Date: Tue, 15 Jun 2010 14:15:18 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Reluctant Gladiator, Part One

RELUCTANT GLADIATOR - Part One
A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

I'd never wanted to do anything other than be in the marines - serving my
country, having a lot of good buddies, and keeping myself properly in
shape.  I'd never been very academic at school - I'm not stupid, not by any
means, but I'd always rather spend my time in the gym, or out on the field,
or in the football team.  I reckon it was because I was so fit that I
didn't have any problem joining up on my eighteenth birthday, and from the
very first day I'd known I was kind of "home" - even boot camp wasn't all
that bad and I really started to bond with my buddies.

Of course as our country became ever more the world's policemen I hardly
spent any time at all back home, but that didn't bother me at all.  I liked
all that time we spent in Africa, and South America, and Europe, and living
and working together in our unit, the isolation from the natives didn't
seem to matter at all - language was always a problem and so it was hard to
fraternise with the locals (not that this was encouraged much anyway).  In
fact in those ten years I was in the service I reckon the only natives I
ever met were the hookers who were always waiting outside our camp - and
how much language do you need to agree the price and have a good fuck? And,
yes, I did indulge - frequently.  I mean, a man needs sex, doesn't he?  And
jerking off is OK, but us real men needed more and anyway I could hardly
not go along with what all my buddies were doing, could I?  It didn't cost
much in most of those places, either - most of the girls were desperate
 for money, or even just for cigarettes and stuff like that.

It started to go wrong when we were back at base camp at home.  I suppose
it's partly my fault for not keeping up with the home news - sure we had
newspapers when we were serving abroad, but I've never been a great reader;
and the TV and stuff was either in foreign languages, or was the special
"forces channel" which none of us watched as we all knew it was propaganda
- all those stupid advertisements about cleaning your rifle, and examining
your dick frequently for signs of infection!  I mean, what guy's going to
start examining his dick in the showers when all his buddies are watching?
You know how it is with a bunch of guys - they'd start calling you a homo
immediately; and even though it's absolutely not true, those kinds of names
have an unpleasant habit of sticking, don't they?  So if we did have the TV
on at all it was mostly to watch porn, as some of the guys' brothers would
send them the real hard core stuff.  We' d all slump there in front
 of the screen with a couple of beers, stroking our dicks through our
combats and laughing at the tits and asses of the bitches as they were
given a good ploughing by the studs.  Anyway, as I said, I hadn't much been
keeping up with the news so I'd sort of failed to notice how we'd swung
really to the right back at home, and how a lot of stuff that guys like to
do was no longer now considered "acceptable", and how a lot more
punishments had been introduced to save the prisons from needing to expand
even more.

Anyway, we were back at home base for a short period of refresher training
before we went on our next mission, and most of my buddies had taken the
opportunity to go off and visit their families.  I was at a bit of a loose
end, so decided to hit the local bars to pick up a woman for a bit of
relief.  There was one I particularly fancied - big tits, not too old, who
looked as if she'd give a guy a good time, so I went up to begin
negotiating the price.  I was amazed when she slapped my face, and at the
time I thought it was lucky for her that I didn't floor her - we're
obviously trained to act on reflex, instinctively, and a physical attack on
me would normally mean an instant, hard reaction.  But I suppose it was
because I was thinking so much about sex that instead I just grabbed her
wrist, to stop her doing it again.

"Whoa, lady!", I shouted.  "Look, I'm sorry if I got it wrong.  But in a
bar like this, right next to the base, I just assumed...."

Instead of accepting my apology she began to scream and holler, asking all
the folks in the bar to see how I was molesting her, and shouting at the
bartender to call the cops!  It was all a big mistake as far as I was
concerned, and a bit of a joke, really - I mean, the only person to be hurt
was me as my face was really stinging.  But the cops didn't see it that
way, and when they arrived they soon had me cuffed - but only because I was
co-operating, really - there was no way that those two overweight guys
could have overcome a trained fit fighter like me.  I spent the night in
the cells, and the following morning was up before the judge.

