The whipped boys do not complain, they and their families do not protest, they accept that the right of their masters is unlimited.

The Russian nobles were feudal lords with total power over all the families who inhabited their lands. During the long winters, when food was scarce, and hunger threatened the survival of all, they would stay in their comfortable and heated palaces. The noble families spent months of tedious parties and endless drunkenness without being able to leave during the snowstorms. One of the diversions was to bring the sons of the servants, or the orphaned boys, to torture and whip them for no reason or justification. Seeing a handsome boy being beaten, crying, and sobbing in pain, hearing their moans and supplications is delicious.

The whole noble family could have fun with the scene. Curiously observe the effect of each type of whip as each blow marks the boy's thin, delicate white skin.

The maid and servants help to tie and beat the young man without showing any mercy.

Some families even sent their most vigorous and robust children to their masters' dacha in exchange for food or even to have one less mouth to feed. The poverty was so great that the boys were often left on the porches of the dachas naked so they could bring their clothes back to their homes for the other children to wear.

The boys chosen to entertain the parties do not complain. 

Their families do not protest; they accept that the rights of their masters are unlimited.

I can not understand or deny that I get horny and hard when he walks into the cell.

I don't know why I was arrested or how long I've been in this cell.

I was walking home when the police car pulled up beside me on the street. He got out, looked me straight in the eyes, directly and deeply, like I'd never been looked at before.

He saw me, I think he saw my soul, my nature. Then he asked for my documents, handcuffed me, and put me in the back of the police van.

He brought me here, took off all my clothes, and tied me up so I couldn't protect myself, stand up, or see my hands.

I eat everything he throws on the cell floor for me to eat: leftover food, dog food, pieces of fruit, or bread. He takes his penis out of his pants, and I drink all the urine without choking, or I suck his penis to drink his semen.

I am obedient, submissive, and affectionate with him. I don't complain, I don't question, I am just obedient, resigned, and affectionate. Even so, I don't understand why he hits me so hard and treats me with such brutality and cruelty.

Every day, two or three times, he comes into the cell and whips me many times, hard, without mercy, until I almost faint, and then he rapes me.

It's not an interrogation; he doesn't ask questions; he insults me, kicks me, and laughs at my crying.

My back hurts a lot; I feel hungry, cold, pain in my wrists and buttocks. But I can't understand or hide that I get aroused, my penis gets hard, and I ejaculate when he enters the cell.

The cell floor is covered in urine, tears, sweat, blood, and semen, everything I spill.

The prisoners of the GULAGS sold as slaves.

Prisoners of the Revolutionary Government were transported to Siberia by trains in large numbers, thousands of men sent to serve long sentences. 

The bureaucrats and judges' expectation was that most of them would never come back. Many would die in the labor camps, others from hunger and torture. Others would die trying to escape, fleeing through the fields and galvanized and unpopulated forests. 

For all this there was no problem if a few hundred of them were simply sold by the soldiers to the farmers or to the nomadic peoples of Siberia. The younger, stronger, healthier prisoners were simply marketed, obviously naked, because the clothes on those polar lands were more valuable and necessary than their users.

Some were used as slaves on farms or to pull carts to the point of exhaustion and death. Once dead, or even dying, their bodies were often given as food to dogs.