Bayou Whip

Escaping from the chain gang was never a good idea. He’d been warned by the old lags, but young men always know better

They got him before the day was out. Tracked him down in the swamp. The white guards withdrew. Jar was left in the tender care of the four black guards. All tall, muscular and massive, beautiful specimens of their race. They took him deeper into the swamp, and on dryer ground they built a campfire as night fell. They tied him up, speadeagled between two trees, and put the branding iron in the fire in front of him. He begged and screamed deep into the night as they gutpunched him, whipped him, branded him. His screams grew hoarse and weak, and fell silent. The big men hadn’t finished. Each one took him up the arse, with their magnificent 10 inch cocks, putting their hand round his mouth to stop any further noise. They made Jar cum three times and they pierced his nipples

In the early hours they arrived back at the jail with their captive. They threw him to Taz, a black inmate as big and muscular as they. Taz made him his bitch then and there, and Jar’s scream as Taz entered him echoed throughout the jail. No-one cared. It was the public signal that the boy was now Taz’s. Taz used and abused him, and lent him back to the guards and sometimes an inmate

Jar’s life was now dominated by black cock and jizz. It was hell, but that night by the campfire deep in the bayou had taught him one thing: escaping from the chain gang was never a good idea