of both cheeks, where the tips of the canes have dug into his tail.
Two things are certain and they are that those soldier boys really know how to give a caning and that this poor boy is getting the father and mother of a thrashing. Now that they have got into their swing, the canes just keep on rising and falling as regularly as clockwork, each time making a new white, going red, then purple, welt across naked cheeks which seem to be clenching and relaxing in time to the 'beat'. Of course, it must be almost impossible to absorb that much pain, which just keeps on coming at you, without breaking down eventually and after about six cuts, the poor guy began to yell and, by the time he got the last two, which were angled in a cross right across his arse and all the other stripes on it, he was really screaming. I must admit that I felt quite sick at the thought that in a few minutes, one of us would be up there, getting it even worse and I stopped envying Timmy for going first, [I assumed] as I was far from sure that I was going to be able to take it at all.
In spite of myself, I was finding this caning, the first one I had ever seen done bare bum, very interesting and much more so than the whipping before it. While the soldier's whole back had braced and shuddered every time the whip had landed on it, anywhere from high on his shoulders down to the bottom of his ribs, the two halves of this boy's arse seemed to work completely independently of each other. When he got a cut from the left, with the tip of the cane wrapping round low down on his right cheek, you could see the muscle there, just above his leg, jerk and quiver or, if the cut landed higher up, the middle of his main tail muscle on that side would clench and then relax as the cane was lifted again, I couldn't imagine how the heat and sting must be building up inside those two quite small, round balls of hard, bruised flesh, but I had the horrible feeling that I would soon be finding out. By the time the tenth hissing stroke had sunk into those two purple, swollen cheeks and split several of the earlier welts open in the process, I could have forgiven that boy if he had been hysterical, instead of just giving a single long, high-pitched scream of pain, which seemed to go on and on, long after the actual thrashing was over.
I half expected that he would have to be helped down off the platform and, perhaps, carried away, but, once he was untied, he slid off the trestle, a bit stiffly, tried rubbing his bum, found that it didn't help and walked slowly off towards his clothes. That was when I realised just what a cruel, nasty mob the rich ladies and gentlemen from Tamboers Kloof are and why they have come to watch today's set of beatings; they are loving every moment of it and are getting a big thrill out of seeing the bare backsides being whipped, never mind if the boys deserved it or not. I could see this from the way lots of them, especially the 'ladies', flipped that poor guy's shirt up as he walked past them, so they could get a close up view of his thrashed tail. I was just thinking that, if anyone did that to me later on, I'd turn round and slap them, even if I got another flogging for it, when I real- ised that when I went that way, I would be naked, so everyone could see all they wanted to, anyway.
Meanwhile they have finished caning that boy and he is on his way down. So now it's our turn. My whole stomach is in a knot and I can see from Sam's and Tim's faces that they are in the same state. But then, absolutely nothing happens and we just stand there until I notice that some soldiers are clearing the platform and putting other things on it. Meanwhile those same awful people behind me start making remarks about our bums and what is going to happen to them. I try not to listen, but can't help myself and, for some reason, the idea of other people being interested in my arse excites me and I know I am getting all stiff and tingly down there, until it feels just like when I do it to myself. Looking down and sideways, I can see that Tim is also stiff, but Sam, who has got lots more control, as well as far more courage than us two, because he is older, is still soft, although I can see that his bum is pulled in just as tight as mine.
I think that half the trouble is that we don't know what is going to happen to us. Until today I had never seen a bare bum hiding and I would lie if I said that it isn't quite exciting to watch another boy's arse getting whipped and going red, while he fights and howls from the pain. Even knowing that my own is soon going to look and feel like that, doesn't make what is happening to the other boy any less fun to see, so I can suddenly understand why all those sixpences and tickeys are being spent at the Castle every week.
