The Groaning Times Chapter 8: Prison In-Processing

PLEASE NOTE: Readers who are new to this series and desire more background may want to start with “The Groaning Times: Prologue” and work through the chapters from there.]

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Once inside the gates of the Reeducation Prison, our preteen guards unhitched our aching penises and testicles from the wagons and unshackled our limbs. We’d hauled the plum trees for untold miles behind Tai’s limousine, wondering if the little Asian girl had any inkling of how this labor had pained our genitals. Not that we had any illusions that our teen conquerors would expect the revered child to spend even one nanosecond concerning herself with our testicular discomforts. The only important thing to them was that her plum trees had been delivered.

[When I later talked with Princess Tai in preparing this memoir, I expressed to her my pride that my balls had been used to haul her trees. Tai apologetically admitted that she hadn’t known at the time the method of locomotion. She said, “I had only a vague notion that there were naked white boys marching behind me, even though the spectators urged me to stand up in the seat of my limousine and look. But even when I stood up in the seat, I was too short to peer over the flowers piled on the back.”

Tai then tickled my frenulum and joked that she would reward me for my plum-tree labors with a “thousand milkings.”]

Our only relief had come from the bottles of water the guards had held to our lips as we paused outside the Prison gate, followed by some delicious breakfast-like bars. It was our first meal in 18 hours. Oddly, the water was of an expensive imported variety. That was the first hint of the paradoxical attention that was to be paid to the quality of our diet. Yet I should also note that the breakfast bars evinced a strong taste of Tingleroot. Based on the flavor, the dose must have been quite heavy. Our new rulers felt our shafts needed another injection of “iron” to keep our shame intense. They clearly enjoyed the sight of red faces and hard cocks on their white slaves. Of course, I would eventually come to acknowledge their right to gloat, given our centuries of supremacy over the underclass and the many injustices that had flowed from our dominance. But on this day, my classmates and I reeled with a mixture of shock and suppressed indignation at this humiliation. I guess we clung to a foolish notion that our tormenters would sober up from this binge of humiliation, remember how “important” we WASPs were, return meekly to their inferior caste in life, and let us resume our leadership in society. Yes, in spite of all this, a tiny flame of arrogance still flickered within us. I suppose arrogance dies hard, even when stripped to a G-string.

But, as I stated, our traditional hubris was but a tiny flame by now. Although our thirst and hunger had been sated, our balls were still swollen from pulling the wagons, and our ears still rang from the jeers and taunts of the jubilant ghetto crowds. Thousands of eyes had sparkled with glee at the sight of our being marched near buck-naked on their home turf. As I described in the previous chapter, Asian, black and Hispanic girls had shouted for “peter sausage” all the way up to the Prison gates. These girls smacked their lips as if they were dreaming of the moment they could sink their teeth into their first grilled preppie Anglo dicks. To my dismay, even tiny little girls had begun shouting for peter sausage, although they probably had no idea what that term meant. As I saw these pigtailed tykes clap and chant that phrase, I silently asked them, ‘would you honestly eat our cooked teenaged dicks?’

I could only wonder if their wishes would soon be granted, if indeed we were being marched to a penile barbeque of sorts. I wondered if that was our rulers’ reason for keeping our cocks hard -- for ease of slicing and roasting them in Tai’s honor.

I was increasingly tormented by the thought that my dick might be living on borrowed time, that it might soon be resting on some girl’s plate. My imagination running wild, I had a vision of Kyung’s little sister Yali sitting at a picnic table, holding chopsticks in her tiny fingers and staring wide-eyed at my well-grilled 7.5 inch Anglo penis resting on a bed of rice. I guess I imagined rice because Yali was Asian, and it seemed appropriate for little Asian girls to be served roast penis with rice. Yes, I found myself wondering if little Asian girls would prefer cock served in the Oriental manner. Such were the bizarre thoughts plaguing my mind during those moments.

Anyway, our tired and sore-footed parade of enslaved “elite” white nakedness (naked except for our slings), soon stood at attention in a giant parking lot. All three thousand of us stood ramrod straight under the command of our guards.

