Martin and I

3. Before the punishment

Customarily, the convict, or me in this case, is given a day's rest after the interrogation. Needless to say, I wasn't allowed to spend that time in my own room, or in the house either.

"You know the way, come on!" Martin said after he untied me.

I got up from my chair shivering, and headed for one of the doors that opened from the room. We exited to a short hallway and then through another door into the water block. The water block was a windowless, floor-to-ceiling white-tiled little room with a drop-down hole in one corner and a basic shower tray in another. There was no shower rose, just a bare tube with a single tap. Martin stopped at the door.

"Five minutes minimum." he said.

I entered the shower tray and opened the faucet. The water pressure was so strong that the erupting, ice-cold stream cut like a serrated knife. My skin, still sweaty from the interrogation, stretched tight in an instant and became goosebumped all over from the icy water pounding on me. Trembling and shaking, I leaned down at the bottom of the tray for a piece of soap and began to wash away the salt and sweat. It was barely a minute, but my teeth were already chattering. My penis shrank to the size of a caterpillar, my testicles were aching as they tried to crawl back into my abdomen. My nipples, tortured by alligator clips were protruding rock hard from the corrosive cold, began to throb and ache with renewed vigor. I tried to wash myself quickly, then just stood in the jet of water glacier-sharp water.

"Wash your hair and asscreek too!" Martin growled at me.

I obeyed with clenched teeth. The last minutes seemed like an eternity. I also had to pee terribly, but I knew it was strictly forbidden to pee in the shower tray. Finally, Martin said I could turn off the tap. I obeyed with trembling, weak hands, and stepped out of the shower, hugging myself tightly.

"I'm sorry, but I really need to pee." I said. Martin just smiled and gestured toward the hole in the corner. I shuffled to the hole on the slippery tile, and I was just about to start, when Martin yell at me in a sharp voice:

"Men urinate standing up, not filthy convicts." I shuddered and felt my ears heat up in shame.

"C'mon, squat, I don't have all night!" Martin urged, but his tone revealed that he was having a great time.

I turned my back to the corner, almost facing Maritn who was standing in the doorway all the time. Leaning against the wall with one hand, I squatted down, which wasn't easy at all because the tiles were very slippery. In the end, I found my balance. Marin looked scornfully. Although my bladder was terribly full, I still couldn't relieve myself. After a minute of terribly awkward silence, Martin walked over to me. He stopped so close that I could have hugged his legs.

"What is it, isn't it?" he asked, then grabbed my hair and forced my head up. He could see the mixture of shame and anger in my eyes because he was just grinning.

"Maybe with a little help," he said, then tapped the nose of his steel-lined boots at my testicles. Though it only hurt a little, I still whimpered in surprise.

"Perhaps this will help," he said as he tapped my testicles slowly, rhythmically, and the deep, dull, terrifying pain began to arise within my balls.

"Please don't," I began, but he interrupted.

"What not? Don't want my help? I'm just saying that if you piss on my boots, I'll kick your balls until they come out of your mouth."

I almost lost my balance out of fright. Martin could feel it too because he gripped my hair even tighter. Then he stopped kicking. Finally. I don't know if the physical or the mental stimulation did the trick, but I finally managed to let myself go. A lustful sigh erupted from me, and urine just flowed, flowed.

When I was done, Martin let my hair go and stepped back. I stood up and washed my hands. I was still terribly cold.

"You know the way," Martin said, nodding toward the door. We went out into the hallway and after a few meters we reached the cell. The cell was a windowless room of roughly 7 by 7 feet. Instead of a wall facing the corridor, there were only bars with a door. The only piece of furniture in the cell was an old and rather thin blanket. There was a drop hole in the corner of the wall facing the water block, and a faucet at waist height. There was also some dry straw on the floor. Black eyebolts were driven into the walls and ceiling at various heights. On one of these bolts had a chain in them and on it four leather shackles with steel carabiners. The door was open, and I entered. Martin closed the cell door.

"Put on the shackles and release the chain!" Martin ordered me. I obeyed trembling. I could put them on my ankles without any problems, but it was quite hard to secure them on my own wrists.

"Don't make me go in there, Mark!" Martin said as he watched my gawkiness.

I knew exactly that if he came in, I would definitely spend the rest of the night tied to the wall. Eventually, I managed to pull the straps tight enough on both wrists with my teeth.

"Come here and put your hand through!"

As I walked over, Martin checked to see if the cuffs were holding tight, then took small padlocks out of his pocket and put them on the shackles securing them

"Don't go anywhere!" Marin winked, then left.

I immediately wrapped the smelly thin blanket around me, then gathered some straw in the corner opposite the dropper. I was just about to sit down when Martin came back with a 2.5 liter plastic bottle of water, a box of effervescent tablets containing vitamins, salts, and electrolytes, and two bottles of high-calorie formula.

"Sleep tight and dream of all the agony awaiting you tomorrow." he said, then left me alone. The cell was almost completely dark. In the hallway, a few feet away from the cell, a single orphaned light bulb hung from the ceiling. I curled up in the straw pile in the corner and eagerly began to drink the disgustingly greasy, slimy liquid from the formula bottle.