At last the next name is called out and it's no surprise that it's Timmy's. A soldier goes behind him and unties his arms and gives him a little push towards the steps. Timmy's got plenty of guts, I'll give him that and he takes a deep breath, starts to cover himself with his hands, seems to realise that it doesn't matter any more and climbs the steps, giving everybody a perfect view of his nice round little tail and his very stiff _c_o_c_k_, as he goes. By now, there is the soldier with the notebook, who is in full uniform, another big soldier and two of those boy soldiers, who are all bare to their waists and Timmy, who is naked, on the platform and a high jar with a lot of bundles of sticks standing in it, is on one side. The big soldier half kneels down and Timmy has to lie on his back. I get even stiffer, imagining what Tim must be feeling like, with his bare chest and tummy pressed against that man's naked back. Then he stands up and leans a bit forwards, so Tim's feet are hanging in mid air, his body is bent at the waist and his bare bum is pushed out and pulled just tight enough to make a good target. The two boys have each collected one of the bundles of sticks, which I suppose are like birch rods and are standing on either side of Timmy's arse.
Suddenly I remember that, when I was about 9, the Squire's son had come home for a holiday and when we had all gone swimming in the river, his bum had been full of red marks and scabs and he said that he had been birched at schoool that week. So THAT'S what is now going to happen to Timmy's bum and then Sam's and mine. I am so scared I don't know what to do with myself, but my _c_o_c_k_ is still hard and it is making me feel excited, so I am really confused. Now two kids are going up on the platform as well; _s_h_i_t_!! it's those Purlali brats!! they're certainly cashing in on this business, because they're going to hold Timmy's feet while he gets the birch. I wonder how much they get paid for THAT, on top of being ushers.
I'm afraid that just seeing and thinking about the Purlalis almost makes it happen to me, which would be terrible. I would love to get my hands on those two, who are about 12 and 14, but I'm much too scared of what their eldest brother, Chandra, who is about 25, told me one day, to ever do anything to them.
He wasn't threatening me or anything, but he said that, where they come from, if a boy or a girl from their 'caste' does it with a boy from another caste or village and her family or the 'Council' hears about it, they take both of them away into the hills. They make a big fire and make them both get naked and tie them together, face to face. Then they each get it with a buffalo whip until they say whether their girl or boy allowed it or it was done by force. If it was allowed, their boy or girl is thrown into the fire and burnt to death, but if it was by force, he or she has to watch what happens to the other boy and then gets chased back to their village with the whip. If it was allowed, the other boy gets chased back to his villlage with the whip after the burning is over, but if it was by force, they hang him from the branch of a tree by ropes round his wrists and his _c_o_c_k_. The difference is that the ropes round his wrists are new ones that still have to stretch, but the one that's tied round his _c_o_c_k_, just under his knob, is an old, stretched rope. Then after about half an hour, when he's just about hanging by his _c_o_c_k_ and just before it gets ripped out of his body by his own weight, they let him down, not by just cutting the ropes, but by first cutting his _c_o_c_k_ and balls off with one chop of one of those wavy knives and leaving them hanging there, while he bleeds to death or his feet reach the ground and they let him go, to live. if he can, with no _c_o_c_k_ and balls.
I don't really believe that anybody could be SO cruel, but you can never tell with foreign people and I certainly don't want to be the one to find out, so Michka and Hassain are safe from me. Now the two little _s_h_i_t_s are going to have a really close up view of all our arses being flogged, mine, I suppose, until there's nothing left of it.
But nothing is happening; why the hell don't they read out Timmy's sentence and get on with it? Of course!! there IS no 'sentence' be- cause he's not a soldier. THAT'S why Mr. le Roque is there, not because he wants to see us suffering so much, but so as to say what each of us must get. I can feel the hairs on my neck standing out and my _c_o_c_k_ starts to tingle; I wonder what poor old Timmy is feeling like, up there, with his bare tail all ready to get thrashed, just waiting to hear how many. My bet is that he will get 6, or, maybe, 8 and that Sam will get 12 or, at the most, 15. I can't even begin to think what is going to happen to me, but, I suppose, it will be about two dozen or even 30.