Along with all the other reforms, apparently, the whole justice system had
been speeded up So there was no time to call the base and get a military
advocate involved, or even to go through the phone book and get a local
lawyer myself.  Instead, once it was clear that there wasn't a lawyer with
me, they just appointed one of the public defenders to take the case.  She
was a hard-faced bitch, and quite scrawny - I doubted any one would ever
want to fuck her.  And after I'd told her what happened, she said simply
"So you're guilty.  Gross indecency, in terms of making a sexual proposal
to an unaccompanied woman, followed by physical assault".

"It was me who was assaulted.... she slapped me!"

She peered at my face.  "No sign of any marks there.  So no proof for the
Court.  And I suppose those brutish hands of yours will have left marks on
her."

I shrugged, as I guess she was right.  And it didn't seem very important
anyway.  She glared at me, and said "My advice is to plead guilty, and pay
the fine - it will be high, of course, as we don't tolerate brutes like you
insulting women and molesting them these days...."

"Hey, hold on.... I wasn't insulting her...."

"Treating a woman in a bar as if she was some sort of common prostitute?
That's not insulting?"

"...a bar outside a base, a bar where lots of horny guys are expected to
go?"

"My advice is to plead guilty.  And such nonsense like that in the court
will only make things worse.  A woman has the right to go anywhere without
fear of molestation."

"Now look here, I didn't 'molest' her...."

"As I said, my advice is to plead guilty, and pay the substantial fine."

Well, I was pretty angry, and when we were called before the judge a couple
of minutes later, my temper hadn't cooled much.  So I didn't plead guilty,
and stood there and said how after a long term serving my country abroad I
needed relief, and it was natural to expect a woman in a bar outside the
base to be there for only one thing....."

Well that was a mistake, of course, Especially to a woman judge.  And the
prosecutor - another hard-faced bitch - really laid in about how I had
"assaulted" the woman as well.  And of course there, displayed to the Court
to prove it, were the bruises to the wrist where I'd grabbed her.  And I,
of course, had nothing to show.

I gasped when I heard the fine - it was about half a year's pay!  But then
the judge continued "Had the defendant shown any kind of remorse for his
action, the fine would probably have been sufficient to deter him from any
such outrageous actions in the future.  But clearly he is one of those men
who believe that women are here only to serve their animal lusts somehow,
and whilst I cannot alter that Neanderthal desire, I can at least signal to
society most clearly that attempts to fulfil these animal passions will
result in further harsh punitive measures.  Consequently I sentence you in
addition to a judicial corporal punishment, of six strokes."

At first I thought I must have misheard.  I mean surely caning and stuff
went out in the twentieth century, as it was considered "cruel and unusual
punishment"?  But no, it seemed that things had changed, so even as I
started to protest, the two guards in the court came up to me and started
to pull me out of the dock.  I lashed out at them - my reflexes were in
full working order as I've told you - and knocked one to the floor
instantly.  But as I turned to his companion I was thrown backwards and
heard myself screaming a the top of my voice - the bastard had used a taser
on me!

It was easy for them to cuff me once I'd stopped writhing in agony and my
limbs had stopped twitching.  Then they dragged me out the back, and both
of them laid in to me - two guys, even when they aren't all that fit, can
really hurt you if they want to, especially when you're cuffed and not able
to defend yourself.  But they were careful not to hit my face, so there'd
be no visible marks.  And afterwards as I sat there slumped in a chair, my
whole body hurting, the cop I'd punched stood in front of me, laughing.
"The judge ordered a double punishment for you after you left, as she said
that you clearly needed an extra lesson in controlling yourself."

"You bastards, hitting a guy when he can't defend himself...."

"You want more? Just keep on like that, and before we send you to the
municipal punishment centre, me and my partner will gladly soften you some
more...."

I tried to calm myself.  "Municipal punishment centre?  What the fuck is
that?"

"Every town has one now. Surely you know that?  The place where parents can
take out-of-control kids for a spanking.... "

"You're joking!"

"No.  Kids need to learn early on that society has certain standards, and
if they're not conforming, they need punishing.  And it's undesirable for
parents to hit their kids, so they can take them to the municipal
punishment centre where the professionals can give them a proper spanking -
bare handed, or with a slipper, for the juveniles: nothing more.  But of
course once they're sixteen, it's a bit harsher - the strap.  That's what
you would have got.  But after she saw your behaviour, the judge ordered
double punishment, and the most severe - so it will be the cane for you."

