Afrikaner Gap Year - Part 1

by Jim-Piston

Author’s note: This is based on a story ("My Gap Year") by Adam. I’ve taken the liberty of extending Adam’s story, mostly because it prompted me to imagine myself in Mark’s place and to describe what he didn’t write about.

Like sex. Maybe that’s just my warped cowboy mind, reacting to what it’s like to be living on an isolated sheep ranch. Or maybe I’ve just seen Brokeback Mountain too many times. Whatever, sex was a pretty important part of my life when I was that age and working on a ranch for a summer. That had to be true for Mark, too, given what Adam intimated Mark was into after his return to England.

Disclaimer: Adam has not seen this, I haven’t been able to contact him. Please don’t blame him for anything I’ve added or changed. I don’t know whether Mark is real, or just Adam’s invention. Maybe Mark will let me know, if he reads this.

Acknowledgment: Thanks to John Barnes for invaluable help, especially on the subtle differences in CP and attitudes to black-white sex among post-apartheid Afrikaner and Anglo-African communities. Mark’s gap year was kind of an odyssey through their range.

[1]

"Hi! My name is Mark Lewis. I’ve just returned from spending my gap year in South Africa."

I think that’s the best way to start off this story, to say hello and then plunge right in. To tell you why I was there and what happened. I went there to work on a sheep ranch. But that was only the beginning.

Life away from home was very different from what I’d expected. I learned a lot about a lot of things, both on that ranch and during the rest of my gap year. Especially about myself.

I was a real innocent when I went there. I wasn’t a total virgin --I’d played around a bit with girls-- but had never scored. And I was totally straight. I’d never had any contact with gays, certainly not for sex, anyway. I had not the slightest idea how easily I’d get turned on by ... well, by just about everything that happened to me!

.

I wasn’t quite eighteen when I arrived.

I’d lived a sheltered life, mostly in Surrey. My parents were upper middle class, prim and politically correct. I’d gone to good schools close to home. They’d all been just like my parents: tidy, modern, and progressive.

Sanctions, especially of the physical variety, were unthinkable. I’d never even imagined getting my ass beaten, let alone what that might lead to. I certainly never thought it would happen to me. Let alone that it would turn me on.

It sure didn’t turn me on when I first experienced it, during those first couple of months on that ranch. What happened there was a shocker. But even there, something must have been maturing in my mind, because it sure did come to turn me on later. So did a lot of other things.

I’d better stop giving the story away, and just plunge in and tell you about it.

.

[2]

I’d gone to South Africa because I’d met the ranch’s owner, Konrad Abelson. He was a business acquaintance of my father who’d visited my father once when I was present. I’d talked to him enthusiastically about what was happening in South Africa and about how much I admired Mandela. I’d read a lot about Mandela and thought he was fantastic. I still do.

Abelson had been amused by my idealism. He told me I should come and work on his sheep ranch, if I wanted to find out what life in South Africa was really like. I told him I thought that was a great idea, that I’d really like to do something like that when I graduated from grammar school. I was itching to travel and wanted to do something different before going to college. He smiled and told me to write to him then, if I was still interested.

.

I took him up on that a year and a half later, shortly before graduating.

My parents weren’t keen --they wanted me to go directly to university-- but there wasn’t much they could do to keep me home. I wrote to Abelson, told him I definitely wanted to come, and asked if his earlier offer was still open.

His response was lukewarm, but he remembered his earlier promise. He told me he’d give me a job if I really wanted one, but warned me I might not like everything it entailed. I wrote back telling him I loved working outdoors and was sure the experience would be great. I told him I’d do whatever it took to do the job. After talking to my dad, he wrote back to tell me I could have it.

My dad told Abelson that I was acting entirely on my own and over his objections. But he said he’d be grateful to know I’d be working for someone he knew. Abelson told him that, because of my age, he’d need a letter authorizing him to act as my guardian as long as I was in South Africa. My dad said he’d happily provide that, and faxed a letter to that effect to Abelson.

.

I didn’t have enough savings to finance the ticket on my own --my dad absolutely refused to help-- so I had to write to Abelson telling tell him I’d need an advance to get there. Abelson wasn’t too keen on that. However, after talking to my dad again, he agreed to send me a one-way plane ticket to Cape Town.

In exchange for the ticket, I had to promise Abelson that I’d work for him for a full year. He warned me I could expect no special favors, would be treated the same as any other employee, and could expect no protection from farm discipline.

I didn’t know what that last bit meant, but figured it didn’t really matter. After all, I’d be there as the son of his business partner. I wouldn’t just be some local employee.

.

Abelson sent me a labor contract to sign, along with a work permit visa application. The contract required me to keep working for him for twelve months or as long as I still owed him money, whichever was the longer. It also had a bunch of other clauses, which I didn’t bother to read with any care.

