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The deck apes called the punishment we got at mast a kiddie cruise: a week in the brig and a taste of the lash. It was more or less a rite of passage in the deck division. Many said you hadn't been punished until you got a 'real' whipping, 12 strokes with the cat. The hard core even bragged about being 'marked', whipped with the knotted cat reserved for habitual offenders. But one of my closest buddies, who had been through it, said that we were getting a tough punishment and I had better get my head ready for it.

Kor and I had gotten into a brawl on the beach. It was really Kor's fault. He had been a wrestler and enjoyed getting physical. He also was very good looking and had a great body which I lusted over. He was an exhibitionist and enjoyed seeing people admiring his body, which is why he let me run with him--I shouldn't have of course. We were also only 18 and too young to think about consequences. The captain more or less gave us a break. He said his policy was to sentence to the maximum for the offense, but since we were first offenders and less than a year on board, he would suspend most of it. But he said we needed a taste of the lash to teach us a lesson "we wouldn't forget".

As soon as we were dismissed from mast, the MAA took us in charge. We were told to wear dungarees and take only underwear and toilet gear. After signing papers, we were taken to the pier and loaded in an SP van, our hands cuffed behind us and locked to an eyebolt. After a few stops to pick up other miscreants, we reached the brig. It had been only 2 hours since mast.

You get a little idea of what lies ahead immediately after you arrive at the brig. As you step inside the front door, you see two white painted squares on the concrete floor. A marine guard points at you with his baton and yells "stand in the box at attention--don't speak unless you are asked a question". Your heart starts beating fast right away--you get the idea this isn't going to be fun. You get strip searched right there while the MAA watches, smirking. He wishes he could kick your ass like the marines are going to.

You get a skinhead haircut from a trusty, a tee shirt with 'BRIG' stenciled on it, and dungaree pants with white stripes down the side. It really makes you feel like a dirtbag brig rat and you don't look forward to being seen by your shipmates while on prisoner work details. They fasten a plastic id bracelet on your wrist. Then you get marched to the officer-in-charge office where you get a little "you can learn it easy or learn it hard" speech from the tough old warrant officer. I had the feeling his words weren't the usual bullshit. You aren't expected to reply--brig prisoners don't even speak to officers. Finally you get taken through the barred door into the brig proper, where you get a physical exam, and the greatest indignity so far, an enema. When you're cleaned out good, they weigh you and the CPs check your physical condition, make you do push ups and stuff. They photograph you naked, to document your condition on arrival. Processing completed, you are ready to be indoctrinated. Then you get taken to the room.

The room is part of the disciplinary cell block, the area with single cells, mostly with solid doors. Not a big place, perhaps 15 by 15 feet. Set out from the walls are a series of very solidly built wooden pillars, anchored to the floor with a second beam high up at right angles anchored back into the wall. Against the wall are several solidly built tables and benches. Otherwise the place is bare windowless concrete, solid, quiet, isolated, scary.

We were met in the room by three guards in fatigues, one a corporal, another older and very tough looking. With my escort, that made four marines and Kor and me. Their purpose was simple. Here I would learn that there are two kinds of people: prisoners and guards. Some of the guards were young and low ranking. The point was that no matter how low ranking they were, you were lower--the lowest of the low. It didn't matter whether you were there for a day or (god forbid) six months, whether you were fresh out of boot camp or just busted down from petty officer (or even officer), once you arrived you were a "brig prisoner".

We were both made to strip down to our shoes as soon as the door closed behind us, folding our stuff and placing it on a shelf. We were again told to remain silent. They had us face the wall at parade rest with legs apart, the 'lock down' position. Leather cuffs were put on wrists and ankles. I was taken to one of the pillars by two marines, who chained me with arms over head, legs secured to the floor. Kor was positioned across the room. We hung in silence for at least ten minutes staring at each other. It was a most uncomfortable feeling, naked, chained, locked in the middle of the brig surrounded by marines. They brought in two more prisoners. They were stripped and hung in frames next to us. I had seen them during in-processing. One was a former Seal, a real hardbody. The other was older. He had just been busted from first class--I had seen him still in uniform outside. His eyes looked wild, he couldn't believe this was happening.