It all sounded like some sort of weird science fiction thing you'd only
read about in stories, but these guys seemed very serious.  And of course
I'd missed a lot of the happenings in society in recent years - and even if
I had read the papers regularly, I guess I'd probably have skipped over
something talking about spanking kids, as it was never going to affect me.

I decided to go quietly, so I didn't throw myself about as I was led out of
the court building and pushed into the back of a cop car.  And it somehow
seemed surreal as we drove through the streets with me in sort of sprawling
across the seat, seeing all the shoppers and office workers thronging the
streets whereas I was heading towards some sort of bizarre punishment.
Still, I thought, it couldn't be all that bad, could it?  I mean, I'm tough
and strong, and so this caning thing might be pretty humiliating - I knew I
wasn't going to tell my buddies in the barracks about it at all - but it
could hardly hurt me.

The municipal punishment centre was on one of those complexes on the edge
of town - one and two storey small office buildings, interspersed with
little workshops and stuff like that.  The centre itself looked just like
some of the others around about it - a blank face to the street, with a
pair of glass doors in the middle, and a discrete plaque on the wall saying
simply "City Punishment Centre".  The cops stopped the car in the parking
lot out front which had a couple of other cars in it, then told me curtly
to get out and not try anything stupid.  Well, as I've said, I'd decided to
act normally, so I struggled out (hard when you're cuffed and you've got a
big body like mine), then strode off towards the front door.

There were a couple of couches inside the reception area, and a city
official sitting behind a reception desk.  The cops got out some paperwork
which the official scrutinised, then said to the cops "You can take him
straight through.  We've got some other candidates for the next session, so
you're lucky - there won't be a long wait and you can be back at your
station in an hour or so."

"Right, boy", one of the cops snapped at me.  "I'll take your cuffs off you
now, but you'd better behave.  The officials here have the power to use a
taser on you if you fail to obey their commands.  And in addition, they can
send you back to the Court for the crime of failing to obey the reasonable
commands of a law enforcement official - which, as you may have suspected,
could mean another trip back here....  Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir".  Even though I thought the guy was pretty much of an
asshole, he was in uniform whereas I was just in jeans and a T and I guess
I'd kind of automatically dropped into the way a marine talks to an
officer.  And, anyway, as I've said, I'd decided to keep cool and behave
properly as I wanted this thing over and for me to be able to get back to
base: it was going to be bad enough losing all that money, without me
making it any worse.

It was good to have my arms free, though, and I did a couple of good
stretching exercises to get the blood flowing freely again.  Then a door
slid open, and the cops motioned for me to go on into the building.

There were no windows in the room inside.  It was quite narrow, with one of
those long benches with pine slats on them down one side, and some clothes
hooks on the wall above - it reminded me a bit of the changing room in a
sports facility - not one of those fancy ones in the cities, but just a
local one on the edge of a pitch somewhere so that teams could go in and
change before a match.  There were four guys already in there - young kids,
about sixteen or seventeen, I suppose - and they obviously already knew
each other as their conversation stopped as I came in.  I stretched out my
hand and said "Hi, Steve....", and they kind of reluctantly shook it,
muttering their names almost inaudibly.  They kept their eyes cast down, as
if they were ashamed, or worried, or something, then sat down again, but
didn't restart their conversation..

I guess I'd have tried to talk to them about this punishment stuff as they
were obviously "locals" and probably knew what it was all about, but a
couple of moments later a door opposite the one I'd come in through opened,
and two guys in a kind of "city" uniform came in.  They stood looking at us
for a moment, and one said "Now, you men, we don't want any trouble -
you're in enough already, and my advice to you is to do as we say and take
your punishment calmly.  I can't say 'quietly' as there's usually a lot of
screaming and crying, but that's only to be expected and there's nothing to
be ashamed of.  One of the objectives of this centre is to deliver a 'short
sharp shock' to your systems in the hope that it will serve as a warning to
you to prevent you from going on to commit more serious offences - although
one of you has already done something pretty foul, I see - and so it's
designed to hurt you as it needs to leave a lasting memory.  But go ahead
 and scream as the punishment is administered, as you'll find it cathartic
and it will help you get through it."

He looked at us all to see if he was making sense, and I could see the look
of dawning realisation on the faces of the four young guys that this was
for real, and that something serious was about to happen to them, something
unpleasant.  I'd seen that same kind of look on the faces of new guys
straight out of training camp as we waited in the troop carriers for a
battle to start.

