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From: Jason <sterling.jason@gmail.com>
Subject: The Warrant -- Part 2 (M/M, Tort, Hist)
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===================

The Warrant -- Part 2

By Jason Sterling
<sterling.jason (at) gmail.com>


During the cold hours of darkness, unable to sleep, I could hear
the screams coming from the chamber where my brethren and heirs
were separated from their manhood.  Knowing that this fate
awaited me soon, I held my privates while I thought back to the
days when, as a child, I first became aware of the glorious
feelings that this wrinkled appendage between my legs could
engender.


My father brought into the household one of his bastard sons who
became an orphan when his mother died.  His name was Selwyn and
was almost the same age as myself.  Having only far younger
brothers and sisters to play with, he and I spent more time
together getting into trouble than any other pursuit.  Soon a
bond grew between us as half brothers and my father noticed the
connection.  Selwyn became a whipping boy to me.  When I did
something which needed punishment, my half brother was the one
who had to drop his garment and feel the sting of the cane on
his rump while I was forced to hold him down and watch.  Instead
of driving us apart, this action only brought us closer together.
We even shared the same bed and held each other tightly on those
cold winter nights when frost gathered on our blankets.


As happens frequently, we explored each other's bodies fully and
discovered the pleasant arousal feelings when stimulation of each
other's pricks came into play.  Seeing our father's frequent use
of some serving girl's privates for pleasure when he didn't know
we were watching, we emulated his actions as best we could when
in bed alone with each other.  Soon we two were experimenting by
mounting each other and taking turns fucking just as we had seen
being done by the Lord of the Manor.  As the years progressed and
we both matured to where hair grew under our arms and around our
privates, our secret couplings became less and less.  I had
graduated to girls to find my outlets.  Selwyn had acquired a
taste for boys and had become my personal servant who knew me
well enough to clean my rump of any residual shit I may have left
after venting my waste and of emptying the chamber pot under my
bed now that we no longer slept together.  We still remained
friends and brothers and even went out whoring together when the
mood struck us, but we wound up with differing partners in bed
on those nights of debauchery .


Not being a legitimate heir, Selwyn was saved from having his
gonads removed.  But, having been put to the rack to get him to
confess every detail of my private life, he was so broken by the
ordeal that he has no use of any of his limbs and will probably
wind up in a cage, suspended above the chamber where he can only
listen and look down on the tortures going on beneath him.  My
friend of many years who took the frequent whippings meted out by
our father with a gratuitous spirit will likely outlive me because
it takes longer to starve to death than survive the fate they have
in store for me.


[To Wit:
On the second day, as his crimes weigh against him, let his wrists
be shackled to the crossbeam; let his chest and back be branded
with the words "such is a traitor"; let his nipples and privy
member be transfixed and weights of five pounds each be hung
therefrom; let his legs be shackled; then, as he has forfeited all
honour and glory, let him be driven through the streets of the
King's capital, preceded by a crier recounting his crimes, and let
him be scourged as he goes; then let him be placed in the stockks
in the main square and lain supine, that he may be pissed, dunged,
and spat upon;]



Several guards came into my cell and unchained me, then led me by
my metal collar into the chamber where I heard all the cries for
mercy coming from during the night.  Exactly following the strict
letter of the Warrant my wrists were bound to a wooden beam and
I was hoisted up off the floor while my ankles were secured to
rings in the ground.  A large brazier glowing white-hot stood
nearby with several irons heating there and on the ready.  The
first stab of the hot iron at first didn't even register in my
brain when it was applied to my back, I only smelled the burning
flesh.  Several seconds later the pain struck me with full
force and I opened my mouth to scream.  This is when a cloth
wrapped piece of wood was forced into my open mouth more to
stifle the noise than to keep me from biting off my tongue.


The branding seemed to go on forever, but in reality the process
probably only took a half hour.  When my tormentors were done
they doused me with several buckets of water and let me drink my
fill from the last container.  The cold water momentarily eased
the pain of the branding, but within a few seconds all I could
feel was the return of the fire on my back and chest.  I was
allowed a respite from any more tortures while my brain adjusted
to the assault I had just endured.  Before long, three heavy
weights were placed on a table before me and each had a short
chain attached to a sharp metal hook.  I'm sure the inflictors
in charge of causing me pain placed these here so that while I was
recovering from one form of their misery I could anticipate the
next agony I was to undergo.


A knave stepped up to me and pinched the flesh around my left
nipple and twisted it in a screwlike manner with his left hand
and speared the flesh under it with his right hand.  Then he
allowed the weight to drop heavily, testing if it had been
secured properly and not tear off during my long walk through
the streets of London.  The blood from the puncture trickled
down my stomach and soon I had forgotten about my branding and
was now feeling the dull throb of the wound he just made.  The
right nipple was quickly violated and my attention was now drawn
to the remaining weight still resting on the table before me.


More to mock me than any other reason, this same rogue held the
hook of the third weight before my eyes and said, "When you are
doing your dance out there trying to avoid the sting of the whips
flaying your skin, this attachment to your privy parts will give
the citizens something to aim for."  With that, he pulled my
member sharply outward and skewered it like a sausage about to be
roasted on a spit.  The pain was unbelievable and he hadn't even
released the burden to drop and make its effect felt.  When the
fall came I had the feeling that my insides were about to be
pulled from within me.  I must have fainted because the next
thing I remember was a hard slap on my face and the wedge in my
mouth had been removed.  A short rope now held my ankles in such
a manner that allowed only very short steps to be made once the
beam I was suspended from had been lowered and I was back
standing on my feet again.