The pay was fairly minimal, so it would take a while to repay him out of my earnings. But I’d be totally independent, thousands of miles away from my parents and free to do anything I wanted. I’d find out what South Africa was like, too. I figured I’d earn enough by the time the year was over to finance exploring the country for a couple of months, as well as paying for my ticket home.

I signed the contract and visa application and sent them back along with the required documents. Two months later, formalities completed, I was in Cape Town.

.

[3]

I was met at the airport by a young man about my age and height. He introduced himself as Stefan and told me he’d been sent by Mr Abelson’s foreman.

As we walked out to the farm pickup truck, he asked me about myself. I thought I was pretty cool --mature, good-looking, and intelligent-- and so had no trouble telling him all about myself and my plans.

As I spoke, I took in his appearance. Stefan was slim and quite good-looking, slightly taller than me, with reddish blond hair and an engaging grin. I thought he looked younger than me --it turned out later he was a year older-- but maybe his youthful appearance was because he seemed so naive.

He kept nodding and grinning eagerly as we talked. He told me he was born in Johannesburg, but had dropped out of high school and moved south when he was fifteen. He told me he loved outdoor life and had hated school.

.

We talked as he drove.

"What’s the farm like?" I asked. "How many men work there?"

"It’s big. About twenty blacks work on the farm. You and I are the only whites, other than the foreman and the owner’s family. The blacks’ families mostly live in Calitzdorp. That’s the nearest town. Our contact is mostly with the foreman, Henrik Vries."

"What’s he like?"

He snorted. "You really want to know? He’s a typical Afrikaner: unforgiving, spiteful, and unpleasant."

"Sounds like you’ve got a grudge against Afrikaners" I grinned. "I bet I’ll have no trouble with him."

"You’re an optimist" he snorted again. "I’ll just tell you this, Mark. Be careful when you’re around him. He’s big on respect."

.

It was starting to get dark. I’d forgotten early June was winter here, and was surprised by how early the sunset came. We’d been driving quite for a while and still had an hour or so ahead of us.

Stefan suddenly glanced at me. "It’ll be great having someone to talk to."

I looked at him in surprise. "How come? Don’t you talk to Abelson or Vries?"

"You kidding?" he laughed. "Abelson’s hardly ever around. He leaves everything about the farm to Vries. And Vries doesn’t talk. He just gives orders."

.

"What about neighbors? Girls in town? What do you do for sex?"

"Not much." He laughed bitterly. "Not that kind, anyway."

"Why do you laugh?"

"Oh, it doesn’t matter. I was just thinking of Vries."

I thought that was a strange comment. "How do you mean?"

"It really doesn’t matter." He shrugged dismissively. "Forget I said anything."

.

[4]

We’d left the highway and were traveling over a rough track.

"This goes on for another few miles. Then we’re there."

"Are we on the farm now?"

"We soon will be, in another mile."

We went through a couple of gates. After a while, I could see a few lights ahead.

Apart from the lights, it was totally dark. The stars overhead were amazing. I could make out the nearby mountains, silhouetted against the stars.

.

Stefan stopped the pickup outside a wooden building. "This is where we sleep. The farmhouse is over there, on the next hill."

I jumped out and looked around me. It was deathly quiet and cool, with distant animal noises and the sound of a breeze in the trees. There were some sheds and a barn nearby.

Suddenly, out of the dark, a man appeared. "This is Mr Vries" Stefan told me quickly.

I’d assumed as much. "How do you do, Sir" I said automatically.

Vries smiled thinly. "Just fine." He was about fifty, slim and close-cropped, taller and more muscular than Stefan or me.

.

He looked me up and down. "So you’re planning to spend a year with us."

"Yes, Sir." I looked at him and grinned. "I’m really looking forward to it. It’ll be a great experience!"

"I suppose it will" he smiled. "Have you ever worked for anyone before? Had to follow orders? Been subject to any discipline?"

"No, Sir, I haven’t. But I’ll learn quickly, I’m sure."

"You’d better." His smile turned derisive. "You’re a long way from home."

"More than nine thousand kilometers!" I grinned. "It’s freedom!"

.

He looked at me in amusement. "It certainly frees us from restraints. Do you have any relatives or friends here in the Republic?"

"No, Sir. None at all."

"So you’re totally dependent on us." His smile looked predatory. "And you’re a minor."

"Well, not really, Sir. I’m almost eighteen."

"You’re a minor under South African law, boy. When’s your birthday?"

"In November."

"Oh, well, then. There’s no question. Mr Abelson and I are your guardians while you’re here." His smile broadened. "What do you English call it? In loco parentis? Full parental rights?"

.

I had no idea what he was getting at. "I don’t know what you mean, Sir."

