A MODERN HELOT
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Two
It's amazing how quickly you adapt to prison life! Well, perhaps not in some tough jail in a big city - but out here in the middle of nowhere it all seemed pretty relaxed and gentle. We were adequately fed - although the food was boring, there was plenty of it and it was all fresh and kind of "good for you" with a lot of fruit and vegetables, and fresh bread and stuff. There wasn't any bullying or anything like that - perhaps it was because we were all too hot, perhaps the open dormitory made it easier than being in cells, or perhaps it was that the "language groups" stuck pretty much together and looked after their own.
We didn't have anything to do, and apart from me none of the other blokes seemed to exercise - all they ever wanted to do was to sit or lie around talking, or playing some sort of gambling game with pebbles. It could almost have been the totally relaxing holiday, when you completely turn off from doing normal things and just do nothing - except for the lack of freedom. Until you've been in a situation where you can't go through a door if you want to, because it's locked, you can't really understand what being locked up is like. We take freedom so much for granted that it isn't until you lose it that you start to realise what it means.
I sat there for four days in the "cage" and no one seemed interested in me. My English-speaking companion was selected on day three, and after that I had no one to talk to at all. I asked him why no one was showing interest in me, and he shrugged. "Steve, my friend, who can say? Perhaps you are too big, and you frighten them. Perhaps they have been told you don't speak Greek, and they do not want to have to teach you. Perhaps they are looking for young Arab boys, with skinny bums who will be easy to fuck, perhaps...."
"Hey! You can't be serious! They're picking some of these blokes to take them off an fuck them?"
"Steve, where have you been all your life? These slim, lithe lads with their dark flashing eyes hold out the promise of untold pleasures... Who would not want a young Arab, fresh and sweet, almost certainly a virgin as their culture frowns on men having sex with other men?"
"Oh, come on...."
"No, Steve: think about it: what could be better than buying yourself an Arab lad, a lad who could be trained to service you in the way you wish, a lad who can be punished if he fails to satisfy you, a lad with a beautiful, youthful body.... Fresh and wholesome, ready to be skewered by your cock..."
"But they're like us, they're helots...."
"Yes, Steve. But I do not think we will be selected as a sex toy by some rich man - we are too old, and too big. Most men buying helots for sex are looking for slim hips, a small bun which does not prevent the cock from entering the arsehole fully.... You are too big, your bum is too muscular...."
"No, you can't be serious...."
"Oh Steve, imagine you are rich. You have a beautiful house overlooking the sea. You have a fine car. You have a beautiful young trophy wife to display to your colleagues. You have fine sons growing up to take over your business. What else is there left to spend your money on? How excellent it would be to purchase a helot, someone who has to obey you totally? Someone who has to pander to your every whim, for fear of being punished? Someone who you own and dominate and control totally....? A helot is so much more satisfactory than a servant, who can leave, or a wife, who can divorce you. It is the ultimate symbol of power and wealth, to be able to buy another man and the bend him and use him to satisfy only your own desires, knowing that if he resists in any way, or is even the smallest bit unsatisfactory, you can beat him?"
He saw me looking in horror, and went on "But I think not for you and me, Steve, so do not worry. We are destined to be labourers, picking the grapes, or building the roads, or whatever. We will work in a gang of other helots, and think what fun we will have in the evenings when we are locked up for the night...."
I was going to ask him more, but at that moment he was called over to the bars by one of the guards, then taken out of our cage, and that was the last I ever saw of him. Still, the next day, when the men came out to "inspect" us, I did my best to make myself unattractive - I pumped my muscles, so I looked really big and tough, and I scowled and tried to look kind of "evil" as I thought this would scare away men who wanted to use me as a sex toy! It seemed to work, too, as no one asked to take a closer look at me, and a week later I was still there.
It couldn't last, of course: just as I thought I was "safe" for another day as the men inspecting us had mostly gone, a big man sauntered leisurely out of the offices and walked slowly around the cage. He was kind of distinguished looking, in his late thirties, I'd say, and was casually dressed in white - well-cut trousers, a loose-fitting shirt of what seemed to be very fine cotton, and a Panama hat with a striped ribbon around the brim to shade his face from the sun.
He saw me, said something to the guard, who in turn rapped out an incomprehensible order to me. I knew what I was supposed to do, though, and strolled over to the bars. I stood there, gripping the bars with my hands and glaring fiercely at the guard and the guy in an effort to look undesirable.
