NJP
by "White Jacket"
I must have made a sound, because I could hear the guard moving towards us. We were facing against the wall in the main cellblock corridor, naked, legs hobbled, arms restrained behind our backs. In an instant, he had shoved his baton under my upraised chin and brought it down rapidly along the wall. I felt it brush my nipples and linger as it touched the tip of my cock. "What position are you in prisoner" he yelled. "Sir nose and toes sir" I shouted back into the wall. How rapidly the brigspeak we learned the last time had returned. "What does that mean, dirtbag". "Sir the position nose and toes means the brig prisoner places his nose and toes firmly against the bulkhead, and holds the rest of his body out from the bulkhead sir". "What did I say I would do if I found any part of your body touching the bulkhead". "Sir the guard said he would put his baton between the brig prisoners legs and bring it up smartly sir". "Do you believe I'll do that scumbag". "Sir yes sir". I not only believed it, I knew he was waiting for an opportunity to 'touch us up' as the marine guards called it. "Maintain the position prisoner. If you violate it, I won't warn you again". "Sir yes sir".
Illustration by Malex, commissioned by "White Jacket" for this story. Used by permission of "White Jacket."
We'd been back in the brig about an hour. We'd been checked in at exactly 1300. They hadn't told us, but I knew they would hold us here until they were ready to whip us. I guessed that would be about 1600, after work details returned. At least that's how they did it when we watched it done to somebody else when we were first in the brig. Part of me wanted to get it over with, and the rest of me was scared shitless. I couldn't explain the swelling that seemed to come and go in my loins. There shouldn't be anything sexy about our predicament--they were going to really whip the shit out of us this time--a 'proper whipping' Petty Officer Davis had called it. And then we had almost two months brig time to do, two months of bullshit marine games to put up with. I remembered the last time and that had only been for a week. I very slowly shifted my weight to keep my body arched out from the wall, and allowed my mind to wander. How did I ever get mixed up with Korthius anyway. Even the Captain had asked me that.
We had both reported on board the same week in May. We had each flunked out of freshman year at college and our ROTC contracts required us to serve two years as enlisted men as payback. We were both 18. We were both assigned to First Division. Other than that we had little in common. Kor was beautiful--that was the only word for him. Great body and the face of a male model, the kind with the pouty but sensuous look. He hated the Navy, looked down on his shipmates, was basically a loner. I saw myself as very ordinary, ordinary looks, ordinary body, not a jock, not a nerd. I had flunked out mainly because I didn't know what I wanted to do. The Navy, while not all that pleasant, was another experience. My division mates were a mixed bag, some dumb, some smarter than I was. Some friendly, some not. I was prepared to take it one day at a time.
The deck force, because of the nature of the work and the men, had the tightest discipline. Some of the guys loved to brag about how many times they had been to mast. The Captain had a reputation for tough sentencing, and did not look for loopholes to avoid the whip like others I'd heard of. When they made me a Yeoman striker because I had some college, I jumped at it. That's how I got to work for Petty Officer Davis. Davis was old Navy, just basically hard. He rode my ass from day one in the ship's office. He made sure I remained assigned to deck division so that I would toe the line with him or face the consequences. Kor, who had been assigned like me, crossed him once and was promptly returned to full time deck ape status. That didn't really bother him, because he just wanted to do his time and get out, a fact he didn't hesitate to tell Petty Officer Davis to his great annoyance. But I knew I didn't want that for two years.
Kor did distinguish himself in one respect--as a wild man on the beach. His looks made him attractive to all sorts. Practically everyone thought he was gay, but he never came on to me. He had alienated most of the rest of the division, I think many were afraid to be around him. He partied hard, had a very aggressive attitude and got into fights easily. Frequently returned to the ship drunk and disorderly. It seemed so out of character for an upper class college boy. Occasionally I went with him, drawn by some strange chemistry. That's how I got in trouble the first time.
I thought we would get restriction, given that we were drunk and all. But when I saw Petty Officer Davis standing beside the Captain I had the sense the fix was in. "These are serious offenses, and carry a mandatory sentence". Then he sentenced us to 30 days in the brig and to be whipped. "However, since you are new on board and this is a first offense, I'm going to be lenient". We got what the sailors call a 'kiddie cruise'-- a week in the brig and 4 strokes, with the rest suspended for six months. The Navy didn't deem you a 'man' eligible for the cat until you were 19, so our strokes were with the discipline strap on the ass. I had read all about the details of this draconian punishment in the manuals. Davis had assigned me to do the paper work after mast, so I knew where to look it up. In a way, the details of whipping procedure, spelled out so bureaucratically, turned me on. I never thought I would be on the receiving end--literally. Kor seemed to take it all in stride, however.