"It means I’m responsible for your conduct, both on and off the farm. And for disciplining you, when required. I’m sure you know what that means."

I looked at him warily. "I’m not sure I do, Sir. I’m not a wild young teenager. I’m here to work."

"So you are" he smiled. "And I’m here to make sure you do. Stefan’s told you how things work here?"

"A little" I nodded. "I imagine I have a lot to learn."

"Yes, you do." He smiled again. "Take him to his bunk, Stefan. I’ll see you both tomorrow."

.

[5]

The first day passed quickly.

Abelson briefly instructed me in my duties, which were to do whatever Vries told me.

He took my passport and travel documents for safekeeping, telling me he’d keep them as long as I worked for him. My weekly wages would be paid into a trust account, except for a minimal weekly allowance that the foreman would give me on my day off. The trust account would be docked for the cost of my plane ticket, as well as for any repairs or farm losses for which I was responsible. Stefan later told me his wages were handled the same way.

He turned me over to Mr Vries, telling me that the foreman ran the farm, that Vries would deal with any personal problems, and that I would answer to Vries if I didn’t perform. When I said I understood, he looked at me scornfully, told me he’d brought me here as a favor to my dad, and that I’d get no sympathy from him if I screwed up.

I looked at him in surprise as he walked away.

.

That was the last conversation I had with Abelson for over a month. Whenever I saw him, he ignored me. He clearly had little interest in the farm or in me. He was seldom around, and then only to talk briefly to Vries.

Mrs Abelson took more interest. She was about thirty, more than twenty years younger than her husband, with two young children to take care of. She was obviously off limits to anyone like me. But she was good conversation, in the few evenings we had a chance to talk. We normally ate with her children and the household help, but she’d eat with us and talk when her husband was away.

The farm work didn’t require much brainwork. The blacks mostly stayed away from Stefan and me --many slept out in the fields with the sheep-- but Stefan told me they’d do what we told them. Our primary jobs were to tell them where to move the sheep and to keep track of where they were.

.

Vries spoke to me for about five minutes that first morning: "You do what I tell you and what Stefan shows you, and you and me will get along just fine. I pay you an allowance each Friday evening, and you get Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. You and Stefan can use the pickup within reason on your time off, but I decide what’s reasonable." He looked at me and smiled. "Stefan can fill you in on what I expect."

I nodded assent. "Sounds good to me, Sir."

"It had better be. You answer to me for everything. I hope you realize that."

"Don’t worry, Sir. I’ll take care."

He snorted. "You’re the one that needs to worry, boy. It’s your ass that’s on the line, not mine."

I shrugged. "I’ll do my best."

.

As the next few weeks passed, the weather started to get warmer. It was like early spring in England, but considerably warmer and drier. Stefan and I both had to ride a lot to check on remote sheep and the blacks tending them. I’d never ridden horses before, but quickly developed a modicum of skill.

All in all, the job seemed remarkably pleasant. The pay was reasonable considering my inexperience, 700 rand per week (around £55 back then, which would be about $110 for you Yanks) plus board and lodging. Though I only got 70 rand a week as an allowance, there wasn’t much to spend money on.

About the only place I could spend it was in Calitzdorp, the nearby town. Since the town was almost thirty miles away, we only went there on our days off. I was happy to have most of my wages accumulating for when I left the farm.

.

While I found Stefan rather immature, we enjoyed each other’s company. We mostly worked separately, getting together only at the end of the day. Every Saturday that we could, we drove into Calitzdorp.

There wasn’t much to do there, so we just fooled around, mostly drinking cheap beer in a local pub or buying beer to bring back to the farm. Our days off were pretty uneventful, especially since we had to be back on the farm in time for dinner.

Stefan didn’t talk much about himself. He sometimes absented himself to spend time with Vries, often in the evenings of our days off. I expressed surprise to him about that --I’d thought he disliked Vries-- but he clammed up and wouldn’t talk about it.

I respected his privacy and didn’t press him. Whatever he did with Vries was his own affair.

.

[6]

When my life changed, it changed very suddenly.

One Saturday morning, I was lying in my bunk sleeping when, suddenly, the door of our hut burst open. Vries stood in the doorway, slapping a leather crop hard against the side of his boots.

"Which of you slackers is responsible for crews out on Mariensberg?" he asked angrily. He glared at Stefan. "You or Mark?"

Stefan looked at me unhappily. "Mark is, Sir."

Mariensberg was a leased grazing area up in the hills, nearly twenty miles from the farm compound. I’d been out there the previous day.

.

"What’s the problem?" I asked petulantly. "It’s our day off, isn’t it?"

Vries smiled nastily. "Not yet, boy. And certainly not when you screw up. Get out of that bed!"

"What do you mean?" I sat up, pulling the blanket up around me. "What did I do?"