"Any questions?", the official asked.

The young guys just stood there, still mostly looking down..  I had a mass
of stuff I wanted to ask, but I knew from experience that when an officer
or someone in charge said 'any questions?' that they didn't really want
any, and it was only likely to cause more problems.  So I kept quiet.

"Right, you men.  This room is secure and no-one from reception is allowed
in here whilst we are at work, so your wallets and money and stuff will be
safe until you come back.  So I need you all to strip off from the waist
down - you can put your stuff on those hooks.  You can strip completely if
you want - we're all men here - but the law only requires you to be
bare-assed, ready for punishment, so waist down is fine."

Well it's not a problem for me.  I mean, in the marines we live a pretty
communal life and I'm used to stripping off for the showers and stuff with
other guys.  But it was a bit different here - I mean, for one thing, the
two officials were in uniform and were watching me whereas it's usually all
of us stripping together.  And for another there were these young guys -
and in the barracks we're mostly the same age.  Still, I've got nothing to
be ashamed of, after all - most guys would die to have a body like mine -
so I sat down and pulled off my trainers and socks, then stood up and
pushed down my jeans, hopped around from one foot to another to get them
over my feet, followed by my briefs.  I guess it's my marine training that
made me hang them neatly on the hook, as I saw that the young guys just
left their clothes in a heap on the floor.

They'd kept their boxers on, though.  It was strange, actually: all four of
them wore those kind of stretch boxers, whereas in the marines all the guys
I knew either wore briefs like me, or the loose cotton boxers.  The
official turned to them and said "Is there something you guys didn't
understand?  I said bare from the waist down!  And there's only one of you
who has followed orders.  Now, strip off, before I add to your punishment,
as I am allowed to do as a properly authorised official of the punishment
centre!"

The four guys dropped their boxers then, and I couldn't help thinking how
different they looked from the guys in the barracks.  Their butts were just
a different shape from those I was used to seeing.  Look, don't get me
wrong - I don't go around looking at guys' butts, but when you live in the
barracks, you can't help noticing, can you?  And having just a shirt on
somehow emphasises the shape of the butt in the way that being completely
naked doesn't, I think.  I guess there is a big difference between guys in
their late teens and those in their early twenties when they've finally
finished growing, and especially when all the guys I was used to seeing had
strong hard bodies from hours spent in training whereas I guess that these
four young guys just did a bit of exercise at high school, and not much
else.

As they turned around there was something else different, too: they tried
to cover their dicks and balls with their hands!  I mean, how stupid can
you get?  None of my buddies in the barracks were ever worried about
anything like that.  I think guys standing there with their hands clasped
in front of them look pretty stupid, actually, and I kind of smiled to
myself.  And they had to drop them anyway, as the officer called out "All
right, you men: line up.  The four of you at the front, and you" - he
pointed at me - "at the rear, as we'll save the best for last."

We did as we were told, and snapping "follow me", one of the officials led
us off through the door through which he had come.  The room we entered was
bare except for a thing that looked a bit like a vaulting horse standing in
the middle of it.  As the official bringing up the rear shut the door
behind us, the place felt curiously "dead", and the official said calmly
"Right, this is what you're here for - this is the punishment chamber.
Punishments are a private matter between you and the law, not a public
spectacle: for that reason you'll have noticed something about this room
already - it's insulated, so that no sound can escape. As I told you
earlier, the punishment is designed to hurt, and you might want to cry out
as it's delivered.  You can be certain that any friends or family waiting
outside to collect you will not hear you."

He paused for a moment, then went on "Right.  You four have all been
sentenced to six strokes of the strap.  Can you please all verify that you
are over the age of sixteen?"

The young guys all looked at each other, then mumbled a choruses of yeses.

"Right.  Who's first?  I'll let you choose."

The four all looked at each other, then one - the tallest of them, as it
happened (although being the biggest perhaps he was the kind of informal
leader) stepped forward.

"Right, son, over to the 'horse' as we call it.  Lie face down on the top,
with your feet flat on the floor and your legs spread a bit.  Get
comfortable - as comfortable as you can."