When we got out of the brig and back aboard ship, Petty Officer Davis resumed his harassment as if nothing had happened. I hardly went ashore for the first month, and Kor was unusually subdued as well. We would meet after supper in the weight room. I had been forced to exercise in the brig and had decided to keep it up. He was a pretty good coach. He had used weights for years, and had developed himself into a terrific looking specimen. I had no hope of that, but it relieved the tension and passed the time, and I could see I was building out a little. After a few weeks, though, he started hitting the beach again. He asked me to go with him but I put him off. Finally, on a Friday night, I was so bored I couldn't say no.
We had gone to a movie, and Kor took me to what turned out to be a gay bar. The kind where the guys take off their shirts and dance together. I had never seen anything like it and was frankly fascinated. The guys were generally very good looking, but even among them he stood out. Midnight came and went and Kor showed no signs of slowing down, but I was fading, so I managed to drag him out. Sure enough, as we were leaving the place some sailors came by and started ragging us as fags. Kor went crazy, and it was fists and elbows all round. I wanted to run, but couldn't just leave him. Then the Shore Patrol arrived, and Kor just had to mix it up with them too, even taking a swing at the Chief. We were written up for fighting, drunk and disorderly, being in an off-limits establishment, and worst of all assaulting a superior. Monday we went to mast.
We had been jointly charged. We were paraded in front of the Captain, saluted, and took our hats off. The Captain asked us if we pled guilty. We both quickly said yes sir--if all else fails, the sailor tries contrition. He asked Kor if he had anything to say and he said no sir. He almost seemed to be asking for it. With no further discussion, the Captain gave him the maximum and turned to me. He chewed my ass royally for associating with a known troublemaker and letting him lead me astray. I sensed this as a prelude to him giving me a break, because I hadn't really struck anybody. Then Petty Officer Davis leaned over and pointed to something in my service record. The Captain hesitated. "I was inclined to give you less than the maximum, but given what you've pled guilty to my hands are tied". I knew then I was screwed. It was in the statement I had signed just before being taken to the Brig two months ago. Davis had rubbed my nose in it earlier this morning just before mast. After you got a taste-of-the-lash punishment you were warned that if you were convicted of a mandatory whipping offense, the maximum sentence was also mandatory. The word mandatory was underlined, and my signature was right below the word. By pleading guilty, the rest was automatic!
So, I got the maximum sentence Kor got: Busted to E-1, fined half my pay, 30 days brig time, and 12 strokes. To this was added the punishment suspended from the first mast when they had 'gone easy', 8 strokes and another three weeks of brig time. 20 strokes total. They weren't supposed to give you more than 12, but that didn't apply to a suspended sentence that was 'vacated'; I had looked that up myself in the manual. And this time we would get the cat; the age restriction did not apply after a taste of the lash. We had had our warning.
"Max-plus man!" said some of my division mates as if it were an honor. From college boy to real sailor. An equal number of my shipmates edged away from me, another slacker to be avoided. Up until then, I was inclined to their point of view. We were taken to the ship's office and made to sign another warning. If we screwed up again for even a minor offense, 12 strokes was mandatory. Again the word was underlined. This time the MAAs put us in handcuffs and leg irons for our trip to the brig--again that word mandatory.
At the brig we were taken immediately to the Officer-in-Charge, still in our shackles. With individual marines pressing their batons against our backs, we stood up at rigid attention as he made it clear we were two pieces of shit who had fucked up big time. "You had a chance to learn your lesson easy, now you'll have to learn your lesson the hard way" he growled. "You will do what you are told, exactly according to the rules--if you screw up while you're here, you know what will happen". At the brig office, we found out what he really meant. We had to sign a statement warning that if we were whipped again, we would be designated 'habitual offenders'. That meant whipping with the "Most Severe" cat. The sailors called it the rogues cat a term used in the old navy to refer to the knotted whip with extra long tails. One of our tough guys had shown me its scars. For the next two months, only an asshole marine stood between me and that.
We moved quickly through our in processing. Our individual marine escorts made sure our memory of the game rules came back promptly. With batons at the ready they kept us either at attention or double timing as we were strip searched, fingerprinted, changed into brig dungarees, and taken to the skinhead barbershop. Looking like proper brig rats, we were photographed for our IDs. From there we were taken to sick bay. We got both a medical check and a physical inspection by the CPs. They walked all around you, looking and touching and asking questions while you stood with your hands behind your head in 'lock up' position and tried not to think ahead. They were verifying our fitness profile that determined the severity of the whipping. I had researched it all in the manual--they called it 'equalization of pain'. The bigger the guy, the heavier the whip. Last time Kor had gotten a notch more severity than me--appropriately, I thought since he was much stronger than I was. I realized that the work outs I had been doing with Kor might have bumped me up a notch. But nothing was said other than we were 'medically qualified' and we were taken to a two man cell in the disciplinary block.