"Get up!"

"I don’t have any clothes on."

"What the fuck does that matter? Do what I tell you, boy! Stand up!"

.

It shows the power of his personality that I obeyed. I stood up, totally naked, and started over to pick up my jeans.

"Stay where you are!"

"But, Sir!" I stopped momentarily to look at him. "I’m just ..."

He interrupted me angrily. "No back talk, boy! Do what I tell you!"

"Oh, fuck you!" I sneered. This was ridiculous. I continued over to the chair onto which I’d thrown my jeans.

He reached me just as I’d bent over to pick them up.

.

"FUCK!!!" I felt a line of fire across my ass. "FUCKING JESUS!!!"

His crop had slashed across the undersides of my buttocks, just above where they met the backs of my thighs. "JESUS!!!" I started to jerk up.

"YAOOOWWHHHH!!!!" He’d hit me again. Thanks to my jerking up, the blow landed higher on my buttocks. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

He was already reaching back. "You don’t talk back to me like that, boy."

"FUCKING SHIT!!!" He’d hit me again, that time on the side of my left buttock. The shock of the pain made me jerk away, causing me to unbalance. I grabbed the top of the chair, just as another blow slammed into me.

"AAOOOOWWRGHHHH!!! SHIT!!!!" I’d bent over to grab the chair, and that blow hit just above where my buttocks met the backs of my thighs. One of my feet jerked up, I couldn’t help it.

"AOOOWWHHHH!!!" He’d hit me again, before I’d had a chance to recover. "DON’T DO THIS!!!"

.

I couldn’t believe how fast that crop was hitting me. Nor how much each blow hurt. I’d never in my life experienced pain so electric.

"FUCKING JESUS!!!" That time I did jerk up. "FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, SIR!!! STOP DOING THIS!!!"

"You’d better watch that fucking language, boy. You don’t tell me to fuck off."

"OH, GOD!!" I’d looked back just in time to see him swinging into me. "OH, PLEASE, SIR!!!" I jumped away, toward the wall. "PLEASE!!!"

"YAIEEOOOWWHHHH!!!" That one had lashed across the flank of my right buttock, just as I hit the wall. "JESUS!!! FUCKING JESUS!!!"

"FUCK!!!" He’d hit me again. "DON’T FUCKING DO THAT!!!"

.

He lowered the crop as he glared at me. "Then don’t talk back to me."

"I’M SORRY, SIR!!" I’d turned to face him, reaching back to grab my buttocks. "THAT FUCKING HURT!!!"

"I should bloody well hope so. You’re a fucking disgrace."

"Why?" I looked at him uncomprehendingly, still shocked by the intensity of the pain. "I was just getting my clothes!"

"I don’t give a shit what you were doing. When I tell you to do something, boy, you do it!"

.

[7]

I could feel the heat from the welts as I held them. It felt like my whole ass was burning.

I looked at him bitterly. "I don’t believe this! What’s so fucking important, that it can’t wait for me to put on some fucking clothes?"

He looked at me coldly. "You’re being provocative. Just do what I tell you, and answer my questions."

"Yes, Sir" I said, looking at him sullenly. "Whatever you fucking want."

.

He ignored my disrespectful sneer. "Did you tell the crew out there they could leave?"

"Well, yes" I shrugged. "I suppose I did. What of it?"

"You let the crew go without relieving them. They said you told them they could leave yesterday evening."

"Okay, so I did. I changed my mind." I saw him scowl. "I didn’t have time to take the relief crew out."

"Why not? What happened? Didn’t you arrange for that?"

"No, I didn’t." I shrugged again. "I forgot."

.

He glared at me angrily. "What do you mean, you forgot? How the fuck can you forget a whole fucking crew?"

I glanced at Stefan. "I got involved in something, talking to Stefan. I just didn’t think about it."

"That’s supposed to be an excuse?"

"Whatever." I shrugged dismissively. "I figured it didn’t matter. Why all the fuss?"

.

His smile was contemptuous. "You really don’t give a shit about your work, do you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, so I didn’t do it. The crew will get relieved this morning. What’s the big deal?"

"The big deal is that no one was out there this morning. The blacks who checked say almost two hundred of our beasts have disappeared."

"You’re kidding!" I looked at him in astonishment. "You mean the blacks who were out there just left?"

"They take you literally, boy. When you tell them they can walk, they walk."

"I figured they’d stay until I took their relief out."

He glared at me angrily. "You figured wrong, boy."

.

"Shit! How could they do that? I never thought they’d just get up and go!"

He looked at me disdainfully. "You just didn’t think." He turned to Stefan. "How could you let this happen? You were with him. Didn’t you know Mark was changing the crew?"

Stefan looked at him fearfully. "I guess I might have."

