The junior high school period was a really stupid age. Sometimes you have to cry over spilled milk.
In my class there were two such buzzers, who wanted to check which one of them will last longer, looking straight at the sun! That guy who wanted to prove that he had more in his crotch had to take into account a painful loss of sight. Burned retina and optic nerve. A tragedy the young man had to face.
Another time, during a school trip, we saw a shepherd's runway on the way. I was bullied into peeing on an electric fence, but it wasn't worth the job. There were sparks when the wire met the wish-wash. To my surprise, I felt pain in my cock.
In general, however, there is nothing worse than rubbing yourself against a friend's death. The father of that fellow rushed moonshine in the house, which had a very high calibre. Once upon a time a friend of mine gathered us together in large numbers with the intention of learning how to drink economically. He poured moonshine into a large bowl. Then he took off his pants. We felt a smell of cheese. The guy was spread out in the bowl and his hands kept his buttocks open. The moonshine was splashing lively. The guy took deep breaths, wanting his guts to suck in the moonshine. However, he got up quite quickly, explaining to us that it burned like when you swallow percentage liquids. None of us wanted trying to sit in that bowl. After our friend did that, we were a little disgusted. The moonshine was poured out, and we started to wander around. We were loud. People started to get high on us. Our friend who was drinking using own ass staggered and hit a sidewalk with his head. An ambulance picked up the unconscious friend.
Every time my parents came home from parent-teacher conferences, my ass was nervously picking up. It was said that in my house, a belt was used. My father said that for the fact that I had taken part in it, I deserved a severe beating with a belt. I started to discuss it with my father. He said that since I put it that way, I had a combat task ahead of me, too. He gave me a few stripes and a military knife and told me to carefully cut the stripes along. I braided them like a braid, tied knots and, as ordered, stuck needles in them. I still had time to receive a short sermon before the hungry whip pulled my skin greedily.
'How you hit him! There are no traces at all!' - my mother screamed loudly, looking for scars.
Afterwards, my father gave me a rag to the floor. I could wipe tears off my face and blood from my ass. As a result of that flogging I was lying in pain, a friend who was drinking using his ass was in a coma all the time but regained consciousness after a few weeks. With paresis, he paid attention to passers-by. I think it's better to have a muscle paralyzed than to have a bloomed ass by your own-made whip.