As we awaited the next order, our knees trembled with continuing apprehension at what may lay ahead. I couldn’t have been the only prep high-schooler thinking about the implications of peter sausage.

The crowds were also still with us. Teenaged girls and boys, including some very little boys, flooded inside the gates. Only the little girls had been kept outside. Although the authorities had allowed these underclass female children to see us marched in our G-strings (i.e., that charade of a “modesty garment” that left our pee-pee holes and scrotal bag wrinkles fully visible), the new powers-that-be must have concluded that the tender eyes of little girls weren’t ready for the totally naked events to follow inside the gates. Of course, the restrictions on what little girls would be allowed to see in the Prison would eventually be abandoned, but on this first day this one shred of public propriety was observed.

Of course, it didn’t take long for the Tingleroot to inject a double dose of steel in our penises. Our turgid cocks pushed our slings outward like never before. My penis shaft also began tingling intensely in my G-string, distracting me with renewed thoughts of masturbation. Yes, in the middle of this crushing subjugation, I shut my eyes and dreamed of stroking my dick. I wanted to rub it, pull it, and yank it for the blessed relief I badly needed.

I glanced around at my other classmates to see a similar torment in their expressions and body language. All three thousand of us needed to beat our peters.

Lao, followed by Francois, mounted a platform and surveyed our naked ranks. Tai’s two older brothers both smirked at the rows of erect cocks that seemed to salute them through the nylon. Lao then raised a megaphone to his lips and commanded us to remove our slings and hang them around our necks.

As we slipped our G-strings down our thighs, our tumescence became even more readily apparent. Considering our peril, it was terribly embarrassing to betray such grossly stiff cocks in these circumstances. Our naked erections seemed to pay homage to our own defeat. Even if we’d been permitted to express our indignation, our straining penises and swollen cock heads would have made a mockery of any such protestations. Yes, we were forced to face the embarrassing contradiction between our disgrace and our vein-bulging, purple-headed members.

As I stood totally naked, I grew more intensely conscious of my tingling shaft and the cum gathering in my testicles. I envisioned wrapping my fingers around my peter, pumping my cream out, and enjoying the ecstasy of that process.

I could tell I wasn’t the only one with this problem either. All of the Anglo teens standing at attention around me had that yearning, glassy-eyed look. No pun intended, but we all had a “load” on our minds. White slaves with big, stiff penises and balls sagging with cum – that seemed to be our lot in life.

Lao glared contemptuously at our nude and turgid penises, raised his megaphone again, and informed us that we were “conquered slaves” to be “processed” into the Prison and that we must obey every command with “grace, promptness and precision” in honor of his little sister. He said there would be “no concessions” to modesty in this process, and that our blueblood white dignity was to be a thing of the past.

He then snapped, “And you had better mind your boners, preppie slaves. Your hard-ons are meant as homage to my sister. They’re not for your pleasure!”

Shaking his finger at us, Lao then said, “That means you shall not allow one single drop of your condemned seed to see the light of day. Is that clear?”

We all swallowed hard and some of us instinctively but weakly mumbled, “Yes master.”

Tao cocked his ear, “I didn’t HEAR you!”

This time we all shouted, “YES MASTER!”

Tao nodded, “That’s better. Yes, unless you want to provide fresh peter sausages as dinner this evening for thousands of our women and girls, you’ll keep your damned Anglo cream in your damned Anglo nuts until they sag to your knees from the weight of it! Do not dishonor my sister with the spilling of your worthless semen! If you do, I’ll have your big, impudent Donkeys’ cocks chopped off at the base and stacked like Bratwurst sausages at my little sister’s feet! Do you want that?”

We took a deep breath and shouted, “NO MASTER!”

He snapped, “Then will you promise to be respectful white teenagers and keep your useless semen in your nuts?”

We shouted, “YES MASTER!”