"You might have?" Vries spat angrily. "What kind of fucking answer is that?"

.

He was even angrier with Stefan than with me. "Aren’t you supposed to keep track of what Mark does? Make sure he doesn’t fuck up?"

"Well, yes, Sir. I’m sorry! I guess I didn’t think about it, either."

"You’re so fucking incompetent! You never do think, do you?"

"I’m sorry!" Stefan looked on the edge of sobbing. "It wasn’t my fault!"

Vries was furious. "You could have prevented it." He glared at Stefan. "Your ass will pay for this." He glared at me, too. "Yours, too, boy. You’re going to learn what you get for being so fucking irresponsible. Bend over that chair!"

.

[8]

I looked at him in astonishment, mouth open.

"Do I have to say everything twice?" Vries demanded angrily. "Get over that fucking chair!"

"But, Sir!" I couldn’t believe this. "You can’t ... I mean ..."

"DO AS YOU’RE FUCKING TOLD!!"

I winced at the sound of the crop slapping his boot. "Oh, God! Please! You can’t do this!"

"I can beat your ass any time I fucking feel like it." He looked at me grimly. "And I’ll bloody well double what you’re getting if you don’t do what I tell you. Get down!"

.

"No!! Please, Sir!" I was really frightened now. "You can’t make me take that, Sir! My dad is a friend of Mr Abelson’s. You can’t treat me like some local ..."

My voice trailed off as I looked at Stefan, realizing what I was saying.

"Like me?" he said bitterly.

"I’m sorry, Stefan. But yes." I looked at Vries defiantly. "You bloody well can’t do this, Sir! I’ll go to Abelson and the police, if you try that." I looked at his expression. "I really will!"

Vries snorted. "You’ve got a lot to learn, boy, if you think that’ll do you any good."

.

He glanced at Stefan. "Tell him what happened to you, the time you tried that."

Stefan didn’t say anything. He just looked at me resentfully.

"What happened?" I asked.

Stefan laughed bitterly. "You really want to know?"

"Yes, he does" Vries said grimly. "Tell him."

.

Stefan shrugged. "They phoned Mr Abelson and told him I was a troublemaker. He told them to teach me not to bother them. So they did." He bit his lip. "The police here are all Afrikaners, Mark. They whipped my ass like you wouldn’t believe, for trying to embarrass one of their own."

I looked at him in surprise. "The police did that? I can’t believe that."

"Oh, they did, believe me!" He grimaced. "They beat me with a sjambok. I’d never had a worse beating." He glanced at Vries fearfully. "Not until I was picked up, anyway. I got it even worse, when we got back here."

"That’s right" Vries sneered. "You’ll get the same thing too, boy, if you’re dumb enough to try anything like that. So get down over that fucking chair!" He looked at me contemptuously. "I should have done this long ago."

.

I looked at him defiantly. "You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’ll take that from you!"

He smiled grimly. "I see I need to teach you obedience, too."

"But you can’t ... My Dad ..." My voice trailed off as I saw his face.

"I don’t give a fuck about your father, boy. When you’re working for me, you do as you’re told."

"But ..." I shook my head. "You can’t do this! You can’t!"

.

"You’d better do as he says" Stefan said quietly.

"That’s right" Vries jeered. "You’re really asking for this, boy. I’m going to have to make up for lost time with you."

"Oh, please!" I was frightened, but stood defiantly. "Talk to Mr Abelson! He’ll tell you. My dad is Mr Abelson’s business partner. You can’t beat me like some local kid!"

"I don’t need to talk to Mr Abelson, boy. I decide what happens to you."

.

Vries glanced at Stefan. "Make him bend over."

"Do it, Mark" Stefan told me, starting toward me.

"NO!!!" I backed up against the wall. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!!"

I looked at Vries angrily. "YOU’RE NOT DOING THIS!!! SO FUCK OFF, OKAY?"

His snort was contemptuous. "You don’t talk to me like that, boy." He turned to Stefan. "Get the blacks outside in here."

.

[9]

Stefan went to the door and said something. Two blacks followed Stefan back, quickly grabbing my arms.

"OH, MY GOD!!!" I was really frightened now. "GET AWAY FROM ME!!!"

The blacks jerked me around and twisted my arms up behind me, forcing me to bend over.

"FUCK OFF, YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!!!" I struggled to break out of their grip. "LET ME GO!!!"

They just wrenched my arms up higher, pushing my head down further. They pushed against me from each side too, pinning my chest between their thighs, pushing my shoulders into the wall.

"OH, JESUS!!!" I could see between my legs that Vries was reaching back. "OH, GOD!!! NOOOHHHH!!!"

.

"AIEEOOOOWHHHH!!!! FUCKING JESUS!!!" The crop slashed into me even harder than before. God knows why I thought that, though. They’d all been so fucking bad.