It didn't seem to intimidate the man in white, though, as he said something in Greek to the guard, who replied with a rapid stream of stuff which of course I had no clue about. The man in white then said, in perfect English with a faint American accent, "So, what brings you here?"
"Their fucking legal system! And a bad lawyer."
He smiled. "But what was the charge?"
"Rape! But I didn't do it. She was willing...."
"Ah.... Rape of a woman.... You did not bring your wife with you when you came to our country?"
"I'm not married, and my girlfriend didn't want to come, as it was a holiday with some of my mates from the rugger club...."
"Ah, you had a girlfriend...."
"HAVE a girlfriend...."
"I doubt she will wait for you. The guard tells me you are a fifteen year helot. How old are you now?"
"Twenty three."
"Excellent. And in good health and very good physical condition, I can see."
He said something to the guard in rapid Greek, who in turn barked at me and pointed to the gate. I wondered if it was worth protesting, or just doing nothing - but what was the point? I was going to be out of there sooner or later, and going off with a bloke who spoke English did seem to be a better idea. And, anyway, if I disobeyed, they'd probably come in and beat me up. So I shrugged and walked to the gate, and the guard unlocked it and led me off into the building where I'd seen so many men enter in the past few days.
They led me along a corridor into a small room that contained only a chair, by the side of which was a small table with a water carafe and glass, and a box if tissues. I went to sit down, but the guard barked at me and I got the message that I was to remain standing. So I stood there, kind of relaxed, but also kind of under tension as I wondered what was going to happen next. I didn't have long to wait, though, as the door opened and the man in white came in, accompanied by a young man who was carrying a clipboard and a sheaf of papers.
The man in white sat down without saying a word, poured himself a glass of water and sipped it slowly. He was evidently completely at ease, and in control. He looked at me and said calmly "Be so good as to remove that singlet, so I can better appreciate your musculature."
"No way....", I began, and instantly the guard hit out at me with his truncheon - he caught me on the end of my elbow, my "funny bone", a name that's not apt, and I almost collapsed as the pain shot through me. It took me some time to recover, and as I stood there nursing the end of my elbow, the man in white remarked quietly, as if what he had seen was the most normal thing in the world, "Men who play rugger in England are normally amongst the better educated, I thought. Surely you are sensible enough to see that you should obey here? I do not like to see men hurt, and possibly damaged, but I fear that if you do not obey orders, the guard will use progressively stronger and stronger measure on you, until you do."
I glared at him, and pulled the singlet over my head and let it fall to the floor. He sat there, his eyes running over my body, and said quietly "Turn around.", which I did, until there was the authoritative "Face me again."
His eyes were on mine as he seemed to be debating something internally, then he half smiled as he told me "I like what I see - so far. You are broad shouldered, and taper properly to the waist - very much like our ancient Greek statues. And your long legs are well in proportion to the rest of you. So you play rugger, and you have a girlfriend.... Do you also work out?"
"No - I train for rugger, but that's about all. I'm pretty naturally like this...."
He looked at me intently. "Helots need to be respectful to their contract owners. For myself, I prefer that you call me 'sir'."
I glared at him, but he said nothing more, then, in complete control, he murmured "No be so good as to drop those shorts. I need to consider the total picture...."
"No way!", I shouted, and his prediction about the guard's actions proved to be true - He stabbed at me viciously with his truncheon again, this time hitting me in the stomach and winding me, and I fell to the floor. The man sat there impassively, saying nothing, as I struggled to get my breath back and then dragged myself to my feet.
"I hope this is not symptomatic of your attitude to obeying orders!", the man said. "If it is, you are in for much pain and suffering... Now, be a sensible man, and do as I commanded you and drop your shorts. Surely you are not unused to being naked in front of other men? As a rugger player you must surely be used to using communal changing rooms? Or are you ashamed of what you have got? Is your manhood undersized - does that magnificent torso just end in a tiny little boy's cock?"