We were made to strip and assume the 'lock down' position--arms behind back at parade rest, legs spread apart. Heavy leather cuffs were buckled on our upper arms, wrists, and ankles. A harness was strapped around the thighs, snug against the ass cheeks. Chains were connected between the ankle cuffs. Our wrists were locked together behind our backs, and our upper arm cuffs chained, forcing our shoulders back. Finally the guards slapped wide leather collars around our necks, buckling them tightly forcing our heads high.
We were marched, shuffled really, out into the main cell block corridor toward a section of wall stenciled 'rogues gallery'. It was here that they held prisoners who were to be whipped on display as an example to others. Kor was made to face the wall. A guard squatted down, tugged his angle chain jerking his feet together, and padlocked it, hobbling him. Then he attached a chain to his wrist cuffs, running it through a ring in his thigh harness. He told Kor to "tighten up", a command to assume maximum attention, bracing up and putting all your muscles in tension. As he did this, the guard raised the chain to his neck, tugged the slack out of it, and padlocked it to a ring in his collar. The result on Kor's body was spectacular. Triceps popped, delts flexed, pecs stood out in high relief. I was ordered to the wall next to him and the same procedure applied to me. When the guard pulled tight and locked the chain to my collar, I experienced a totally new and incredibly erotic sensation of total bondage.
We were shoved against the wall and given the command 'nose and toes'. Assuming this position, given the exaggerated attention we were locked in, required effort. To get our chests off the wall, we had to lower our heads slightly and arch our upper bodies back. As we did this, we found ourselves straining against our already tensioned arms, which placed more strain on our shoulders and backs. We would have to concentrate to stay this way. It was a classic brig prisoner dominance game, to get our heads where they wanted them. A marine would stand guard to keep us in the position until it was time.
I heard the marine move in on me, bringing my head back to the present reality. The baton stung as it struck my thigh. "Press that nose against the bulkhead boy". "Sir yes sir". I heard Kor get the same treatment. He spat out his reply like he always did, and as usual, got another hit from the marine. He just seemed to invite it, and they loved the excuse. They were going to keep us here for at least another hour, and I was just going to have to figure out how to maintain the position. We were already minor celebrities--they must not get punishment like ours very often. I could hear the voices of passers by asking our guard if we were the ones getting 20. Someone asked whether we seemed up for it--he sniggered that the only thing up about us was our pricks. "Are you faggots ready for it". "Sir yes sir" we both chanted back. The guard leaned into me, his baton pressing against my ass. "You like this shit, don't you". Brig rule number one, always say 'yes sir' no matter what the question. "Sir yes sir". I wondered if Korthius was feeling the same way. "Keep your dick off the bulkhead, or else, boy". Had to stay cool if I was going to get through this. "Sir yes sir".
We heard more footsteps, the unmistakable sound the guards made in their combat boots. "Wake em up, private". "Yes sir" he said loudly as he smacked Kor in the butt. "Stand up straight, rogues". It felt so good I almost forgot this meant it was time. The guard reached between our legs and removed the padlock, freeing the ankle chain to normal length allowing us to shuffle. We were taken in charge by individual escorts and moved through the cell house. The taste of the lash had been administered inside the brig. This time we were headed out into the exercise yard where a squad of prisoners stood in ranks along the inner wall. Beyond the open fence, a few passersby stood to watch the fun. A group of sailors in whites was formed up, with the division officers standing beside them. Even at this distance I could see Petty Officer Davis. It was first division, brought to witness our degradation. The restraints emphasized our nakedness, the discipline our total loss of control. It was the most humiliating position I had ever been in. Thank God Kor's body was the center of attention. Davis was looking right at him and had a big shit eating grin.
In the center of the yard was the flogging triangle. We had seen them in action before, when we were brig prisoner witnesses. But it was one thing to watch, another to undergo the punishment. We were 'touched up' to attention by our escorts. The Brig Warden came out and stood in front of us and read off our sentences. When he reached th part that said "and to be whipped 20 strokes" there was an audible whistle from a spectator. Then the warden turned directly to Kor and said "I shall now read your punishment order: it is ordered that the Brig Prisoner is, on 5 Oct. 1971, to be administered a severe whipping 8 strokes of the severe strap on the bare buttocks, and to be administered a severe whipping 12 strokes of the severe cat o nine tails on the bare back". As soon as he finished, Kor was shoved towards the triangle. The triangle was in fact a frame slightly wider than a man and higher than one could reach. Made of heavy 4x8s, there were actually two frames attached at the top, and pulled out at the base to form a triangle when viewed from the side. It was positioned so one side faced the outside fence. I was held by the inside wall facing the other side as Korthius was marched to the right frame. As he approached he was surrounded by some big trusty prisoners. When they stood back he was totally secured, wrists and ankles locked, midsection secured with a heavy belt. Even from a distance I could see that his body was in tension, his muscles in high definition.
