The following posts are reposts of stories that I have gleaned from the Internet through the years. I have given credit to the author if one still remained after multiple postings. Most contain graphic sex between consenting males. If this subject matter offends you or is in violation of your community pornography standards, you should leave this group now. If you are under the age of eighteen, the law says you shouldn't be here. Under United States law (Telecommunications Act of 1995) it is illegal to knowingly transmit sexually explicit material to minors . The author/poster is transmitting this story solely for the entertainment of adults. BRIG TIME I had fantasized about it, but didn't really expect it. Brig time. Here I was standing with the convicted prisoners at mast. Only a few minutes ago, the CO had given me a sentence of 30 days, 20 days suspended, with 10 actual days to do. I was a Yeoman third class, now busted to YNSN. I knew I was taking a risk talking back as I did to my LPO. But I hadn't expected this-or had I. There were three of us. After mast, we were taken to our berthing spaces and required to clean out our lockers. It was hard. Completely cleaning out our lockers, packing our sea bags, and turning out our mattresses. It made me feel more of a stranger to the ship than I had expected. Dressed in a working uniform of T shirt and dungarees, my crow no longer to be seen, I checked my sea bag into the MAA locker and proceeded to the CMAA office. Unlike my previous visit, I was told to remain standing this time. I had a general knowledge of the brig, having seen prisoners in the mess decks and heard them working out, but as a yeoman I had never thought much about my joining their ranks. Now I was about to become one, a thought which created mixed emotions of fear and apprehension. At the CMAA office we were kept at attention. I did not know any of my fellow prisoners except by sight. One was a classic deck ape-tall, strong, dumb. Another, an HT, was a doper, good looking and of medium build. One by one they called us into the back room. When they called me, I entered to find the deck ape standing against the bulkhead, the HT stripping. I quickly learned the drill. I was told to put my ditty bag on the counter and strip. The HT was getting bare assed and I followed his example. The MAA went through our effects as we stood at attention watching. Then we were told to spread eagle against the bulkhead. An MAA donned plastic gloves and I knew what would happen next. He worked the HT first, then me, not bothering to change the glove. It was degrading but I felt a certain arousal at the same time. Strange, since I had never been at ease naked among the other sailors, even though I was no stranger to this. After being searched we were both told to dress and placed at attention against the bulkhead. Prisoners for sure, I thought. The marines came. One by one we were called out into the passageway. I was last. I was asked my name, the marine signed on a clipboard and I joined my fellow prisoners in line. "Hook up" said the marine. "That means put your index finger in the belt loop of the man in front". They had taken our belts when we checked into the CMAA office so the belt loops were easily grabbed. "Move out". We were taken to the ships barber shop. We got boot haircuts. Now we were ready to go to the brig, a place I had never been. The brig turned out to be deep in the ship, on the fourth deck. When we got there we were split into two groups to move into two 9 man cells. We were told to stow our gear and stand by. The first order of business was to stencil a large 'BRIG' and a number on each of our T shirts. My number was 13. When I put the stenciled shirt on, I definitely felt more a prisoner than before. We were told to stand at attention by our bunks after doing this, so I stood for about 20 minutes. Then they called me out and the indoctrination began. They took me to another section of the brig consisting of a passageway with four cells adjoining it. Two of the cells had solid doors, the others barred doors. A prisoner stood at attention in one of the open cells as I entered. I was faced towards the bulkhead and made to read, shout actually, the brig rules. I would read, then yell back the rules. The other prisoner would yell corrections when I screwed up. Mainly the rules were to say 'sir' a lot and to stand at attention unless told otherwise. I got the general idea, and after a fair amount of yelling in my face by the guard I was returned to the 9 man cell. After some more standing at attention the other prisoners returned from work detail. We were held at attention on our white lines until one of the prisoners asked the guard if we could be given 'at ease'. "Sir can you tell these assholes at ease so we can