Look, it's different, isn't it? Of course I was used to using a communal changing room, and my club is one of the older ones that still had a communal bath, even, rather than showers! So I was completely used to changing with the other blokes, and even cleaning up with them afterwards - but it's different when you're all getting changed for a match and you're all in it together, compared to where I was now with this man and the guard both staring at me, and with me the only one getting naked. I could hardly tell him that, though, could I? And if I continued to stand there I might not only get hit again, but he'd think that I'd got a small cock - and that's very far from the truth! From looking at all my mates I knew I was bigger than average, both longer and thicker; and, what's more, my balls are bigger, too - they're big and loose, and hang down right beyond the end of my cock. I wasn't going to have this bloke think that I was ashamed of what I'd got.
Feeling my fingers trembling slightly I undid the drawstring at the waist of the shorts, and they fell to the floor. I stepped forwards out of them, towards the seated man, as if I was unafraid and unashamed. I noticed immediately his eyes focussing down onto my tackle. For some reason I felt myself beginning to flush slightly with embarrassment - and, as I've said, I've got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, as compared to most men I've got a really fantastic body.
"Turn around", he said calmly, and I did. And then after a few seconds, but what felt like an eternity "...and face me again."
His eyes were now locked on to mine, and with an almost sinuous grace he stood up from the chair, and came and stood in front of me. He fired off something, clearly a question, to the guard, who replied, nodding in agreement, then he put one hand on my shoulder - evidently he'd asked if it was permissible to touch the goods! I couldn't help it - I flinched. I mean, it's OK for another bloke to touch you - it happens all the time kind of accidentally, or when you're out in a pub or club when you all are having fun and throw your arms around your mates: but this was a calculated, deliberate act. I wasn't used to it.
"Steady!", he said softly, his voice having a commanding note.
Holding my shoulder with one hand , as if to restrain me although of course I could easily have moved away, his other hand began at my neck and slid gently down my chest, to caress my left nip! The hand was firm and cool, and I almost shivered - no one had ever touched my skin like this before - well, except my girlfriend, I suppose. It was as if my body betrayed me, though: as his finger tip glided over my nip, it erected and jutted out proud and firm - I got that peculiar sensation you get when someone touches you there, and now I did involuntarily give a small shudder. I saw a flicker of expression, perhaps one of faint amusement, in his eyes.
His hand moved on now, and his fingers teased and played with the treasure trail of hair running across my muscled torso from my navel. I held myself firm, almost praying that his finger wouldn't probe my navel as I'm so sensitive there, but the fingers lingered only a moment, then moved on down. With his eyes still locked on mine his hand came off my shoulder and moved to go around me, ending up with the palm of it on that flat area just above my bum crack, and with one finger stretching almost lazily down the crack just a little - as if to steady his hand and keep it in position. Again, I felt as if I was being controlled, as if by holding his hand there he was preventing me from moving away from him.
He stooped slightly, so his "examining" hand could go between my thighs and his fingers played lightly there for a moment, moving upwards so that they touched my balls as they hung down there.
"No!", I whispered, and he murmured in reply "Steady, boy.... This will be over soon."
Look, I don't even like my girlfriend touching my balls - well, not taking them in the palm of her hand and beginning to squeeze them gently: a man's balls are just too delicate and sensitive to be messed around with like that, aren't they? But now this bloke had them right in the palm of his hand, his hand that still felt cool against me (I'm sure I was very hot and embarrassed now, and I knew I was sweating heavily). He kind of "weighed", then, gently and sensitively, and yet somehow assertively, so that I was aware that he was pushing them up slightly and letting them drop back into his palm, but in such a way that I almost knew that he wouldn't hurt me - his air of quiet confidence was somehow almost infectious.
Drawing himself up to his full height he continued to stare directly into my eyes as his hand now left my balls and instead held my cock - well, not held it exactly, but positioned it so that it rested across his palm. No bloke had ever done this to me before, and I felt at once somehow scared, outraged, and yet at the same time strangely excited. My cock seemed to have got the message about the "excitement" part, as to my horror I could sense myself starting to go hard!
I willed it to stop, I thought about all the non-sexy things I could, but the more I did this, the worse it got. The embarrassment was causing me to flush bright red now and the sweat was almost dripping off me, and I went to pull away from him - except that the gentle, insistent pressure of his other hand at the base of my spine somehow prevented me. His totally confident handling of these intimate parts of me was somehow controlling me.
That same almost amused look flickered in his eyes once more as he said calmly "Easy boy! You're not used to this, are you? I thought you said you had a girlfriend...."
"...but you're a man!"