Lao said,” That’s not good enough! Swear to me in full that you will keep your useless semen in your nuts and that your preppie cocks should be whacked off at the base in my litter sister’s honor if you fail to do so! SAY IT!”

Faces red, we shouted back, “YES MASTER. WE SWEAR TO KEEP OUR USELESS SEMEN IN OUR NUTS. OUR PREPPIE COCKS SHOULD BE WHACKED OFF AT THE BASE IN YOUR LITTLE SISTER’S HONOR IF WE FAIL TO DO SO!”

Lao nodded approvingly. Yes, he clearly understood the urges that tormented us and had no intention of seeing them satisfied. Furthermore, he seemed quite prepared to have our cocks sliced off to enforce his edict. I could only imagine how little Tai Vu would react to the sight of a pyramid of three thousand white penises hacked off to redeem her honor.

The teenaged girls who had followed us into the prison were soon giggling and taunting us about our erections. And I guess I could understand why the sight of thousands of us horny, totally nude “elite” Anglo prep-school teens made these Asian, Hispanic and black Ghetto girls smirk and laugh. Seeing the “elite” males of the “defeated society” nude and humbled is often a perk for the females of the victorious society. Throughout history, it’s been customary for victorious males to display the “spoils of war” before their women, to show them that the enemy males were no longer a threat to their honor. After all, the women of defeated societies were often subjected to rape, so this turnabout seemed fair. Though our downfall was the result of a cultural rather than a military war, we were nonetheless the spoils of this peculiar war. And we were being displayed as such, and with a vengeance.

Of course, one might argue that these underclass girls should have taken our boners as an affront, or even a threat, to their honor. Actually, the effect was quite the opposite. These girls delighted at the sight of our stiff dicks because it was such a telling display of our powerlessness. Our erections, because they were obviously useless for any purpose save tormenting us with our need to cum, emphasized our virtual nullification. These women were treated to the sight of three thousand stiff penises seeming to beg them for relief, weighted down by balls laden with sperm aching to be expelled. We presented these females with the picture of futility.

Upon recognizing our dilemma and how “blue” our balls were, these girls’ behaviors soon grew blatantly teasing. Mind you, they never touched us or even got very close, but instead used gestures and seductive words aimed at further arousing us. For example, a lovely, light-skinned black girl slowly peeled, and then alternately sucked on and ate, a banana, all the while winking coquettishly at us. The sight made my cock tighten. I couldn’t help envisioning her lips sliding up and down the head of my cock.

A gorgeous Hispanic girl about my age blew a kiss at us and yelled in a very sexy voice, “Oh poor babies, why are your big macho Anglo peters so stiff? Why do your sacks look so heavy? Do you need to beat your big hairy penis meats to make your poor blue balls feel all better? Would it make you sigh with bliss to shoot your creamy boy butter out onto the concrete?”

My eyes were begging her for mercy. I didn’t want to hear her talk about this subject anymore. Her words made my cum surge in my prostate.

Seeing the effect she was having, the Hispanic girl cast us a look of mock sympathy and then started to pump her hands and shout, “Oh, don’t suffer like that! Beat your meats! Beat! Beat! Beat! Just like this!”

Her invitation was sheer torment. She knew very well we didn’t dare touch our penises.

Other girls performed little pantomimes that left us weak-kneed with desire. One Asian beauty, who looked barely 13-years old, put on a show that had us drooling with need. She stood in front of us and started making masturbatory pumping motions with one hand as she pretended to cup a pair of testicles with the other. The girl began pumping slowly and then gradually speeded up, working her slender fingers as if they were sliding up and down a very large imaginary dick. She acted as if she was trying to make that dick feel as wonderful as she possibly could. As she worked her hands, she gasped, “Ohhh. Yesssss!! This big white dick is getting so hard! It must feel so good for me to rub it like this! Ohhh yesss!!!! Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh! Yessss!!!! Must feel so so gooood!!!”