He sort of shuffled across to the wooden thing which as I looked closer had
a flat, leather top to it, then gingerly lowered his body on to it and
stood there.  One of the officials went over and pushed his shirt tail up
onto the torso of the guy, and using a thin cane, gently pushed his feet
apart a bit more.  He seemed satisfied with the position after a bit, and
we heard him say "Now this is six strokes with the strap.  If you think you
cannot take the punishment without substantial movement, movement that
might injure yourself or others, you can request that we tie you to the
horse.  But most men find that they prefer to remain free.  Do you want
restraints?"

We heard the guy mutter "no", and as he did so he shuffled his feet a bit
more as if to try to make himself more relaxed - and we could now all
clearly see his balls handing down between his naked thighs.  He had those
kind of very low-hanging balls that swing freely, like mine.

The other official had a leather strap in his hand - it was a bit like a
leather belt, but without any buckles.  As we watched, he gave the end of
it a couple of turns around his hand to make a firm grip, then, in one
smooth stroke raised his arm and brought it down viciously so that the end
of the strap lashed across the bare ass of the kid on the horse.

The kid gave a great shout and half stood up.  We had all flinched, but
hadn't otherwise reacted as it had all been so sudden.  "Easy, boy", the
official said calmly.  "That's the first one.  Now lie down on the horse
again, and it will soon all be over."

The kid did as he was told, as if he had lost any power to resist.  He was
making little snuffling noises as if he was trying to control his breathing
and stop himself from crying.  W could all see a livid red mark across his
smooth white ass.

The official struck again, and this time the kid leapt upright, crying out
in real distress and rubbing his hands up and down over his butt.  We could
see tears at the corners of his eyes, and he was almost sobbing.

"Back on the horse!", the official barked.  And when the kid hesitated, he
snapped "Do it now!  Unless you want the punishment increased."

We were all horrified at what as going on, but I suppose we all knew that
it was useless to try to do anything, or even to protest.  We were all
somehow caught up in the system, and we all knew deep down that nothing we
said or did would change things - sooner or later the kid would get the
remaining four lashes.

So we just stood there and watched and listened as four more times the
strap fell across the kid's bare butt, and as four more times he screamed
with the pain - and, towards the end, we heard him continuously sobbing and
moaning.  When it was all over he stood there his hands scrabbling over his
butt as if that made a difference, with tears streaming down his face and
snot dribbling from his nose.  Even more humiliatingly, he had sprung a big
hard-on, and as he moved around from foot to foot rubbing his ass his dick
waved about in front of him.  It would have been kind of funny, except that
the rest of us all knew that this was going to happen to us soon.

The same thing happened to the second kid - the initial scream of agony
followed by the shouting and uncontrollable sobbing as his punishment
proceeded.  And he got an erection too.  As did the third and fourth guys.

"Right!", the official snapped looking at me.  "You're next.  Over on to
the horse.  You know the procedure by now."

I walked across, my dick swinging in front of me, knowing that the eyes of
the four kids would be looking at my bare ass.  I bent forward and laid my
chest onto the leather top - a leather top now shining with sweat from the
four kids - and gripped the front legs of the thing with my big hands.  I
was going to show them how a real man took punishment - I wasn't going to
scream and shout, or blubber and cry.  I felt the official's cane pushing
at my ankles, and I spread my legs more and I suppose I knew that the kids
would be seeing my balls hanging there between my thighs.  But then there
was the warm touch of hands on my legs, and this was such a surprise that I
shouted "What the fuck....?"

"Easy, boy!  We're just restraining your legs to the horse."

"Piss off!  I don't need that.  I can take my punishment, like the others
did...."

"Shut the fuck up!  For your information, the law requires you to be
restrained for a caning.  And it's in your own best interests - before the
rules were changed a lot of men tried to attack us after the first stroke,
and that meant that they got punished even more, of course.  So now it's a
State requirement that all canings take place with the subject - that's you
- restrained."

Well, what was I supposed to do?  I knew that there was basically no way of
avoiding what was going to happen - even if I hit the guy and marched out
of the place, they'd sooner or later track me down and things would only be
worse.  And if I ran, that would count as desertion from the marines, and,
as I've told you, that's my life.  So I gritted my teeth and calmed myself
as the guy fastened leather straps around my ankles, pulling them against
the legs of the horse.  I hated the feel of the guy's breath on my bare ass
as he crouched down to work.