He gave a small, quiet, laugh. "Oh you English are so amusing! You are excited by the touch of a man, I can tell, and yet you are somehow embarrassed by it. But I am satisfied now - I have seen that you are functioning properly - at least as far as erections are concerned."
He dropped both his hands from me, and went on "Be so good as to turn around now, please."
Something made me do it without question, and now both his hands were resting lightly on my shoulders. Then they made their way down my back, "testing" my sides by probing for my ribs, until they were both resting on my bum - I could feel them, cool and yet hot, as they gently moved over it as if feeling the shape of my muscles there. Then in a new move, the thumbs went down my bum crack and it was as if he was now trying to take a "handful" of muscle and squeeze it to test its quality. I shuffled my feet nervously and moved a little as this went on, and again that calm, soothing voice saying "Steady!".
The kneading of my bum only went on for a few seconds, and then he told me to turn and face him again, and went and sat in the chair. "Excellent. Very good muscle tone, and no trace of a beer belly, or indeed any fat at all. You are extremely pleasing to the eye, but then, I suppose you know that."
"I've never had any complaints..."
"So, quite the ladies' man...."
"Which is why this rape stuff is so fucking ridiculous! I can get enough without resorting to that...."
He smiled. Again. So what does your girlfriend think about that?"
"She doesn't know, of course! It's on trips away with the club, at uni during term time, that sort of thing..."
"Ah, we have ourselves a real stud here, do we? So tell me, does your interest in sex extend only to women, or have you enjoyed any of your fellow rugger players?"
"No way!"
"So you have never put that big strong cock of yours into another man's mouth?"
"No!"
"...or his arse?"
"I'm not some fucking pervert! Of course not."
"So I take it that you have not had relations 'the other way' with your mates, either? No man has ever put his cock into your mouth, or your arse.....?"
I almost stepped forward to hit him! No bloke was going to accuse me of having things like that done to me. I was a proper man, not some queer. He saw me reaction though, and that faint smile broke out again, although perhaps a little more firmly.
"I think I can take that as a 'no'. And so I suppose there is no need to do the usual examination of your arse, to ensure that there has been no tearing, no undue stretching.... And that all is tight... And virginal!
I could feel the anger rising up in me and this time, and now did move at him.... I saw the guard move to strike me but the man called out and the guard stopped. He smiled again. "Ah, so I have myself a virgin.... A virgin arse, that is, as you say you are experienced at fucking. I am a little pressed for time and so do not want to see you demonstrate your prowess with a woman, but perhaps I had better see something of your cock in action before making up my mind finally. Please be so good as to masturbate, so that I can see the quality of your ejaculate."
He'd said this in the same calm quiet tones that the rest of the conversation had been in, and the guard was just standing there easily, so when I blurted out, very agitatedly, "No way! Fuck off, you pervert...."
He was almost caught out - but I reckon the guard was trained specially for this sort of thing, as before I could do anything else his truncheon scythed out with amazing force, hitting me behind the knees and causing me to fall to the ground. I heard the man saying something to the guard in Greek, then he sat there as I lay writhing in front of him until I'd calmed down enough to have his full attention.
"I do not want to buy damaged goods, but if you persist in this stupid behaviour I fear that the guard here will hit you so often and so hard that you will become useless. Now, for your own good, I suggest that you do as you are commanded: get back to your feet, and begin to masturbate. You do know what I mean, evidently - some men are unaware of that word, although not, presumably, of the process."
"Please, no...."
"I am thinking of purchasing your contract. I need to ensure that I am taking on a commitment where the goods are in good working order, so to avoid further difficulties, please do as you are commanded. The guard here only needs a word from me and he will make you wish that you had done as you were told - so far he has struck only single blows, but that will change if he gets into a frenzy. I suggest that if you are planning to remain defiant you should cover your head with your arms to protect your skull as best you can as brain damage is to be avoided.... On the other hand, that will leave your genitals exposed to his ministrations...."
I knew I was defeated. There I was lying naked, with that guard with his truncheon standing there ready to strike at me and beat the shit out of me. Slowly, as if by prolonging it I might somehow avoid it, I got to my feet and stood there for a few moments trying to rub the hurt out of my body. I stood there then in front of him, and knew I had to do it. So I turned away from him, hoping that at least I could have that tiny measure of privacy for this most intimate act.
