“Now listen up, you savages. This is how things are.”
Whitney was stood right alongside Tarzan under their punishment frame .. addressing the new batch of slaves. As if Tarzan was not there. As if Tarzan did not realise what he had got coming to him. As if Whitney cared!
Whitney had handed the long rubbery cosh back to the thug. Tarzan’s eyes followed him .. taking up position behind him. He steeled his mind. Tarzan was no novice when it came to thugs.
“Each of your scumbags gets a daily quota. Depending on what job you’ve got. Number of sacks of cocoa beans. How many kilos of beans you’ve got to split …..”
Whitney nodded behind Tarzan. Suddenly his baggy shorts had been whipped down .. resting on his feet.
“Fail. Not reach your quota …..”
Whitney nodded behind. Indicating his victim. Taking in his white-savage, naked. Who was glaring back in anger. Did Whitney need to say more?
Impressive, a body like that could take plenty of punishment. Just what was needed to show these wide-eyed blacks ……. They knew they weren’t built looking like that. An example made of a body that looked like it could take it.
“Fail to reach your quota ……”
His thumb indicated Tarzan’s naked torso.”
He smirked back at the savage. He caught his sneer. Only five, the savage was thinking? If only the sucker knew.
“On your bare arse.”
Bare, Whitney had said. And true as his word. The thug with the rubber strap from behind had yanked Tarzan’s baggy shorts down to his ankles. Tarzan was not fazed. His look was already sizing up Whitney. Glaring over at him.
He was being picked on. Whitney wanted him better behaved, more compliant. But Whitney had been warned. Told Tarzan was going to be trouble. Tarzan didn’t mean to disappoint. And Whitney could expect more of the same.
The sound of the first strike caught Tarzan a bit off-guard. Why had he thought the thug with the strap would need to line himself up? Why would he need to get his eye in? Tarzan was still engaged in his war of looks with Whitney …. A whoosh through the air. A burning blow that threw his hips forward.
Quickly he clamped his jaws tight together. The muscles in his face went taut. Holding down the pain. The force jarred him forward, one step forward, the pull back on his wrists jarred in his armpits. Angry with himself, Tarzan quickly got his breath back, panting fast and deep. Then he settled his gaze on Whitney again.
He was going to fuel his fight-back by the hatred he had built up for this man. Who tore simple menfolk from their families and tribes. Who gave himself the right to beat them if they failed to meet their quotas. Who could single-out Tarzan at-will and make an example of him. For doing nothing.
His emotions were full of hate. But his hearing was on full alert. The second blow from the strap bludgeoned onto Tarzan’s bare muscled backside. But he was mentally ready for it. Still his body went rigid. Burning pain. Shudders of pain jarred down his legs. His hips slammed forward, his back arched.
But he wasn’t going to give any sign of hurt. Not until he had to. The third came on immediately. Tarzan’s hands bunched into tight fists .. fighting back on the pain. The heat rushed up his backbone. Tarzan felt it flushed hot in his face. But the pain stayed locked in his chest. He shook his head .. shaking off the heat. And his eyes fixed down on Whitney again.
Tarzan was looking for his frustration. He reckoned the man had wanted some more effect. Wasn’t Tarzan supposed to dishonour himself? Cringe? Cry out? Why else had he assembled an audience? But the man’s face was giving nothing away.