I can feel the muscles in my bum pulling tight at the thought of those long thin sticks cutting into them, but then I see Mr. le Roque stand up and hear his French-sounding voice. Oh my God, I don't believe this. He's just said that Timmy must get two dozen strokes. That will kill the poor kid; he's only 16 and I don't think he's ever had a hiding in his life; there must be some mistake. And anyway, if Timmy gets 24, what is going to happen to Sam and me?
I can see that Tim is as shocked as I am. His bum is clenched so tight that his crack is just a straight line between his cheeks, his legs are stiff and even his toes are spread out, he is so nervous. One good thing is that the fright has made my _c_o_c_k_ shrivel up completely, so THAT is one thing less to worry about.
Then I see those two boys lie their birches across Tim's bum, one just above the other, covering the whole of the middle of his arse with the sticks. Each birch is about three inches wide where it is touching his tail, so there's not much of it showing above and below them. I can see that this is going to hurt like hell and I screw my eyes up as those boys raise the rods right up behind their heads to start flogging Tim's backside.
There's a funny sound. It's not like the whistle that the canes made just now, nor even like the hissing of the cat when the soldier was flogged; it's more like a wind making the leaves of trees rustle when they are dry, in autumn. Then that sound stops and it's as if a tub of bathwater had been thrown out of an upstairs window on to a cobbled path - more of a splash than a crack. The only thing is that the two 'cobbles' that it landed on, the bare cheeks of Timmy's bum, haven't got wet, they have gone bright red, with a wide stripe across the left one and a sort of triangular patch of thin, darker red weals and ridges on the right one, going over the highest part and round on to the side. Even before those marks have all come out properly, he gets the first cut from the other side, so then, both sides of his little arse are covered with those awful thin red ridges. If only two cuts have done that to his bum, what is it going to be like after another 22?
But then those two boys get into their stride and start thrashing my poor little mate's tail in earnest. I must admit that they both have beautiful brown backs and it's nice that they are bare, so you can see how their muscles ripple as they swing the rods and bring them down, right through Timmy's arse alternately from left and right, each cut making a fresh band of those stripes, which soon cover both his cheeks completely, from the very top of his crack, right down on to the tops of his legs. The way the Purlali boys are holding Tim's feet, round the outside of the soldier's knees, has pulled his bum apart just enough to let the tips of some of the sticks curl round the insides of his cheeks, not right down as far as his hole, but enough to hit really soft skin. Timmy got through the first 6 with hardly a sound, but he began to gasp a bit as the 7th and 8th cuts bit into his bum and then gave up altogether and started to howl and bellow at the top of his voice. From the buzz of voices behind me, I am sure that the spectators are enjoying Tim's reactions very much and I realise, with horror, that I am as hard as a rock again and am getting more and more excited as Tim's flogging goes on, in spite of knowing that each cut he receives brings me closer to getting my own.
I glance down at Sam and am interested to see that even his _c_o_c_k_ has grown a bit and is starting to stick out from his body, so, I suppose, EVERYBODY finds watching a bare bum thrashing at least a bit exciting! Perhaps it doesn't affect him quite as much as Tim and me, or maybe he's got more control because he's older than us.
By now, Tim has had another four, so his flogging is halfway. I just can't believe how hard those two soldier boys are hitting him and also how hard the boy who got the cane, was thrashed before him. I know one of the boys who are flogging Tim, slightly, from seeing him down at the tavern by the Bay and when I next see him there, I'm going to ask him if they enjoy whipping other boys and if they get paid extra for doing it, like so much for every stroke, which would make them part of the 'industry' too, or if it is just part of their duties, like doing it to other soldiers must be.