"Face me, boy. Surely a man like you, so superbly well equipped, who boasts of his sexual prowess, is not ashamed of his cock?"
I was hot all over now and knew that I must be blushing bright red as I slowly turned to face him. I saw the guard watching with interest too as I reached down and began to stroke my cock, which, rather to my surprise as I had expected my acute embarrassment to have made me impotent, erected.
Look, I'd never done this in front of anyone before. Not my mates, not even my girlfriend. I mean, when you've got a woman there, you don't need to wank, do you? And I'd never done any of that stuff that some of my mates at school had done like having wanking contests - I mean, I knew I had a big, strong cock and I didn't have anything to prove, did I? So this was the first time that I'd ever wanked when I wasn't alone, and to make matters worse, I was standing up - I've tried wanking like this of course, just to vary things a bit, but I don't like it: I want to be lying on a bed, or sprawled in a comfy chair. That's why I never wank in the shower - I don't like it standing up, and I think sitting or squatting down in a shower is gross!
I had no choice now, though. My cock was rock solid in my hand as I began to stroke away, letting my 'skin slide on and off my cock head, and I closed my eyes as if that would in some way prevent the two men from looking at me. I felt my thighs and knees under tension as I bent forwards a bit, as you do, and I worked away steadily - but you know how it is sometimes: you're rock hard, but however much you wank away, nothing comes? Well, it was like this now.
I stood there thinking all the sexy thoughts I could, imagining I was about to fuck my girlfriend, everything, and although the strength of my erection never varied - in fact, it was almost painful, it was so hard I somehow couldn't translate that "hardness" into an actual climax.
My strokes got faster and faster and I clutched at my cock even tighter as I did everything I could to make it happen. I knew my heart rate was way, way up, and my breathing was quickening. Sweat was pouring off me and I knew it must be flying everywhere. But I kept my eyes tightly closed as I carried on working away, and fortunately a few drops of pre-cum started to fly out of my cock and began to lubricate me, as otherwise I think I'd have got a wanking burn! I just don't know how long it went on for - it seemed as if it was hours. But then that sensation began, that special sensation that starts deep down in your balls and rapidly moves to your cock. As if it was someone else doing it, I heard myself begin to gasp audibly and then say "Jesus Christ! Oh, yes.....", and it happened - my cock thrilled as the stream of hot cum was pumped down it and shot out, and I almost fell to my knees as my whole body sagged as the fantastic sensation spread all through me.
I'm one of those blokes whose cock is incredibly sensitive when they've shot, and although I like carrying on wanking to try to make the most of it, I have to go really carefully. Now, standing there, I could hardly bear the feel of my hand on my shaft, and I stood there, almost impotently, as my body spasmed and the "after shocks" came out of my cock. I knew they must be falling almost impotently from the end of my cock, but I was past caring. My eyes opened, and I stood there, panting to recover my breath, and glanced down to see the long slick of my cum stretching out in front of me.
"Impressive", the man said to me quietly. "It looked for a moment as if all your talk of being a stud was just that - talk. But once you did the business, it was truly impressive."
I stood there almost helplessly, wanting to touch my cock again as I knew there was a faint slime of my spunk still trickling from it, but something prevented me - well, you can't do that in front of other blokes, can you? I felt totally powerless, and acutely embarrassed. Somehow being forced to carry out this totally intimate act in front of other blokes had taken away something of my feeling of being a man - I felt like some sort of weak, puny child, rather than a strong, virile mature bloke. It ought to have been empowering. I ought to have been proud of my body, proud of my huge cock, proud of the amount of spunk that was now smearing the floor: only an exceptionally fit, virile guy like me could have done that. But it wasn't like that - I felt demeaned and weakened by it, as if some part of my manhood had been lost. A great sadness swept over me, and I felt my body sag as if in defeat, or supplication.
The man got to his feet and snapped out a rapid string of Greek to the guard. Then he looked at me "What's your name?"
"Steve."
"Well, Steve, I've decided to buy your contract. All fifteen years of it. You're my helot now."
I stood there, not knowing what to say. Should it be "Thank you"? I just stood there though for a moment, and then went to pick up my shorts to pull them on.
"Don't worry about that", the man said almost cheerfully. "I've told them to give you twenty strokes of the punishment cane. If you learn now just how painful that can be when administered by an expert, it will make you so much more careful in future: if you are ever tempted to disobey me you will know what is in store for you."