I struggled to break away. "OH, GOD, SIR!!! PLEASE DON’T HIT ME AGAIN!!!"

"YAOOOWHHHH!!! SHIT!!!!" That one had really hurt. "FUCK!!!" With my ass such a stable target, Vries was really putting power into his swing.

"OH, PLEASE, SIR!!!" He was reaching back again. "PLEASE!!!" I struggled even harder, just as the crop slashed into me.

"AAAOOOWWRGHHHH!!!" He’d slashed the crop across the bottom of my buttocks.

"FUCKING SHIT!!! YAAAAIEEOOWHHH!!!" He’d hit me again.

.

"OH, GOD!!! PLEASE!!!" My feet were drumming on the floor.

I couldn’t take it. "PLEASE, SIR!!" I begged. "PLEASE DON’T GIVE ME ANY MORE!!!!"

Vries paid no attention. "OH, JESUS!!!" He was reaching back again. "PLEASE!!!"

"AIEEOOOWWHHHH!!!! FUCK!!!" He’d slashed the crop into me so hard!

He kept on hitting me, slashing into me all over my ass. I’d never known such pain. Nor felt so fucking helpless.

.

Each time the crop hit, the pain increased another notch. It was terrible. I couldn’t believe how much that crop hurt.

I fought desperately to get out from under the blacks’ grip, but they were far too strong. They kept pushing into my chest with their thighs and pushing my shoulders down, keeping me totally immobilized against the wall. My naked ass projected out behind them, totally open to whatever Vries wanted to do.

I was sobbing frantically now, as much from terror as from the pain.

"PLEASE, SIR!!!!" He’d given me easily ten or twelve by now. "I CAN’T TAKE THIS!!! I REALLY CAN’T!!!"

Vries paused, looking at the red lines across my ass.

"Okay" he shrugged. "Maybe you’ve learned something by now. Let him up."

.

"Oh, Jesus!" I sobbed as I stood up, as much from shock as from pain. "That hurt so fucking much!!"

"Stop sniveling!" Vries said angrily. "Turn around! Look at me!"

I looked at him in terror, watching him brandish the crop.

"Have you learned from this, boy? Are you going to do what I tell you now?"

"Oh, yes, Sir!" My entire ass was blazing. "I’ll do anything you want, Sir! Whatever you say!"

I meant every word. I’d have done absolutely anything at all right then, to avoid more of that crop.

"Good, then prove it. Bend down over that chair. And, this time, stay down without being held."

I looked at him in shock. "You’re giving me more?"

"Of course! Why else would I tell you to get back down?"

"Oh God, Sir! Please don’t do that!!" I kept staring at the crop. "PLEASE!!!!"

The crop was braided thick leather, a little under thirty inches long, just right for slashing into a horse’s rear. After what I’d received, I could understand how it made horses explode into a gallop. I’d have galloped out of there too, if the blacks hadn’t been between me and the door.

Vries smiled. "I thought you just told me you’d do anything I tell you."

"OH, GOD, SIR!!! PLEASE!!! ANYTHING BUT THAT!!!"

"Anything means anything, boy. Do what I tell you! Or we’ll start this all over."

.

[10]

"OH, PLEASE, SIR!!!" I couldn’t believe this was happening. "YOU CAN’T DO THIS!!! YOU FUCKING CAN’T!!!"

He looked at me contemptuously. "You don’t tell me what I can do, boy. When I tell you to do something, you do it without arguing. You’re getting an extra dozen on your ass for that."

"OH, GOD!!! PLEASE!!!" I was terrified of being beaten again. "DON’T BEAT ME AGAIN, SIR!!! PLEASE!!! I’LL DO AS YOU SAY!"

"Then do it! Get back down!"

"OH, PLEASE!"

.

I backed away into a corner, glancing fearfully at the grinning blacks. "Please don’t do this!"

"You’d better do what he said" one of the blacks jeered.

"NO!!!" I shook my head in terror. "I WON’T!!!"

"Okay, boy, I warned you." Vries pointed to a table. "Put him down over that."

"NO!!! I CAN’T TAKE THIS!!!" I looked around desperately. "PLEASE!!!"

.

There was no escape. The blacks were so much stronger. They grabbed me, jerked me around, and forced me over to the table.

"NO!!!" They’d pushed my chest down, pinning me like before. "OH, GOD!!! NOOOHHHH!!!!" Vries was reaching back. "OH, MY GOD!!! GOD!!! AIEEEOOOWHHHH!!!!"

Another line of fire blazed across the underside of my buttocks. "OH, JESUS!!! FUCKING JESUS!!!!"

I tried frantically to jerk away, but the blacks were immovable. My arms were pulled high up on the backs of my shoulders, chest pressed down hard. All I could do was kick out uselessly with my legs.