Finally, the girl pumped her hand furiously and gasped “Omigod. Omigod. Omigodddddd!!!! It’s cummingggg!!! It’s creaming all over! EWWW! EWWW! EWWWWWWWWW!” She acted as if the imaginary cock was shooting off in her hands. Then, once this imaginary ejaculation was over, she looked at her palm and exclaimed, “What a load of creamy white spunk! I’ve never seen so much jizz in my life!”

Then this Asian temptress’s sensual expression hardened into one of disgust. She flicked her wrist as if to fling away the cum. Then she shook her finger at us and smirked. “Did you seriously think I’d do this for any of you preppies? Well dream on, white boys. I’d never touch your big clumsy Donkeys’ dicks in a million years!” The girl then winked back at the spectators and added, “.. unless of course your peters were grilled well-done for me!”

The crowd giggled wildly at her remark. The Asian girl went on to say, ”Yeah, and I’ve certainly no use for your icky, sticky boy butter either! Lao can make you keep your gross cum in your nuts FOREVER for all I care!”

Then the beauty turned on her heel and walked back into the crowd. Her girlfriends cheered and gave her high-fives for the excruciating mind-game she had just played with us.

I wondered how I could watch many more such displays and still maintain my sanity. But the displays went on, with girls pumping their hands and pretending to suck, then becoming scornful of our yearning reactions.

The girls’ boyfriends, who seemed none too happy with their girlfriends’ flirtations, glared at us during these little skits. If it had been up to those guys, I’m sure each of their girlfriends would have had “peter sausage” on their plates that very evening. Indeed, I found out later that if any of us had lost control and masturbated, the girl who teased us into breaking the rule would have been entitled to having that penis cut off and cooked for her if she had wished. So, some of the girls who had so relentlessly teased us had in fact been angling for peter sausage.

Lao interrupted this maddening torment by shouting through a megaphone for us to lie on our backs. Uneasily, we obeyed. A forest of three thousand nude shafts now angled upward as he smirked at us.

Lao then commanded us to draw our knees up to our chests with our legs held wide apart and our toes pointed.

We complied, but our faces burned with shame over this gross exposure of our naked genitalia.

Naturally, I was nervous about the possible intent of this profoundly submissive position. With our teen guards sporting their switchblades and all this talk of “peter sausage,” this pose made me feel very vulnerable. I seriously wondered if the purpose was penis and ball removal. My mind reeled with these thoughts as I looked down between my legs at my nude shaft.

As it turned out, the purpose of the pose was to facilitate removing the hair from our torsos and legs. Teenaged girls and little boys began pulling carts between the rows. The carts held urns of hot wax. The little boys stationed themselves at our upraised feet and began to ladle hot wax on our lower bodies, from our chests to our toes. Then they laid something like cheesecloth over the still-wet waxed areas. The teen girls seemed very familiar with the process and gave instructions to the little boys on how to apply the wax and cloth.

It was an awkward situation because our penises were sticking up in front of the little boys’ faces as they worked. I had three little boys who looked no older than 8 years old working on me, two Hispanic and one Asian. Their curious eyes kept darting at my stiff dick and down at my sack as they waxed my chest, legs and the tops of my feet and toes. Obviously, I would have been unwise to protest this intrusion into my privacy, so I had to let them peek as they wished. They giggled as they commented and whispered to each other about my “long white peenie” and my “big wrinkly bag.” I could only blush and try not to delay their work. I even pointed my toes more sharply for them so they could more easily apply the wax there.

Once the little boys had applied the cloths, they let the wax harden. Then they began peeling away the cloth, taking with it wax and hair.

It stung terribly as my leg hairs were slowly torn out by the roots. The little boys even pulled the hairs from the tops my toes in this fashion. I saw stars when they peeled the cloth away from my big toes. Losing my big-toe hair hurt the worst.

Seeing our discomfort, Lao warned us via his megaphone to keep cooperating with this depilation, no matter how much it pained us. He threatened to let these tykes beat our naked balls with rug beaters if we were caught with any lower body hair at the end of this process.

