A month agone, Dirk was brutally tortured for several days, the front and back of his firm body overspread with unfathomable, red whip wounds. We tortured him at the request of his taskmaster and, in return, were allowed to use Dirk as we cheerful for the rest of the month. So, for the final four weeks, Dirk has been a fuck lad, his gazoo and throat used by scores of fellows. We’ve kept his body shaved, as a sign of his serf status, but we haven’t tortured him – until this day. Today that guy is laid on the cold dungeon floor, bare, arms widen wide and belted to a wood beam, ankles cuffed jointly. His brutalized skin has had time to recover, although a scarcely any fading welts are still visible. He’s hauled up onto his tiptoes, crucifixion-style. Then Jared enters with a cattle prod and a pocket full of clothespins. After being repeatedly shocked and crucified for hours, Dirk’s 10-pounder, balls and teats are overspread with pins until this guy literally trembles in anguish.
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