"OH, PLEASE, SIR!!!" He was about to swing a second time. "PLEASE!!!!"

"YAIEEOOOWRHHHH!!!! SHIT!!! FUCKING SHIT!!!!" He’d slashed the crop diagonally across the underside of my buttocks, cutting into the inside of my right thigh. I couldn’t believe the pain.

"AAOOOOOWHHHHH!!!" Another one, slashing across the back of that thigh. "FUCK!!! OH, GOD!!! FUCK!!!"

.

I was sobbing in agony when he paused. He’d given me easily another dozen.

"You want more, boy? Or are you going to obey me now?"

"OH, GOD, SIR!!!" I couldn’t stop sobbing. "THAT HURTS SO MUCH!!! PLEASE DON’T GIVE ME ANY MORE!!!"

"You’ll get that every time you disobey. Understand?"

"YES, SIR!!! I’LL DO WHAT YOU WANT, SIR!!!"

"You still think I won’t beat you when you deserve it?"

"No, Sir!" I shook my head frantically. "Oh, God, no!"

He gestured to the blacks. They let me go and stood back.

.

[11]

I started to get up, holding onto the table to keep my balance.

"What the fuck are you doing, boy? I’m not finished with you. Get back down!"

"OH, PLEASE, SIR!!!" I stayed where I was, bent over, terrified of disobeying him. "I CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE!!!"

"You’ll take whatever I choose to give you, boy. You think that’s all you deserve?"

"Oh, God, yes! You’ve given me so much!!"

He snorted contemptuously. "That was nothing, boy, compared with what you did to earn it. You caused the loss of a couple of hundred sheep. I haven’t even started to punish you for that."

"JESUS, SIR!!!" I was even more terrified. "You can’t mean that!!"

"You think so?" he snorted. He reached back. "Keep holding onto that table!"

.

"OH, GOD!!! YAAAOOOWHHHH!!!! OH, JESUS, SIR!!!" He’d hit into the underside of my left buttock, reaching right into the inside of that thigh. "FUCK!!!" The pain was awful. "OH, PLEASE!!!"

"AIEEOOOOWHHHH!!!!" I jerked up as a second blow hit, almost on the same spot. "SHIT!!!" That one had really hurt!

"Get back down, boy! Get your chest down on that table!"

"OH, JESUS, SIR!!!" I did as he demanded, sobbing in terror. He was reaching back again.

"PLEASE!!! OH, PLEASE, SIR!!!" He paid no attention. "YAIEEOOOWHHH!!!! SHIT!!!"

.

"AOOOWWHHHH!!! FUCK!!!" He kept moving around behind me, slashing blows all over my buttocks and thighs. "OH, JESUS!!! PLEASE!!!"

The blows just kept coming. "AOOOWRGHHHH!!! OH, GOD, SIR!!! SHIT!!!" They hurt so fucking much!

"YAIEEEOOWHHHH!!! OH, PLEASE!!!" Again. And again. "YAOOOWWHHHH!!! OH, MY GOD!!! PLEASE!!!"

He finally lowered the crop. "You still think I don’t mean what I say, boy?"

"OH, GOD, NO!!! PLEASE, SIR!!! PLEASE DON’T GIVE ME ANY MORE!!!"

.

He looked at me grimly. "I should give you a lot more. And not just for forgetting about that fucking crew, either."

"Oh, please!" I sobbed, still down on the table.

"Your ass needs something more impressive than this crop, too. Like what Stefan will get." He looked at my trembling buttocks. "You’ll get a lot more next time, boy, if you screw up like this again."

"OH, GOD!!!" I believed him. "I WON’T SCREW UP, SIR!!! HONEST, I WON’T!!"

.

"You still think you can get away with anything?"

"Oh, no, Sir! I’m sorry about what happened, Sir! Honest! I didn’t know!"

"Well, you bloody well know now. And know what you get if you disobey. Are you going to obey from now on?"

"Oh, yes, Sir!" I was shivering in fear. "I’ll do anything you say, Sir! Anything!"

"I think we’d better make sure of that." He started to reach back. "Don’t you dare move!"

"OH, PLEASE, SIR!!!" I looked at him in terror, riveted to the table. "I’LL OBEY, SIR!!! HONEST, I WILL!!!!"

.

He paused, looking at me appraisingly.

"Maybe I should give you a chance to redeem yourself. Get up and look at me."

"Oh, thank you, Sir!" I said fervently, quickly standing up and turning to face him. "Thank you!"

He smiled grimly. "Don’t thank me yet, boy. You may still earn a beating. Get your clothes on, take these blacks over to Mariensberg, and see if you can track down the missing sheep. If you find the sheep and get them back, I may decide not to give you what you deserve."

I was already scrambling for my jeans and boots.