get to our lockers Sir" was the way it went. After this we were told to fall out for chow. I then discovered the role of the point man. One of the prisoners was designated point man for the day. As we proceeded, hooked up, to the mess decks he cleared the way by yelling "gangway, prisoners" at the top of his lungs. This honor was rotated among the prisoners and the new men got it first, I learned. We had 20 minutes to eat during which time we were constantly kept together and watched. Then we were marched back to the cells and strip searched-and the guards ensured we were really searched. Then followed free time, which means shine shoes and fold and press laundry. At 1800 we were told to turn out in athletic gear. This consisted of navy athletic shorts, prisoner t-shirts and tennis shoes with no socks. We hooked up by reaching into our neighbors athletic shorts, which resulted in a certain amount of giggling and ass fingering. Once on deck it got more serious. The point man had to get up in front and demonstrate each calesthentic position. We were spaced out and really put through a thorough 30 minute workout. I was not athletically inclined and it was quite an ordeal. The other new prisoners seemed to bear up more easily. After our workout we were formed up and moved back towards the cells. I sensed that the other prisoners were nervous but didn't understand why. We were halted in a passageway and the guards called out three prisoners plus us new men to decend a trunk. I was next to last. On decending, I found the prisoners nose and toes to the bulkhead attended by 2 guards. I was ordered inside the nearby door. On entering my heart began to pound because I found about 6 marines in fatigues and the other new prisoners, also nose and toes. I quickly got a glimpse of a platform in the middle of the compartment, but did not immediately understand its purpose. "Number 9 get in here" shouted a marine. We new prisoners were given an about face to watch the proceedings. The prisoner came in naked and moved smartly to the platform. He got down on his hands and knees and reported "Sir prisoner 9 ready for demerits SIR". "How many demerits 9". "Sir 6 Sir". "Are you sure?". "Sir yes sir". "Nine, six demerits plus one for being a wise ass". "Sir 7 demerits sir". At this point two really well build marines in t shirts and fatigue pants moved forward. They had flattened fire hoses about 3 feet long in their hands. They took position on either side of the platform, astride the prisoner's upturned ass. The brig warden ordered "7 demerits, execute". At once the first marine swung his whip, really laying it on. CRACK it sounded. "One sir, thank you sir, may I have another sir" yelled the prisoner. My heart really began to thump. I had sensed a mood of anxiety but never realized that the brig meant this. Naive, I guess. The next three prisoners went much the same way. Than the prisoner who had been my critic in the solitary cell came in. His case was clearly different. "Eleven you have 50 demerits, are you ready". "Sir I am ready sir". "Eleven can you take 50?". "Sir I don't want to stay in the cell, sir". "Eleven, report". "Sir 50 demerits sir". The marine whippers advanced. The prisoner was in good shape, a slim wiry young seaman I had seen jogging up on deck. The sailor was fairly young, and small, perhaps 140 lbs at most. He was very tan except for a white area around his ass where his trunks had been. He crouched, his ass thrust up. CRACK. "One sir, thank you sir, may I have another sir". The whipping proceeded through 30 strokes. At that point, eleven began to anticipate the strokes and move his butt. "Eleven stop flinching, get your ass up there". "Sir yes sir". Two more strokes and he dodged again. "Eleven hold you ass up there". "Sir I can't help it sir". "Eleven, can't you take it". "Sir no sir". "Eleven you contracted for 50 strokes and you'll take 50 strokes". "Do you want the hard". "Sir if you say so sir". "Eleven do you want them hard". "Sir yes sir". The guards then advanced as the prisoner quavered. "Get down, prisoner" one of them said. Another shoved his shoulder, pushing him down on the bench. Quickly the guards grabbed his ankles and wrists and strapped him down on the bench. "He didn't feel the last two, so pick up the count at 30 and give him two more for flinching" said the brig warden. Now the whippers stood over the prisoner, fire hoses over their heads. They brought them down with full force against the prisoners now unyielding ass. 22 really hard strokes later it was over. Eleven's butt was really whipped. It was deeply red and his voice cracked during the last few strokes. I could feel the heat from where I stood as he was released and roughly brought to his feet. "Sir request permission to leave the room sir" he