Four large, burly guards lifted me off my feet once my wrists had
been released from the wooden beam.  I was carried up step to the
courtyard of the keep where I had been held and thrown into a
waiting cart.  Once outside the castle walls I was forced to my
feet to stand upright on a bumpy journey to a seamy part of the
City near the public pillory.  Stopping within a good thousand
yards short of the scaffolding supporting the stocks in the
square, I was roughly thrown down from the cart and had the
sackcloth covering removed which hid my nakedness from the
onlookers who watched my progress on the way to the next phase of
my public humiliation.  When I was goaded to my feet and made to
stand, a pathway of people opened up before me leading to the
square.  Many of those on either side of an aisle forming in
front of me had been given twisted ropes with knots tied in them
to use on my bare skin as I was forced to walk slowly between
them.


A long pole was attached to the front of my metal collar held by
a crier who proceeded me.  His job was to lead me toward the
stocks and call out my crimes as I slowly hobbled forward.  With
the fetters on my feet I couldn't speed up the process even if I
tried.  Every short step also shook the weights hanging from my
chest and privates constantly shaking the hooks embedded in my
flesh and keeping the trickles of blood flowing.  Then the whips
started strinking me.  The ones that hit where the branding had
taken place hurt the most.  The taller onlookers aimed mostly at
my head and upper back.  The smaller children, who found great
pleasure in being allowed to punish an adult, aimed primarily at
my buttocks and lower areas.  The women amongst the crowd who had
been given a whipping device concentrated on the elongated male
organ being stretched to its limit there between my legs.


My journey seemed to take forever.  Several times I lost my
balance and fell in the street.  Before several of the guards
were able to lift me back up again, a rain of blows fell upon me
and more than once I felt a swift kick strike me where even the
braided hitches on the knouts flailing down upon me hadn't yet
found their mark.  Even knowing what was going to happen to me
once I had reached the square, I couldn't wait to come to an end
of this beating.  The hate mixed with merriment that was displayed
around me was simply ironic.  The citizenry had been told that I
was somebody who should be hated, but the mood of the crowd was
one of festivity.  This somehow explains in personal terms to me
what it must have been like during the times of the ancient Romans
when cruel executions were being performed in the amphitheaters.
The mob enjoyed a diversion of any sort no matter how much pain
was being suffered by those on display, as long as the pain was
being felt by somebody else.  I was cast as the diversion for
these people today in this parade of degradation.


When we finally reached our destination, I was unfettered and
lifted up onto the scaffolding where I was placed in a shallow
tub and secured face up.  The crier call out that I was to be
pissed and shat upon until sundown, then with no hesitation he
proceeded to vent his bladder upon my naked body.  A shout of
glee arose from the gathered crowd and soon a line of willing
donors formed around my prone resting place.  The vessel I was
surrounded by held the waste and with the help of some women who
dumped the contents of their chamber pots on top of me, I was soon
laying in an ever increasing pool of filth.  The stench was
overwhelming.  It was all that I could do to shut my lids tightly
enough to keep the streams of warm urine from getting in my eyes.
I tried to do the same with my mouth, but somehow piss trickled
into my nose and I could taste the salty liquid run down the back
of my throat.  It was all I could do to keep from vomiting.


Soon the crowd in the square melted away to only a few onlookers.
Most adults had work to go to but the children had plenty of time
to add to my insult.  They spat upon me and poked me with
sharpened sticks.  I had clumps of shit forced up my nose until
I could only breathe through my mouth.  Then they would dip the
slime in the vat with tin cups and try to splash it at my
mouth when I attempted to inhale.  When they succeeded to get me
to actually gag on this vile stuff, a shout of victory arose from
them as if they had won a game of some sort.  As the heat of the
day wore on the smell from the cesspit I was entrapped in forced
even the children to abandon their efforts to find a diversion.
I was now left alone as I watched the sun sink farther and
farther toward the horizon.  When I was finally released from my
shallow prison much of the solids afloat in the foul mixture had
caked and hardened on my body.  None of the guards sent to fetch
me would dare even touch me and I was told that if I didn't walk
to the waiting cart on my own I would be dragged there by the
pole used to guide me while I was whipped through the streets.
I eventually managed to get my shaky legs to carry me as far as
the cart and collapsed onto its floor.


Arriving back at the keep my odour was more than the guards could
take, so I was tied outside with my arms above my head and allowed
to stand until nearly dark.  A bucket brigade of water carriers
was formed and I was doused repeatedly before being escorted back
to the bowels of the tower.  There I was given the standard
ration of food any prisoner would get who was kept there, a few
moldy crusts of bread and a flagon of stale water.  I asked the
guard on duty if my half brother was still alive and well.  He
remarked that yes, he was still alive, but being unable to feed
himself meant it was only a matter of a few days before they
would dump his body into the Thames.  I pleaded with the guard
to go to the Warden and ask his permission to allow me to tend to
my friend before I too was unable to care for even myself.
20070524184557
