The Groaning Times Chapter 4: And Our Hearts and Minds Did Follow

PLEASE NOTE: Readers who are new to this series and desire more background may want to start with “The Groaning Times: Prologue” and work through the chapters from there.]

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Lao, a slender but wiry 12 year old, was the first of Tai Vu’s brothers to speak. Wearing a tee shirt, jeans and sneakers, he stepped before us. He silently surveyed the erect penises of the fifty white teenagers, ages 14 – 17, standing naked at attention in front of him. The Asian boy, who was quite handsome with delicate features, seemed to be savoring the moment. If we didn’t present the perfect picture of conquest for him, then I guess nothing could. We, the “snooty” WASP prep-schoolers who had offended his little sister Tai, now stood red-faced and bare naked down to the Lily-white soles of our feet with our peters and balls hanging out. It was a breathtaking turnabout to say the least, and I could see that the boy relished the moment.

Let me be honest. As a male with a sister of my own, I could identify with Lao’s sense of victory at this moment. We males always defend the honor of our sisters, and we defend our little sisters’ honor with a special passion. Tai was Lao’s little sister, and he was doing what he considered his sacred duty to her. As naked and defeated as I was, something inside me understood the triumph in his eyes.

But I also sensed from Lao’s stern demeanor that the road ahead for us Anglo teens would be very, very hard. The boy’s expression showed complete contempt for us, especially our big white cocks and balls. His glance made me feel as if my pale, uncircumcised penis was just so much butcher-shop meat. Of course, the Reparations Act had rendered our testicles void for their intended purpose. Lao looked at our balls as if he barely tolerated their existence.

Given that the new order had proclaimed our balls so purposeless, I could only wonder why they had fed us something that made our nuts clog with sperm. I speculated that it was to torment us with a useless excess of fertility. Only later would we learn the true reason for the Tingleroot.

In flawless and articulate English, Lao finally introduced himself as Tai’s oldest big brother. Of course, we already knew this fact from a prior comment by one of our guards. Nonetheless, hearing Lao confirm it made us gulp with apprehension. One always dreads having to answer to the older brother in the matter of an affront to his little sister.

Lao then pointed out his 11-year-old brother, Francois, who was behind him. Francois stood in front of what looked to be a long butcher-block table. The boy, who was a slightly smaller version of Lao, was opening packets of Bratwurst and Kielbasa sausages and lining them up end-to-end on the table. The Bratwurst looked to be exactly the same type as Tai had tried to steal from our dining hall a few days before. The irony of this sight was like a slap across our faces.

The boy then picked up a huge meat cleaver and began going down the line, slowly chopping the sausages into ½ inch sections. The knife must have been razor sharp, because it cut cleanly through the tough sausage casings, leaving neat little slices that stood up next to each other. As the boy sliced, he occasionally looked over at our erect penises and smiled. I could only wince at the frighteningly ironic implication of his demonstration.

I also saw that the teenaged girls in the audience were giggling wildly over this little culinary demonstration. An Asian girl of about age 13 doubled over with laughter when her boyfriend pointed at us and asked her if she wanted Francois to cut her some “peter sausage” for lunch. Soon the other teens were kidding their giggling girlfriends about eating “peter sausage.”

One Hispanic girl finally jokingly retorted, “Only with onions and peppers!” This had them all roaring. Her laughing boyfriend shot back, “Tina likes her Anglo dicks spicy hot,eh?”

Our faces burned with shame over these jokes.

Of course, this sausage-cutting exhibition was extra embarrassing because of our persistent erections. Our penises still stood high and hard, as if they were trying to emulate those sausages.

In any case, Francois’s message was brutally obvious. For the safety of my own dick, I silently vowed that I would do nothing to further anger Tai’s brothers.

At that point, Lao resumed his address by expressing his and his younger brother’s deep love for their 7-year old sister. He described Tai as an “innocent little Asian princess” who needed to be protected from “arrogant white teens” and “avenged” for any Anglo “slights” to her.

Then Lao reminded us that we were subject to reparations in accordance with the Act, which was passed in his little sister’s honor. He said that the Reparations Act required all designated elite prep-school white teens to render “total” and “unfailingly gracious” obedience to the whims of all members of the oppressed class, regardless of age. “That includes children,” he said. Lao said if we teens had a problem honoring and serving little boys and little girls of the underclass, he would enlist “stronger hands” to help us understand our obligation.

At that point, Lao ordered us to lower ourselves into a squat.

We kind of looked at him, not believing our ears. He repeated the command. Slowly, with our hands still clasped behind our heads, we obeyed. Our knee joints crackled as we settled down into the uncomfortable pose of a deep-knee bend. Our penises and testicles now hung free and fully visible between our legs.

As I squatted red-faced, I assumed Tai’s brother had ordered this humiliating pose as another display of our submission. That was true, but it was also an oversimplification.