Then they carry on with the second 12. I would have expected Tim's bum to have gone at least a bit numb by then, but now he is REALLY starting to show how much it is hurting him. He's trying to get his hands loose, but that soldier is too strong for him. His whole body is bouncing up and down on the soldier's back and as he gets his 16th cut, the two boys can't hang on to his feet any more, so they break free and his legs are kicking and his arse is wriggling all over the place, so much that the next two cuts miss his bum altogether and land on his legs. THAT must really have hurt, because he screamed and then lay still again, so the kids could catch his feet and hold them like before. Only now he's got two horrible red bands of raised stripes across the tops of both his legs, with little drops of blood on the insides, high up, just below his balls. He was very lucky that he didn't get hit THERE, or even on his hole, while he was struggling like that.
By now I am almost bursting and I want to do it to myself more than anything else on Earth. I'm sure that's why they tie our arms behind us, but not the soldiers'; they have got enough discipline not to do it, but they can't be sure of us - like now, I couldn't stop myself if my hands were free. It's amazing how much more it thrills you when they hit fast, instead of with the strokes a long time apart; I suppose its the constant snapping of the sticks on bare skin and the way Tim is screaming non-stop that is making my heart beat so fast. His whole bum is a mass of those thin stripes by now. They are all over each other, criss-cross, and next to each other, some with bleeding edges, some starting to turn black; no wonder the poor kid is screaming like that. I wonder what it actually feels like; it looks terribly sore, but then why is my _c_o_c_k_ so stiff and why am I wishing it was my turn already?
Just like with the caning, they give him the last few strokes on the cross, not that it makes so much difference this time, his tail is in such a mess already, but still, the tips of the sticks go far up on to his hips and down on to his legs, the inside ones just missing his balls again, but, from the way he is yelling, catching him right in between his legs, where the skin is very soft.
Then it's silent except for Tim's gasping for breath and the two boys panting a bit. Their bare backs are covered in sweat, so you can see that they have been hitting very hard. The two rods are quite badly broken up by now, with bits of stick lying all over the platform; I wonder if any bits got stuck in Tim's arse; God, he must be sore! Will he be able to walk? How are we going to get home after we've all had it? The soldier lets go of his wrists and his bare feet thump on to the floor. I think his knees are going to give way, but not our Tim! He jerks his shoulders straight and his hands shoot round to rub his bum. That probably hurt more than it helped, because he took them away quickly. I can see tears in his eyes, but he's not crying. His _c_o_c_k_ isn't stiff any more, but mine is stiff enough for both of us; Sam's has also gone down again, so there must be something wrong with me, to stay stiff like that.
Sam is very pale. I'm sure he also expects to go next. I really think that Sam is the best looking young man I know. He's got light brown hair and the sort of skin that is a rosy brown all over, so he shines as if he was polished. He's also got lovely muscles and I know he's very strong; you should see how easily he can lift big barrels! The young soldier turns a page over and calls a name. Oh _s_h_i_t_, there must be some mistake; he's called me, but I'm not ready to get it yet - it's Sam's turn; I've got to have more time, but no, they're waiting for ME. Someone unties my arms and gives me a little push between my shoulders. I am suddenly very shy and embarrassed about my body. It's all skinny and awkward, not stocky like Tim's or strong like Sam's; my legs are thin and weak and everybody will laugh and think that my _c_o_c_k_ is the biggest part of me. But then I remember how Mr. Dessault came up behind me last week, before all this trouble, and put his hands on my shoulders and said how nice and strong my back looked when I was sawing and that my feet held the staves in place better than either of the others', so, perhaps I'm not SO bad. The steps seem to go up forever. Suddenly their wood feels like red hot coals under my bare feet and I almost run up them, not because I want to get up there, but because they are burning my feet. I can't believe it, but my _c_o_c_k_ is still as stiff as ever; the Purlali brats look at it and smile at each other; they are REALLY enjoying all this. That big soldier is half kneeling down and offering me that broad, beautiful, brown back of his to climb on to; only, I know that, once I'm up there, with my bare arse stuck out, nothing can save me from more terrible pain than I've ever had before. If I had any pants on, I would probably be wetting them, but, then, you can't while you've got the horn, so I'm safe for now.