.

"As for you" he said to Stefan. "You have no excuse. Get over to the barn."

A few minutes later, as I ran with the blacks to the pickup, I heard the unmistakable crack of something striking flesh, followed by a wild cry from Stefan. And then another. And another.

Stefan’s howls of pain followed us, as we drove away.

.

[12]

To cut a long story short, the blacks and I never did find the sheep. Well, we found the odd few, but the shepherd boys out there told me the rest had all been stolen.

When I got back to the farm, Vries’ face was like thunder. "I shan’t forget this, boy. Your pay will be docked for your carelessness, as will Stefan’s. And next time this happens, it won’t be just Stefan that gets his ass punished."

"You shouldn’t have punished him, Sir. I was the one who screwed up."

"I’ll punish him whenever I fucking like, boy. Just like I’ll punish you, any time you piss me off. Is that what you’re doing now, boy? Asking for another thrashing on your ass?"

"No, Sir. It’s just that ..." I quailed as I saw his expression. "I mean ..."

"You’re trying my patience, boy. Get out of here!"

.

When I found Stefan, he was lying face down on top of his bed, totally naked.

"Jesus! What did he do to you? Your ass looks fucking awful."

He smiled ruefully. "He gave me a lot."

"He sure did! Jesus! That must be even more than I got."

"Oh, it was a lot more." He looked up at me. "You’ll get more too, Mark."

"No fucking way!"

.

I shook my head as I looked down on his ass. "You should go to the police, Stefan. There’s no way they won’t do something, if you show them what he’s done to you."

He shook his head bitterly. "You didn’t listen to a fucking thing I said earlier, did you?"

"I listened to you. But he can’t beat you like this. We’re not serfs."

He smiled ruefully. "We are as long as we’re here and under twenty-one, Mark. He can do anything he bloody likes."

.

I looked at him fearfully. "You can’t be serious. This is just too fucking ridiculous!"

"Oh, I’m serious" Stefan smiled ruefully. "You’ll get it again, too, Mark. I could see that in the way he looked at you. He’s got you in his sights."

I was incredulous. "There’s now way he can do this again! I’m going to talk to Abelson."

"That’s not a good idea, Mark. You’ll just get even more."

"Vries can’t beat me for talking to his boss! Fuck! Abelson and my dad are partners. There’s no way Abelson can permit Vries to do this."

"You want to bet?" Stefan jeered.

.

"Vries can’t get away with this! It’s fucking criminal!"

Stefan laughed. "You’re being naive, Mark. It’s his legal right."

"I’m not naive! No fucking way!"

"Come on! You know what you got from him. Was that impossible? Did it not happen?"

I sighed. "I don’t know, Stefan! All I know is that the whole thing is just too fucking much. How can this possibly be legal?"

"Oh, that’s easy" Stefan smiled ruefully. "It comes from when they eliminated apartheid."

.

He could see I didn’t understand.

"In the old days, it had always been okay to thrash blacks" he explained. "When Mandela got in charge, things had to change. But instead of just stopping the thrashing, the farm lobby got the government to make the old law apply equally to each race. The compromise was to limit it to youths. So now any male farm worker under the age of twenty-one can be beaten, black or white."

"That’s incredible! Aren’t there are any controls?"

"Oh, sure, there are limits, like not causing permanent injury. Supposedly, a beating may only be on the buttocks and not on the bare." He smiled wanly. "Not that anybody enforces that around here, when I get it."

"You got all that on the bare? How much did he give you?"

"A lot. And not just with that whippy little crop, either. He got each of his blacks to give it to me, first with a fan belt and then with a switch. And, yes, all of it was on the bare." He smiled ruefully. "I guess my ass does look a bit of a mess."

.

I gaped at him. "I don’t believe any of this. Nobody told me anything of this."

"I know" he nodded. "I was supposed to warn you."

"I don’t believe he can do this. Not to me."

Stefan just snorted. "Well, maybe you really are more privileged than I am. Like you say, Mark, you got this job because of your dad. Personally, though, I’ll be surprised."

"Surprised at what?"

"Surprised if you don’t get it again."

"You’re wrong!" I looked at him fearfully. "You’ve got to be!"

.

He smiled wryly. "I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?"

"I’ll talk to Abelson first."

"Well, good luck. My bet is that Abelson won’t do a bloody thing."

"He has to!"

"Well, that’s what you say. Tell you what, Mark. I bet you a case of beer on that. As a matter of fact, I’ll bet a second case, that he’ll get Vries to beat you for complaining to him."

.

I looked at him, appalled. "You’ve really got to be kidding!"

"You’ll see" he shrugged. "You’ll get it again, either way."

"You can’t be right! No fucking way!"

He shrugged again. "You’ll see."

I did, just two days later.