“You’re NOT my slave! Cut that out, babe!” I half-seriously retorted.“True, slavery was a despicable institution and my ancestors rightly hate... it. However, I have the feeling that you would have worn the blue, not the gray, and I would have greeted my liberator with legs spread and my lips around your cock. Oh, and thank you for that,” Becky told me mysteriously as we ate.“For what?” I wondered.“Calling me ‘babe.’ I like the sound of that. You did it in a flash of anger, too, meaning that. The Temple of Torture. This was the great fear he’d had all this time. And now to his greatest horror, it was about to become a reality.The Temple of Torture was not really a ‘temple’ per sé; it was a room in the prison where Warden Polinski sent prisoners who had broken the “zero-tolerance” rules. The warden and/or the guards would round up some of the “big bulls” of the prison and lock them in the Temple with the rule-breaker to have their way with him. And inhumane rape was only one of the. More

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