It was the turn of my wrists next, to be strapped to the front legs and I
simply lay there in silence accepting the inevitable.  When he was done,
the guard stood there looking down at me.  "The belly strap is optional,
son.  Do you want me to use it?"

I hate it when these fat, out of shape old timers call a real man like me
"son", but what can you do?  "Belly strap?

"The law requires your arms and legs to be restrained to prevent you from
injuring yourself or others.  But the belly strap - around your waist to
hold your body down onto the horse - is optional.  If I were you, I'd lake
it."

"Why the fuck should I want that?"

"Watch your language, son!  I can give you extra strokes, you know.  But in
answer to your question, you might want it as it will make it easier for
you."

"How can it possibly be easier, to be tied down....?"

"Son, perhaps you don't realise it, but this caning is going to hurt you,
really hurt you.  What you've seen with the strap on these young guys is as
nothing compared to what you're going to get! The strappings those lads
have had is nothing compared to what you're going to get - as you can see,
their butts are all red and angry, but there's no permanent bruising or
anything and by tomorrow it will jsut be a dull ache.  But the cane, that's
different - when it slices into your butt it will hurt like nothing you've
ever known before, and we know that you won't be able to help yourself and
will try to do anything you can to get away from the next blow.  That's why
the law requires your arms and legs to be restrained.  But if your body is
free, you' won't be able to prevent yourself from thrashing around to try
to escape - uselessly, of course - but it's not a rational thing: you may
'know' that there's no escape, but deep in your brain the animal
 instincts left in you will do everything it can to avoid further damage to
your body.  So in addition to screaming and crying, you'll thrash
around....  And most sensible guys take the belly strap as then they soon
'know' that there's fuck all they can do to get free, and it's kind of
easier on them..."

"Watch your language!", I snapped, just as he had said to me.  Sometimes I
can't resist goading guys like that, and I ought to have learned that it's
not always the sensible thing to do.

The guard looked at his fellow.  "We've got a joker here!  Well, let's see
how funny he finds the rest of his time with us."  Then looking down at me
he continued "I don't like guys who try to get clever with me.  So there'll
be no belly strap for you.  And as you thrash around it might make you
start to see that you need to have proper respect for authority...."

"Fuck you!  I'm a marine!  I know all about respect for authority...."

"...and I told you to mind your language, son!"

As he said that, he brought his hand down suddenly and I gave an
involuntary yelp of surprise as his hand slapped my bare butt.  "What the
fuck......"

"Around here, son, we don't like bad language.  And we particularly don't
like bad language used against officers of the law - it's disrespectful.
So I'm just doing what your daddy should have done to you when you were a
kid, and slapped your ass as a reminder to keep a civil tongue in your
head...."

I went to swear at him but he rested his hand on my butt - it felt kind of
cool against the place where he'd slapped me which was "glowing".  And the
sheer unexpectedness of it caused me to stop.  I mean, you don't have a
guy's hand on your bare butt all that often, do you?

He evidently saw my reaction, as he went on "That's right, son... Calm
down.  That little slap is just a reminder that you're totally in our power
now.  I can do it again, you know.... And I expect you can feel that even a
man's hand can be pretty painful...."

Actually I could.  The initial sharp pain of his hand had turned into a
dull ache.  "You can't do that!  It's assault...."

"Are you trying to be smart again, son?  You don't think that as officers
of the law we'd do anything illegal, do you....?"

Well, actually I did - I knew a lot of my buddies who had been worked over
by cops when they were drunk - we understood that this is what happened,
and I suppose it was better than being formally arrested and charged.  But
the guy continued "We're empowered to use 'any reasonable force' in
delivering your judicial punishment.  And I reckon the Court - if you were
stupid enough ever to go back there after we've finished your caning -
would find that a little slap on the ass was eminently 'reasonable' -
especially compared with what you're about to get."

He stopped, looked at his buddy, smiled a bit, then turned back to me.
"Now I reckon you owe us hardworking officers an apology for using that bad
language.  So let's hear it....."