Those two boys have picked fresh rods. They are long and straight and I can see the sharp little buds all along them. I can just imagine what it is going to feel like when they start digging into my bare skin. I've got to ask for mercy, or jump off the platform and run away; I can't let this happen to me. But all of a sudden, my stiff _c_o_c_k_ is reassuring; it won't let me get hurt too badly; it's going to be all right; I must just get up there and let them do it. Sure, but how many am I going to get? Timmy got 24 and his bum is raw. I wonder where he is and look over my shoulder; the little _s_h_i_t_ is standing there, naked, with his skinned tail and his _c_o_c_k_ just as hard as mine again and I can see from his face that he is looking forward to seeing me get it, just like I enjoyed watching his thrashing, without either of us really wanting the other one to get hurt, which is crazy.
Now I'm up on the soldier's back, without really knowing how I got there. I can't see Mr. le Roque, but I hear his voice: what is it? three dozen or four? no, he's said 18 strokes. I can't believe it; he's known that Timmy is the naughty one all along and he's having us punished fairly, with Sam getting the least, like he deserves and I'm glad. But now I've got to get through 18 of those hard slashes all over my bare bum. Hassain and Michka have got a good grip on my feet and I can feel that my bum is pulled a bit apart. It feel as though there's a wet cloth lying on it, but then i realise that it's those two rods and that they are measuring my bum for its flogging. The rods go away, I press my bone hard against the soldier's hips and dig my fingers into the hair on his chest. There's a cold wind on my bum and then a loud splash, but I don't feel anything at first. I nearly laugh, but then it starts to burn; not much, more like when you just touch a hot stove and pull your hand away fast; but this time, the stove sticks to my tail and it feels as if I'm sitting on it bare bum. It gets hotter and hotter and then it also starts to sting as if a swarm of wasps is also stinging me all over one cheek. While I'm still fighting with them, the next lot land on the other cheek and now my whole arse is on fire. The burn is worse than the sting and every time I get another one, the heat goes up until it's like a roaring furnace down there.
The strokes just keep on coming until I can only feel those that hit new spots - the rest just increase the heat, but I know very well when some of the twigs are going in between my cheeks or landing in the crease between my bum and my legs and THEN I scream. But my _c_o_c_k_ was right, I'm going to be able to take it. I've lost count and there's so much noise in my ears, what with me yelling and that soldier counting and the crowd making remarks and the noise of the cuts, that I don't know how many more I've got to get. But now I'm getting that wonderful boiling feeling in my balls and up my _c_o_c_k_ like when I do it to myself and next thing, I'm shooting all over that soldier's back. It just goes on and on and each time I get another cut, I shoot again until it feel as if I'm shooting my insides out. I must of got 4 or 5 while that was happening and now I'm completely limp and even my horn has gone down, but the cuts still keep on landing. Only now I'm not feeling the strokes any more; its like they're pouring boiling oil or molten lead over my bum and frying the flesh off my bones. I could never imagine such heat - it goes right through me and I'm sure that the reason my horn has gone down is that my _c_o_c_k_ has been roasted to a cinder.