said gamely and disappeared from view. Now it was our turn, and I was terrified. The guard ordered the deck ape to strip. He then was moved to the platform and assumed the position, his head facing away from us, his ass pointed up. He was ordered to state his sentence. "Sir confinement at hard labor for 30 days sir". "How many demerits today 9?". "Sir I thought demerits are not earned the first day sir". "You have 1 demerit, thats 31 strokes, prisoner are you ready?" "Sir prisoner 9 is ready sir". He wasn't too dumb after all. The marines took their positions and laid on 31 strokes. The deck ape took them all without flinching, although his ass was blazing when they were done. He got up and rejoined the group and I could see he was sweating heavily. Now it was my turn. I knew I was going to get at least 10. "Strip 13". I stripped off my t shirt and dropped my shorts, returning to attention. "Get in the position". I started forward, but was then given a short shove on the shoulder that sent me stumbling towards the platform. I dropped to my knees and crawled to the center. "Stop there, get your ass up". I went down and tried to brace. "State you sentence" "Sir my sentence is confinement for 10 days sir". "Wrong 13, state your full sentence". I stammered. "Sir my sentence is confinement at hard labor for 30 days, 20 days suspended, 10 days ordered executed SIR". I prayed that was what they wanted. "How many demerits 13". "Sir one SIR". "Plus one for being a wise ass, 12 strokes, are you ready?". "Sir prisoner 13 is READY SIR". "Not so fast, lets get the other one up there so they can kiss" said the brig warden. The HT was promptly ordered to strip and join me on the platform. He was, on close inspection which I was shortly able to do, very good looking and well beuilt too. A tanned preppy look with a washboard belly and good biceps. He had the picture however, not fighting the program. "SIR prisoner 10 is ready SIR". He profited from my experience and got only 10 strokes. We were facing each other on our hands and knees, literally kissing distance apart with our faces. When he sounded off, I almost turned my head, he was so close. His eyes gave away the fact that he was scared as much as I was although his body was in better shape to take it. The marines took their place opposite our respective butts. The fire hose whips whistled in the air and landed with a crack. The first real whipping I had ever had. It was much harder than I had expected, physically jolting my body as it seared my ass. "ONE sir, THANK YOU sir, may I have another SIR" we shouted in unison. Immediately, another whistle and crack, a little lower on my ass. I lurched forward, almost touching 10. We shouted our count. Then the third stroke. CRACK .It was really hard. I began to worry whether I could handle it. I was feeling a curious mixture of rear, pain, and arousal. CRACK. "FOUR sir, THANK YOU SIR, may I have another SIR". My cock, normally pitifully small felt swolen. This is rediculous I thought. Wonder if the HT is having a similar reaction. Can't see his dick, only his face. He looked as scared as I was. Really a strange turn on. CRACK. Lower still. My ass burning, never felt pain like this. I wondered if the marines could see my turn on. Probably yes. I wondered if it turned them on too. Again, probably yes. What a scene. naked, on display before a bunch of tough well built marines, having my ass really whipped together with a good looking stud. Feeling terrific pain, yet getting a hard on. CRACK. A welt for sure that time. "SIX SIR, THANK YOU SIR, may I have ANOTHER SIR". I would get through this session, I now knew. They would be able to get me to do whatever they wanted. I was nothing but an asshole brig rat, and the next 10 days were going to be hard, but interesting! "Put some muscle into those strokes, I want to see those brig rats kiss" said the brig warden. C R A C K the whip landed with such force that it knocked me forward, shoving my face into 10's, our lips touching for an instant as we tried to regain our positions. "SEVEN SIR, THANK YOU SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER SIR". "They like it, finish em off with hard ones, I want to see em kiss on each stroke". It was indeed going to be hard.... (NB This story inspired by brig procedures I actually observed. The kissing whipping actually happened as part of a crossing the line ceremony, where sailors selected by their divisions were put on a platform facing each other and got up to 40 strokes (but with their pants on). And the sailor spectators actually shouted 'make em kiss' and they did! The other prisoners were inspired by guys I knew who did brig time. I wrote this while still aboard ship, feigning ships work and leaning over the typewriter when anyone got too close.)