Then they started with me. Two guards, now wearing tee shirts and the kind of gloves boxers wear for sparring practice, came towards me. One especially young marine stood directly in front. "Reach up and hang on to the chain boy, look straight ahead, don't move". He flicked my stomach. "Pull that in, boy". I moved my head and got a punch in the back. "Eyes front". I sensed the real tough looking one was directly behind me. I was scared, not certain what they would do next. I must have started to stay something. Simultaneously they slapped me across the face and butt. They were teaching me the importance of standing at attention.

The corporal appeared. "What are you, boy". "A prisoner" I stammered. That got me a teeth rattling slap. "Wrong, asshole, you say 'brig prisoner', understand?". "Yes" I mumbled back. I was slapped again. "Rule one, the first and last words out of your mouth are sir, understand". "Yes sir". He slapped me on the chest. "Sir yes Sir, say it". "Sir yes sir". Again, on my ass. "Louder" Sir yes SIR". Another slap from a different marine. "Loud, asshole" "SIR YES SIR". "Now, say what you are". "SIR A BRIG PRISONER SIR'. It went on like that through the other rules. When I started to yell, they said it was too loud and I got slapped for that. Then they said it was time to practice. I felt a leather harness fastened around my thighs. My arms were released and brought to my sides and strapped in place, another enforced attention position. My legs were released and I was told to march to the center of the room. They marched me around, slapping me whenever I didn't square the corner or moved without permission. I learned to toe the white line and sound off. I learned to speak properly: "Sir the brig prisoner requests permission to cross SIR". I learned to face the wall and stand noes and toes. I learned to tighten up. I learned to say 'sir yes sir' to everything they said. Then I was asked if I had any questions. That was the only thing you don't say yes to. I got slapped hard for that. Then it was over. I was broken. I was given my clothes and taken to a holding cell.

Eventually Kor joined me. He looked a little tense. His body showed numerous red marks, now fading. I could tell it had gone harder for him, probably because he fought the program. He had trouble saying 'sir' to the real officers; it had to be hard for him saying it to the asshole marines. But when they brought him to the cell, he sounded off in proper brigspeak. We were both brig rats.

In fact we were lower than brig rats. We were 'rogues', what they called prisoners assigned to the disciplinary unit. We were being held in a bare cell, nothing to sit on because you weren't allowed to sit. We had to stand facing the wall, hands clasped behind our necks, what they called the 'lock up' position. We could relax and lean against the wall if no one was there, but if a guard approached we had to be at noes and toes with our arms tight. A couple of times we got caught and were made to do pushups by the numbers, "sir the rogue counts one sir", the kind of harassment games the asshole marines loved. We were told we would be disciplined for every infraction, no matter how minor. If the idea was to intimidate us, they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. Even though we had missed lunch, naturally we got nothing to eat. Finally at about 1300 a guard came and told us to take off all our clothes except our shoes. I knew we were now going to get our taste of the lash.

After we were back against the wall they put leather cuffs on our wrists and ankles. They were the two-buckle kind and had locks. And they cinched them up good and tight. They also put leather collars around our necks and buckled them tightly and when we resumed the lock up position our wrist cuffs were padlocked to the collar. Naked, our hands secured behind our heads, we were marched out into the main brig, Kor in the lead. It was embarrassing to be paraded naked, but at least Kor would get all the attention.

We were halted in front of a bulletin board marked 'punishment orders' just beside the discipline block entrance. There was a separate sheet for each of us and the guard told us to read it. It gave our offense and sentence and ended with the chilling words 'is this date ordered to be given a four-stroke taste-of-the-lash whipping' and signed by the brig commander. Just beyond the board there was a red square painted on the floor and the words 'rogues gallery' stenciled on the wall. There were two guys, also naked, facing the wall and we were moved next to them. The guard ordered 'shove in, nose and toes, no talking'. We waited in silence, unable to relax at all since the guard stayed close. From time to time people would come up and read the orders and I could feel them staring at us. I gathered we were on display, 'rogues' waiting to be whipped.