You know, I'm also not screaming any more; as far as I'm concerned, they can go on whipping my tail all day; my bum can take anything they want to do to it, I'm going to go to sleep!! Like hell!! The lashing stops and he lets go of my wrists and the kids let go of my feet. Now I'm back on the floor, but my arse muscles don't know where my legs are and for a moment I can't walk. There's a big fire burning where my backside used to be, but you know what, my horn is coming back again, so I MUST be all right. I look down and sure enough, you can see some spunk on my knob, so I DID shoot while they were hitting me; it was the best one of my whole life. I get down the steps and boy, does my bum hurt, going down like that, mostly from having to stretch those stiff muscles at the bottom of my tail. Now I'm standing next to Tim; It feels quite funny; we're both naked in front of hundreds of people and not in the least shy. After all, what more of us can they see now>
There goes Sam, as strong and brave as always; he hasn't even got the horn to help him through it like I had, but he walks up those steps as if he is just going to fetch something. He's got a really beautiful arse; you can see each cheek ripple as it takes his weight and then pass it on to those long, strong legs. He doesn't hesitate like I did, but climbs straight on to the soldier's back. His toes are only just off the ground when the soldier leans forward, but it's enough. His legs are quite relaxed and the kids are holding his feet quite lightly, not like they had to do with mine. What is he going to get? Mr. le Roque calls out "twelve", so I was right; Timmy did get what he deserved and so are we going to. I feel Tim take my hand and hold it; he's only a kid and he wants to know that I don't blame him for what's just happened to my arse. I squeeze his hand and we settle down to watch Sam get it. We're both as hard as rocks and what I really want to do is to start playing with mine, or even with Tim's. Of course, I can't do that here, but it WOULD be nice if I could!
They've got two new rods out for Sam's bum and I can see that he's braced it really tight for the sting; if only he knew, like I do now, that pulling your cheeks in tight doesn't help when you're gettinG the birch; it's not like the cane that just hits you in one place; this sets your whole arse on fire and the more you can relax, the less it seems to burn. I know, it's not easy to relax with hot coals on your tail, but it's still the best thing to do.
Watching Sam's flogging was totally different to Timmy's. Maybe it's because I've had mine already and now I'm willing him to get through it without getting hurt too much, but I'm also enjoying it more because I know how every cut feels and there's nothing more for me to worry about. His bum is quite a bit bigger that Timmy's or mine and his muscles are better developed, so his arse sticks out more than Timmy's did and makes a better target for the cuts. Those two boys must be getting quite tired by now, but they still let poor old Sam have it very hard. They are both sweating so much that the waistbands of their trousers are dark from the sweat. Never mind, Sam's sweat is running along his spine and down his crack, he's so nervous. Hang on, Sam! It won't take long, because you've only got to get 12.
Perhaps because he's got so few coming, they seem to be hitting him dirrerently from either Tim or me. You can see that they are going up on their toes and using all the force in their bodies, from their hips right down to their fingers, but they don't seem to be pulling the sticks through his bum, like it felt they were doing to mine; these cuts are hard and flat, with the rods' staying on his bum for just long enough for the twigs to bend round the sides, or the insides, of his cheeks. So, apart from the middle of both cheeks, which are quite raw, Sam's tail looks more as if it has had a very big caning than a birching and he isn't even crying any more when he comes back to us.
This is almost the worst part. The two soldiers have gone back to their platoons and, anyway, they had clothes on, but now the three of us are bare, Timmy and I have got very stiff _c_o_c_k_s and we've got to walk quite a long way in front of all these people, who obviously are going to stay here until they have seen all they can of our very well whipped backsides. Oh well, they've seen everything already, so why worry? I look at the others, we all know what we have to do and we just start walking, not even trying to cover up and definitely not looking at anyone else and next thing, we are back at our clothes and the whole problem is over.
Getting dressed is torture and walking back home is going to be, too. Now I just can't wait to save up a sixpence so I can come along one day and watch some other boys getting their arses whipped and I'm sure that lots of other people also feel like that, which is why this bloody new industry is going to get bigger and bigger for as long as there are boys in Cape Town who can't behave themselves and a place where they can get thrashed in public. It may be cruel and brutal, but it really IS fun to watch!
Somehow, this has made the three of us closer and I feel sure that tonight, once we go off to bed, we're going to find ways to take our minds off our stinging bums for a while.
I wonder, now that I know what it is like and that I quite enjoy it, if I could also get into this New Industry by letting them whip my bum about once a month when there aren't enough local boys being flogged to make it worthwhile for lots of people to pay to come and watch. If they paid me a penny or tuppence a cut and I got 12 or 15 a time, I could make quite a lot, they would get a good crowd and the Bloody Industry would get even bigger. I wonder....