"What the fuck....? I haven't done anything...."
"Quite so. An owner had the power to order punishment for a helot at any time. A dose of random, arbitrary punishment now can condition you so that you take all possible steps to prevent more in the future."
With that he turned and before I could say any more, he stalked out of the room. I went to follow him, to protest, but the guard blocked my way, a sadistic smile playing on his face. He put his head out into the corridor and shouted something, and moments later was joined by two other equally burly guards, one carrying a long, thin cane.
I have no idea what they said to me, and it probably didn't matter - three of them were more than sufficient to totally overpower me. They threw me across the chair, a chair still warm from the backside of the man who, I suppose, I must now think of as my "owner". Two of them held me down, and the third one administered the strokes.
Like most of the men I meet I assume you have not actually been caned yourself. Some of you may have read about blokes being caned, and some of you may even have fantasised about receiving a beating yourselves. Believe me, let it remain there, as a fantasy! The real thing fucking hurts, and it goes on hurting, for days afterwards. Look, I'm not talking about a "play" beating, that blokes into that sort of thing might carry out as a prelude to some sort of strange sexual scene: No, this was a hard, tough, professional caning, carried out by a strong man who knew what he was doing, who knew that he was supposed to hurt me, whatever the cost, and where there was no "safe word", no way of calling it off once the pain got too much, no way of standing up and saying "game over".
From the moment the first blow landed across my bare bum I knew I was in trouble. I suppose I heard the "swish" as it raced through the air towards me, but then my world exploded - the sheer unexpected violence of the stroke caught me totally by surprise. My whole body shot forward a little in reaction, in spite of the two men holding me. And I screamed, actually screamed, as the searing pain was so great. And then the thing about the punishment cane is the dual effect it has - after those initial seconds when it's sharp and stinging and searing, there comes the crescendo of longer-lasting dull physical ache. Of course no sooner has the first one done its work than the second is on its way - and this, if anything, is worse: your body is somehow "anticipating" the pain, and it is waiting for the agony to start, and that makes it even worse. My scream this time was not like the first one, where the cry of pain was mixed with one of total surprise: no, now it was just the howl of a wounded animal as my body was hurt, hurt in that dreadful, inevitable way that I was totally powerless to avoid. And I knew that some part of my manhood had drained away again as I screamed for release, for mercy, for this punishment to stop: a man, a real man, can take it and does not lie there begging for release. Or perhaps that's just in the stories - I'm no coward and I'm used to taking hard knocks on the pitch, but this was totally different and although I was ashamed of myself for doing so, I knew I could not stop my screaming.
The guard wielding the cane was an expert. It was almost as if I could feel the successive strokes being neatly spaced across my bum, giving each area an experience of what true pain was. And as the blows went on and my bum was too crowded, he worked his way down my thighs as the other two held me there. And if I had been in agony as the cane sliced into the big powerful muscles of my bum, it was far, far worse as my tightly-stretched thighs were subjected to the punishment.
All in all, I don't suppose it took all that long, although it felt like half a lifetime. And by the end I was no longer screaming with each blow - I could hear myself making a continuous noise as I tried anything to attempt to stop them hurting me. All my other muscles felt hurt and bruise, too, as I'd so desperately pulled and tugged and bucked and fought - all to no avail - to in some way get even a little away from them in the hope that the cane's blows might stop.
When it was over, though, all the fight had gone out of me All I could do was to stay lying there, utterly and totally defeated. Even though I knew there was to be no more punishment it was as if my whole body was on fire - great waves of agony crashed through my brain from my thighs and bum, and the hurt was so terrible, so insistent, that I could think of nothing else: I was beyond making any rational decisions, even had there been any for me to make. The guards let me lie there for some minutes as I struggled to get myself under control and compose myself, but then they had to support me and half carry, half drag me from the "viewing room" back down the corridor to the block where we normally lived in the dormitory - my leg muscles were almost incapable of obeying my orders to walk. They put me into an individual cell, though - small and sparse with a narrow mattress on the floor to lie on and a lavatory in the corner. There was a tap so that I could get water and I tried vainly patting some of it on my body in an attempt to mitigate the agony somewhat - to no avail. All I could do was lie there on my belly, in the hope that time would begin to make me feel better.
End Of Part Two