They took the other two first, leaving us alone, but we were too scared to speak. After perhaps 20 minutes they brought them back. 'Say your punishment' said the guard, for our benefit of course. "Sir the rogues tasted the lash sir" they sounded off in unison. "Do you want to come back, assholes". "Sir no Sir" they shouted sounding very contrite. I wondered just how bad it was--find out soon enough. Now they ordered us off the wall. I fell in behind Kor, stealing a glance at the two prisoners. Their butts were really red. My heart pounding, we were marched into the discipline block and back to the room.

Once in the room we were both backed up against the pillars, our wrists unlocked from our collars and secured to the sides of the post. I could see a bench in the middle of the room brightly lit by an overhead light. It stood waist high, slightly wider than a man but not as long, with legs that slanted out and were fitted with straps. It must be the whipping bench I had read about. It looked very sturdy.

There were several guards in the room, dressed only in tee shirts. They looked exceptionally strong. There were several men in brig dungarees also, who I assumed were trusties. One of them approached me now and told me to stand up straight and press against the post. As I did so, he looped a leather belt around my waist pinioning me in position. I could hear them doing the same to Kor. One of the guards I had assumed was a marine stepped forward and introduced himself as the senior CP. I knew they were the specialists in administration of corporal punishment. "You prisoners have been sentenced to receive a taste of the lash". "If you had been sentenced to regular punishment you would have been taken from the rogues gallery and paraded out in full public view, but you are lucky, you are only going to get a sample of the real thing". He said he was going to explain the procedure. He had what I assumed was the punishment strap in his hand, and the sight of it made my heart pound.

"You are each going to get only 4 strokes, but you should remember what it feels like and ask yourself whether you want to ever come back for a real whipping". "We will use the regular instrument appropriate to your case as spelled out in your punishment order". He looked straight at me. "You will receive the standard strap". He held it up so I could get a good look at it. It was made of thick leather doubled over, several inches wide and over two feet long, attached to a handle. He moved it over my chest and I trembled as I felt the rough surface and the heaviness of it. He set it down and picked up another longer strap. "Rogue Korthius, your physical condition calls for the severe strap" I could see Kor's eyes gleam as he felt it on his body. They certainly knew how to get us psyched up. "Be smart and learn from this--if you screw up again, you will get the full treatment which you will observe later this afternoon". "Now we will get started".

"You are going to receive a taste of a regular application and the first and last strokes will be delivered full force, so you will know what to expect if you come back." "Even though the two middle strokes will be half force, they will not be love taps either, you will definitely feel them". "We'll begin by desensitizing your buttocks before the actual punishment so you won't go into shock at the first real stroke". "Make Rogue Korthius ready". I would have to watch, knowing I would be next.

The trustees released Korthius belt and wrists and roughly spun him around so he faced the post. "Stand up straight rogue and press up against the post". They held his wrists up high and clipped them to the back side of the post, forcing him to hug the post tightly his face pushed against it. A belt was tightened around his waist, making his butt stand out. One of the guards now came up behind him with a short leather crop. "I'm going to give you 20 light strokes to get your buttocks warmed up". "For this warm up, after each stroke, say 'sir one sir, thank you sir; for a real whipping you will omit the thank you". As soon as he said that, he slapped his ass smartly with his hand. Kor hesitated. "Say it rogue" said the guard, bringing the crop down on his butt. Kor grunted "sir one sir, thank you sir". "Say it loud and clear boy". He got another hand slap. "Sir two sir, thank you sir". "We'll start over with one, rogue". Finally they got through the process. His butt was red all over. "I think you're ready for your punishment whipping, make him ready".

Three trustees unfastened Kor from the post and force marched him to the bench. They strapped him down and stepped back. The senior CP stepped in front of Kor and read his punishment order.