I was almost in a fury now, and I was about to swear at him again, but
something stopped me.  Perhaps I am getting a bit more sensible as I get
older!  I knew there's was no way I could break free, and I guess he could
carry on slapping my ass as much as he wanted.  Look, it wasn't so much the
pain - it was pretty unpleasant, as those of you who've ever had a
bare-assed spanking when you were kids will know - but nothing I couldn't
bear.  No, it was the sheer humiliation of it: I was a vigorous, tough
marine, and I was being spanked like a naughty child by some flabby
middle-aged nonentity.  So I muttered "I'm sorry."

"I didn't hear that properly, boy!  Say it louder, so all these guys can
hear you.  And show proper respect for officers of the law....  Don't they
teach you anything in the marines?"

So it was humiliation again, as I shouted "Sir, please excuse my language,
sir!"

"That's better, boy.  See, the system works. Now, though, we've got to go
ahead with the main business of the day....."

As he said this his buddy handed him a thin cane - rather like those you
see used in gardens to hold up plants and stuff.  It was about three feet -
or a metre, I suppose I should say - long, and he flexed it in front of me.
"See, boy.... Nice and flexible.  And thin.  So when it hits that ass of
yours, it will bend a bit to make maximum contact, and the pain will be
very concentrated."

He swished it through the air a couple of times then, and I could see that
he seemed to knew what he was doing, as it made a loud whistling noise with
the speed.  I realised that he wasn't a flabby as I had at first thought,
and that he had real power in the muscles of his body and arm.

He carried on swishing it around, and then my world exploded.  He'd brought
it down on me.  How can I describe it to you?  It's really hard, as my body
was sending all kinds of strange messages to me and I wasn't thinking
rationally.  I knew I was shouting and screaming, quite involuntarily and
the noise I was making was somehow dreadful - like a terribly wounded
animal.  And my body was thrashing up and down on the horse in a desperate,
panicky attempt to escape.  I knew my arms and legs were suffering, too, as
they futilely tore against the restraints holding them to the horse.  My
eyes were full of tars and my vision was blurred, and a torrent of snot was
pouring out of my nose..  And the pain - the pain was like nothing I'd ever
experienced before, not even when I'd been wounded a couple of times.
There was a searing, jagged, knife-like pain which I guessed was the effect
of the thin cane on my flesh, and this was being overlaid with a deep,
hard,
 longer-lasting throbbing ache that was, instant by instant, overlaying it
and at the same time adding to it.

But even as I tried to get my thoughts together somehow in spite of this
uncontrollable cacophony of sensation, he struck again and my mind was
thrown back into confusion as I screamed and thrashed once more.

I suppose he could have made it worse, much worse. He could have stopped
between strokes, or perhaps after three before continuing.  But,
mercifully, I suppose, he just thrashed at me repetitively with hardly a
pause, and somehow I lost all reason.  I didn't know how many times the
cane struck me - I was totally beyond rational thought like that as some
deeply buried part of my brain took over and I became almost a mindless
beast, conscious only of the dreadful injuries being done to me.

But then it was over.  Things began to return to normal.  I could hear
myself shouting, crying, sobbing.  I was almost beyond shame at this
behaviour - I'd always thought that a man, especially a marine, could and
should control himself, but now I knew differently.  And my body carried on
twitching and thrashing, beyond my immediate control, as I suppose it tried
to move itself into some sort of position that would alleviate or mitigate
in some way the terrible sensations from my butt.

I was dimly aware of the guard looking down on me, a small smile on his
face.  He carried on looking as I writhed in front of him, then, after a
couple of minutes as I fought to control myself, he put his hand under my
chin and pulled my face upwards so that I was forced to look directly at
him.  "See, son?  Next time someone gives you advice, think carefully about
taking it.... It would have been easier for you with the belly strap....."

"Fuck you....", I managed to splutter in-between my sobbing, choking,
screams.  And as he slapped my ass with his bare hand again in
retribution. I discovered that the previous blows had been as nothing
compared to the agony I now experienced as he impacted on the ravaged areas
where the cane had done its work.

When I eventually had managed to regain enough control so that I could be
released from the restraints holding me to the horse, I discovered that
there were worse humiliations even than having an erection in front of the
other men (which I had of course got, as my dick was fully erect and I had
even 'skinned back so my moist dick head was exposed to them!) - I had
pissed onto the floor, and my bare feet felt the wetness as I stood there,
desperately trying to wipe away the tears and snot with my hands and
forearms.

End Of Part One