Then I saw a line of huge young males enter the gym. These guys looked like weightlifters or body builders. The smallest one looked to be around 250 lbs. They were heavily tattooed.

Lao pointed to a large wicker basket at the end of the table where Francois was chopping sausages. These new arrivals walked over and took a handful of something out of that basket. Then these hulks lined up before us. There was one man for each of us – 50 men in all. They then held out their fists, palms up. They were big, meaty ham hock-like fists.

These giants opened their fists to reveal a walnut in each palm. As you may know, this a very big and hard-shelled nut. Normally, a nutcracker is needed to open a nut like that.

Then the men smiled and slowly closed their fists. I heard cracking sounds. I watched the fists of the young Asian hulk who faced me. His massive fingers were steadily grinding. Tiny fragments of shell mixed with dust soon leaked out. He looked me squarely in the eyes as he did this, working his fingers until there appeared to nothing left to grind.

Finally the men opened their fists to let the utterly pulverized remains of those walnuts fall to the gym floor. The sight of hands so strong left me breathless and thinking about the tender globes between my legs. The message was very clear -- fists that could pulverize walnuts could do horrible things to a soft pair of teenaged testicles.

The underclass teenaged girls who were watching this spectacle giggled and whispered excitedly. Between their bouts of laughter, they studied our worried faces intently. They understood the message as well as we did.

If Lao had any doubts about our willingness to comply with the Act or his requirements after that display, he could have set his mind to rest. But Lao wasn’t finished making his point. The 50 heavily muscled young men now walked behind us and sat down. There was one man behind each of us. My heart raced as my sack drew up in fear. All of our testicles hung down helplessly and very accessible due to our squats.

I suddenly felt the young Asian hulk’s big hands cradling my dangling nuts. He didn’t squeeze them, though. He simply began to gently fondle them as if assessing their shape. But I could feel the latent power in his fingers and the incredibly tender vulnerability of my balls that were now totally at his mercy. Sure, the little boys had given some of us “groaners” but everyone had recovered from them. These guys could give us something far more permanent than a groaner, and in about 2 seconds. I didn’t even want to think about trying to pull away, for I sensed it would have been suicide for my manhood. Indeed, I tried to relax my whole body as much as I could and resign my nuts to the mercy of those huge, beefy fingers. It was the only sensible thing to do. I had no intention of upsetting that huge presence looming behind me.

I could tell that many of the teenaged underclass girls, as well as little boys, had congregated behind the young giants holding our testicles. One Hispanic girl boldly asked one of the guys, “Hola, Rico. Are you gonna break their snooty Anglo cojones for us? Are you gonna smoosh their fancy white eggs?”

The young man answered back, “Ayy, Rosie. I’ll scramble his eggs real good for you! Maybe serve ‘em with some sausage!”

The girl laughed. But I was relieved to hear no scream from my classmate. Apparently “Rico” was joking with her, at least for now.

There was also much banter between these hulks and some little boys who were very curious about the possibility of seeing our big bags “smooshed.” All I could do was sigh with relief when none of the suggestions were carried out.

Finally, Lao resumed his lecture as we squatted and the young hulks fondled our bags. First, Lao read the entire Reparations Act word for word. Then he told us we were going to be marched in public to our final destination, which was a large “prison complex” dedicated to reeducating preppie white teens. He informed us that his little sister would be moving into the Prison Guesthouse and that we were to “honor” her as a princess, as well as any little playmates whom she cared to invite as guests, with “every fiber” of our conquered selves. Lao said our purpose was to serve, to amuse, to pay tribute, to simply do all things necessary to atone for the historical abuses perpetrated by our social class. Again, he said that we had an especial obligation to graciously accommodate the “whims” and “curiosities” of disadvantaged children of color, regardless of our sense of embarrassment or our customary conceits. He warned us that “stuffy” Anglo “standing on ceremony” would not be tolerated at the Prison.

[I marveled at the sophistication and perfect English exhibited in this 12-year old Asian boy’s lecture. He seemed wise beyond his years. Tai later explained to me her brother’s English fluency. She said that both of her brothers had emigrated to our country with her father long before she came with her mother, and, like Tai, they had near-genius IQs.]

Needless to say, we looked up at Lao with rapt attention, hanging on his every word and even nodding in agreement. I even began to see a sliver of justice in what had befallen us. Perhaps it was a form of rationalization for the humiliating and perilous situation into which our actions had landed us. Perhaps the beefy hands holding my testicles had influenced my attitude. Or perhaps I simply saw a bit of the light.

Lao asked if there were any questions. There was silence for a moment, until my teammate Brent stammered, “How can we best serve all of you, Master Lao?” (A black guy the size of a pro wrestler was holding Brent’s testicles.)

Lao smiled savagely, "With all your hearts and minds.”

Every one of us nodded as if this statement was wisdom from the gods. In a way, it proved to be.

[Next: The Groaning Times Chapter 5]