The guard who had sensitized his butt approached with the severe strap. The senior guard said "4 strokes, execute the sentence on my command". "Aye aye senior CP", said the whipper". He held the strap handle with both hands like a bat and drew it back. "First stroke, full severe application, 3- 2- 1". At the count of one, the whipper swung the whip with the full weight of his body. I could see his muscles flex with the power. The strap landed with a terrific crack. Kor gave a loud howl, and then simply "wow". "The strap left a wide red slash across his butt. It had to hurt like hell. One of the trustees counted down from 15. At the count of 1, the senior guard went "Second stroke, half strength severe application, 3-2-1". The whipper still gripped the handle with both hands and gave a full swing, but there was evidently less energy behind it. Nevertheless, the crack sounded almost as loud, and Kor grunted. The whipper now crossed over to Kor's right side. After the 15 count the third stroke was delivered. Kor's butt was a bright red all over, and you could see the rough cowhide imprint on both his flanks. His body was drenched in sweat and his chest heaved. Again the 15 count. "Forth stroke, full severe application, 3-2-1. The strap exploded on Kor's ass. He shouted a 'Jesus Christ' and moaned. Finally "sir four sir". He had had his taste of the lash. Now it would be my turn. One trusty stood in front of me while two others unclipped my arms and stood at either side. "About face and nose and toes to the post". My wrists were grasped and raised up. Suddenly he reached under my crotch and lifted up roughly. "Stand tall boy". While he held me my wrist cuffs were clipped to a chain on the back, forcing me to embrace the post tightly. My ankles were now pulled on either side of the post and my waist pinioned with a belt. I felt my butt being wiped with a liquid that stung slightly. In the process, the trusty managed to finger my asshole which in spite of my restraint brought me to instant arousal. He gave me a shit eating grin as he withdrew. I felt uncomfortable and vulnerable--the idea, of course.

A different CP came up. It was the asshole who disciplined me earlier. Without warning he slapped my right ass cheek with his hand. It hurt but I realized it wasn't all that hard--it was mainly the idea of it. He put me though the instructions to count the strokes that Kor got. Then I got the first blow from the crop. It was the first time I had ever been whipped. It stung more than I expected and I yelped. "You didn't count, rogue, we'll start again at one". This fucker was going to be a real asshole about the procedure and he knew how to hit. It was going to be harder than I expected and it wasn't even close to the real punishment. As the strokes continued, I could feel my ass warming up, but I also got somewhat used to it. Each stroke stung, but the overall effect was less of a shock. Finally I had taken my 20, really 21 and he said "Rogue, you're ready for some real strokes". I knew he was looking forward to it.

Instantly they released me from the post. I was flipped around and my two wrist cuffs locked together in front. The trusties each took me by an arm and frogwalked me over to the bench, pinning my lower abdomen against the rounded edge. Working as a team, one always holding me firmly, they kicked my legs wide apart and padlocked the ankle cuffs to the bench legs. Now I could not escape my punishment. My wrist cuffs were locked to a yoke with two wire ropes which led to the back of the horse. Straps attached to the bench legs were put around my thighs and tightened. I was told to stand at attention. The trusties stepped back and I just stood there, legs immobilized, arms in front pulled slightly forward, my heart rate really up.

After a few minutes of sweating, the senior CP appeared in front of me. He looked right at me and reminded me that I was getting a break that I would not get again, and that if my suspended sentence was vacated I would face a real whipping. Then he read my punishment order. I shuddered at the final part, that I was "ordered to receive a taste-of-the-lash whipping of four strokes of the standard strap". "You are required to count each stroke, failure to count properly will be cause to repeat the stroke." "Does the rogue understand this instruction". I was so psyched up I could barely croak out my reply. Finally the senior CP stepped away. This was it, I was really going to be whipped hard.