So, we gritted our teeth and let the children exfoliate us. We didn’t know how harshly the little boys working on us might beat our balls if given the opportunity, but we had already seen 7-year olds squeeze 16-year olds’ nuts until they pleaded for mercy. So, we took no chances. (It was to become a fact of Prison life that the littlest underclass boys could be the toughest on our balls.)

Young kids such as these have short attention spans, so they sometimes fiddled with us during the exfoliation. One little boy began to amuse himself by tickling my naked, upraised soles. As ticklish as I am, I let him torment my feet as he wished, waiting for the others to finish with my leg hair. I sensed this wasn’t the time to make an issue out of a child’s toe-tickling.

But that was nothing to compare with what happened after they finished with our legs. Wax wasn’t applied to our pubic areas. There was too much hair there for waxing. Instead, the little boys began pulling our pubic hair out directly by the roots and tossing it in paper bags. Yes, they merrily grabbed our pubes with their tiny fingers and began yanking it out, strand by strand. They plucked it from around our dicks, balls and assholes, giggling with delight as if it were a race. With every pull, we groaned through our clenched teeth.

Yes, all we could do was brace our bodies and let them pull. Indeed, Lao’s threat prompted us to spread our legs as wide apart as we could and thrust our pelvises upward, to give these children the easiest possible access to our hair. We didn’t fancy having to deal with their rug beaters slamming our nuts.

It was fortunate for us that the depilation process was so painful, because the little boys were otherwise putting us in danger of breaking our no-emissions oath to Lao. That is, they held onto our erect dicks and testicles as they plucked us, casually twisting our peters and ball sacks this way and that to reach our hair.

I soon saw my pale foreskin slipping and sliding on the grip of a little Hispanic boy. He yanked my peter upward as he and another boy plucked the hairs from the underside of my dick. Then he pulled my penis downward to pluck the hairs my upper pubic area. Then he yanked it upward again to get at some lower hairs he had missed. He repeated that process at least five times, up and down, up and down. The child was simply trying to get at my pubic hair, but it looked as if he was trying to beat my meat! Had it not been for the pain, I would have eventually shot a rope of cum in his face. And I’m sure that would have been the death of my cock and perhaps even my balls.

There was no help from the underclass teens who observed this, either. Indeed, the teenaged girls seemed approving of this unintentional stimulation. Some were dry-lipped with anticipation that one of us might be made to cum. But we all made it through without a mishap, due to the distracting pain of having our hair ripped out.

Once we were exfoliated below, they began reorganizing us into several single-file lines leading into a tunnel running under the Grand Arena. Once inside the tunnel, we were ordered to hand over our slings.

Then we were made to get down on all fours to go through a washing process. Jets of warm water hit us from all sides as little boys holding long poles attached with spinning car-wash brushes scrubbed every inch of our bodies, from the soles of our feet to our hair, washing us as if we were cattle.

I soon found myself holding still for a little Asian boy who volunteered to wash me. This became an ordeal beyond description when he got around to washing my genitals. The brushes twirled painfully over my sore testicles and penis. He seemed amused at the way the brushes bounced and wrenched my sack, foreskin and penis head. It seemed as if the child would hold the scrubber between my legs forever. I could only grit my teeth as he applied the device to my sore sack.

Then they had us lie on our backs and draw up our feet, soles up. The kids promptly went over our soles, toe pads and in between our toes with soapy electric toothbrushes. It tickled ferociously. Of course the older guards warned us to offer our feet without resistance until the children finished. The little boy who did my toes had me laughing like a fool, which amused him greatly. But I kept my soles up until he was done.

At the conclusion the washing, we were marched by large dryers and then sprayed with male cologne after that.

I have to admit, I was grateful for the bathing in the end, for it had been a long sweaty trek from our prep school.

Finally we three thousand naked teenaged boys, hairless as infants from the neck down, were herded towards the entrance of the Grand Arena itself.

[Next: Chapter 9. Continuing reader comments will be very much appreciated!]

[Comments from Archive readers on this chapter or any previous ones are welcome and appreciated, as always]

[Next: Chapter 9]