After a pause, a voice said "bend the rogue". There was a whirring sound and the wire ropes attached to my wrist cuffs moved, pulling my arms rapidly forward. My upper body was forced down in free fall and my chest slapped the still sweaty bench surface. My head extended just beyond the edge of the bench. I could see that the wire ropes ran through pulleys attached to the rear legs. The tensioning continued until my arms were stretched forward and down between the two rear legs of the horse, pinning my shoulders to the bench. A chain was attached to the collar to hold my head in place. I felt a belt being cinched up over my waist, pressing my abdomen against the bench and forcing my ass up. I was stretched tightly over the bench, unable to move, and able only to stare straight ahead. It was the most restricted position I had ever been in.

My favorite CP now appeared in front of my face letting the heavy punishment strap dangle to the floor so I could appreciate its length. He wasn't smiling, and I could tell from his eyes that the fucker was looking forward to giving it to me. My butt was again wiped with the stinging liquid and I knew it was the final preparation. The CP disappeared from view and there was silence. I was sweating from every pore, my heart pounding. Then I heard "Execute the sentence, first stroke, full standard application, 3-2-1"

I heard the whistle of the strap. My ears rang with the incredible crack it made as it struck my butt. But nothing could have prepared me for the pain. My ass became the center of my universe. The first impression was that someone with a heavy boot had kicked me in the ass really hard. Then it felt as if my ass had been plugged into an electric outlet. The pain came in waves and radiated throughout my body. Instead of dissipating it got more intense. I was shouting uncontrollably "I'm dying" and struggling uselessly against my restraints. I heard the harsh voice of the CP. "You didn't count rouge, the first stroke will be repeated". "I can't take it" I screamed. "Shut up asshole and take your punishment like a man". That admonition cut me to the quick. I had to get control of myself.

I tried holding my breath and it worked. I relaxed against my restraints as best I could. I heard the countdown 5-4-3-2-1. "Repeat the first stroke, full standard application, 3-2-1". The crack rekindled my terror. My ass was a football being drop kicked. And the electric shock of the pain was even greater. But at least I was ready for it. I cried out in pain but I also yelled out my "Sir one sir". It was a strange sensation. The pain was worse, but I felt aroused at the same time. Three more to go.

"Second stroke, one half standard application, 3-2-1". I expected the pain to be much less, but it was only slightly so. However, now I knew what was coming. The thud pain followed by the stinging pain. I was controlling myself fairly well, but realized it helped if I yelled out my "Sir two sir" as Kor had done. The yelling really helped me handle the pain. It seemed to go away more quickly, because the countdown to the third stroke took forever. I could sense the whipper had crossed over behind me. When I got the third stroke, I found there were parts of my ass the strap had not touched. But now it had. I had no sooner yelled out my "Sir three sir" than I began dreading the final full stroke. I knew they would make it the hardest. My heart was racing, but I took a deep breath and held it through the countdown. "Fourth stroke, full standard application, 3-2-1". I blew out on the three and sucked in on the one. The kick-thud was indeed horrific, a field goal. I tried blowing out as the first wave of electric shock-sting hit, then realized I had to get some breath in order to do my count. I was late in getting out my "Sir four sir" but it was ok. They didn't repeat it. I had finished tasting the lash.

I remained strapped tightly to the bench. A liquid was squirted on my butt and then rubbed in. I went through three quick pain cycles: cooling sensation, then white hot, then back to where I had been--my butt the center of my universe. I suspected it would be that way for several hours, but I had to deal with it somehow. Without warning, my arms were unclipped and jerked up to my collar where they were again padlocked palms behind head. "Stand up boy, and stop blubbering"--I didn't realize I had been. Whether I had taken it well or not, I had taken it. The Captain was right, I wouldn't forget the experience.

We were marched back to the rogues gallery and put against the wall. Now we found out about the razz. Any prisoner who wanted to give us a hard time would say to the guard "sir request permission to razz the rogues sir". Of course he would get a yes and then could say any dirty thing he wanted, such as "Rogue two, how does it feel to get your ass whipped pussy boy". It was directed at me but we both had to shout "Sir the rogue got the taste of the lash he deserved sir". In a way it made me feel better, especially since Kor had to say it too. Finally our time was up.

As part of our punishment we were going to witness regular whippings. As we were stepped back from the wall, our guard pointed out three other prisoners. "Those are 'real' rogues". They were facing the wall in the rogues gallery as we had been, but their ankles were chained and their arms were shackled behind their backs, the chains pulled up tightly to their collars. Their bodies showed the strain of the position, and a guard stood close behind them, baton at the ready. They were clearly cut no slack whatsoever.

We were made to read their punishment orders. Then the guard proceeded to call them out. As with everything the marines did, there was a specific form to the harassment. "Rogue 1, sound off your sentence". "Sir the rogue is to be whipped 36 strokes sir'. It was the seal we had seen in indoc. He had gotten a Special Court Martial for fighting. We later heard he had struck an officer, but was so good they didn't want to send him to prison, so they gave him the maximum whipping. "What with, rogue 1". " Sir the rogue is to be whipped with the cat sir". He had tasted the lash in his first year so he automatically got the cat. "How hard rogue 1" "Sir the rogue is to be given a very severe whipping sir". It was a tough sentence, but of course he was a seal so he could take it. Rogue 2 was the busted first class. He had gotten a Special for dealing dope. He had to have been somebody's favorite to have escaped a General. As a first offender in his current enlistment he got only 24 strokes, and as a former first class, it was down graded to standard even though he was a big tough guy. Still he would get 12 on the ass, and I knew he wasn't going to enjoy that at all.

Rogue 3 was a young Asian seaman, probably a Vietnamese since they were the only Asians who ever got in trouble. He had gotten 12 strokes, the maximum, at mast for dissing a superior. He was slim but really well built for a gook, I couldn't see any fat on him at all. He had been a wrestler like Kor, and that got him upgraded. "Sir the rogue is to be given a very severe whipping sir". And he would get all 12 on the ass. "Sir the rogue is to be whipped with the strap sir". He sounded real tough when he spoke his lines, but I wondered if he knew what lay ahead--he hadn't had the benefit of a taste of the lash, after all.

Listening to them sound off was kind of a turn on to me. Even though I had just been through it, it was a kick to hear the seal stud and the ex first class getting the razz just like we had. I wondered if they knew they were going to be marched out naked into the courtyard where anyone who cared to could watch. Of course the seal did, he had tasted the lash already. I bet the others didn't.

Later, back in uniform we were assembled to witness punishment. As the rogues were marched out part of me lusted to watch them get whipped. As they strapped down the gook I wondered how he would react to the first stroke. I wasn't feeling empathetic at all. I wanted to see him jerk with the pain and hear how he handled it. And I wasn't disappointed. Even from a distance I could see the shock on his face as he felt the thud of the first stroke and then as the sting burned in. I knew he was thinking how he could take eleven more. But in spite of the pain I knew he was feeling, he took it stoically.

Not so the ex first class. He looked strong in spite of his age, but I could see as they strapped him up that he was scared shitless. He started screaming right after the first stroke and screwed up his count. Even after they warned him he kept it up. Finally they gave up and gagged him. That meant they started the count over and upgraded the whip, which meant he struggled even harder. A bad show for such a big man, but very exciting to me. The seal got by far the hardest treatment, and his back was bloody after the first dozen. Not having felt the cat I could only imagine the pain. But even though he faltered he never missed the count, always shouting it out loud and clear. He was one tough sailor.

When it was over, I was trembling with excitement. I really didn't think too much about the pain the rogues were now in. After all, they deserved it, and they were all in good shape. I tried to picture myself in their place. I realized we had indeed only tasted the lash. How would it be if I had to take the real thing, stripped naked and in full public view. Part of me cringed at the thought, but part of me was fascinated at the prospect. I knew now how tough it would be if I came back. The question was, would I ever again taste the lash.

(Author's Note: The characters are loosely modeled after guys I knew who got in trouble and did brig time (or should have). The brig routines and harassments are taken from my own experience, although carried to an extreme, but not totally implausible. I got some additional inspiration from videos. The cp parts are based on a fantasy that the old rules of 1850 were brought back in modern form. Could that happen?? Will the protagonist be back?)

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