Illustration by Malex, commissioned by "White Jacket" for this story.
Used by permission of "White Jacket."
Now I was the center of attention. The brig warden read my punishment order. I breathed a little easier when I heard him say 'standard'--I had not been upgraded like Kor. Two trusties came up beside me and grasped my arms. The guard moved in behind me, his baton in my back, and gave the command to move. I was shuffled directly towards the closer frame. We were to be secured together, facing each other. When we were within a few feet of the triangle, the two trustees took control and propelled me forward until my stomach smacked against a crosspiece set at navel height. The thigh harness was padlocked to eyebolts set in the frame slightly higher than I stood, so that the leather pulled up against my ass. The snap of the lock and the total restraint was strangely exhilarating. I tried a very slight move and found myself pinned firmly in place. All of the fittings on the frame were of heavy construction, capable of resisting the most violent movement.
My wrists and arms were unchained. After several hours, even though I remained in the grip of the trusties it felt good. The feeling didn't last. They raised my arms high over my head and locked the wrist cuffs to chains attached to the top of the frame. A wide belt was now drawn over my midsection and cinched tightly, securing my butt between the crosspiece and the thigh harness. The cuffs on my arms and ankles were locked to more eyebolts in the frame restraining upper and lower body movement. A metal rod was passed through the rings in my collar and the frame, securing my neck from twisting, and my shoulders from forward motion. I felt a sudden jerk on my arms. The wrist chains were being ratcheted up until all of the restraints on my body were pulled tight against their limits. A surge of excitement went through my body, the sensation of complete loss of control. Sweat ran down my chest. I was totally on display, naked, locked, stretched, vulnerable, unable to escape. I felt sexy and scared at the same time. The trusties ran back to their places.
I now faced Kor directly, his body only a few feet from mine. He looked beautiful. I saw that his nipples were erect and his body was covered with a sheen of sweat. He was ready. His eyes were fixed at mid distance, no sign of recognition. He was psyching himself up. I had wondered how they would handle the dual punishments and now had my answer. Two whippers, both big CPs wearing only tee shirts, approached from each side into our line of vision . They each held a punishment strap. Both looked truly fearsome, a two and one half inch wide doubled over strip of heavy leather. Kor's was different, and I could see the longer and more flexible end piece I had read about in the manual. We had both felt these before, but presumably with less power and for only four strokes. Now it would be double that. "Count each stroke" the first CP said to Korthius in a deep voice. "Sir yes sir" Kor spat back. The second CP looked hard at me. He leaned towards my face and spoke softly. "If I'd known you were a faggot I would have given you a taste of a real whipping last time--see if you enjoy it this time, asshole". Then loudly "Count each stroke, prisoner". "Sir yes sir". The CPs moved away. I tried in vain to follow mine with my head as he walked back toward my butt, succeeding only in proving how well restrained I was. I was already putting on just the show the CP wanted. Kor stared straight ahead, his body held rigid. He had said the last time it was no worse than a bar fight. Now he had to be nervous in spite of his conditioning. Anyway I was breathing hard.
I could see the CP take position behind Kor, and had to assume mine was now also ready. The CP looked at the Brig Warden. I heard the Brig Warden say "8 strokes, execute the first sentence". "Aye aye warden" said the CP and he grasped the whip handle with both hands, cocked his arms as if holding a baseball bat, and swung with full force. The strap SMACKED down on and wrapped around Kor's ass. His body jerked against the restraints. He'd felt it all right. "Sir ONE sir". Was there a slight hesitation? If you forgot, they repeated the stroke; we had learned that the last time. I immediately heard the whistle of leather in air--this one was for me. I heard the CRACK first--then I felt like my ass had been plugged into an electric outlet and the juice turned on. My butt jerked against the restraints, and I involuntarily cried out. It was just a taste they gave us before. Got to remember my "Sir ONE Sir". That's the way Kor did it--shout it out. It worked--gave me an energy boost that counterbalanced the pain a little.
They waited a count of ten between strokes, which seemed like ten minutes. Then I saw Kor's CP swing again. Kor's response was even louder. Then I heard mine. It smacked me on my lower butt, right above the thigh restraint. Again I said 'ouch' but immediately followed with "Sir TWO sir". I knew the pain would keep building. Had to handle it. I would try to make a game. I would match Kor's stroke count shout for shout.
CRACK. Higher, just below my back. He'd covered my whole backside, now the strokes would land on previously whipped skin. "Sir THREE sir". From the last time, I knew the pain would now be intense, and I had only had to take one more before. I looked straight at Kor catching his eyes and mouthing 'we can take this'. CRACK. He got the message and cranked up the volume on his count. CRACK. Mine again. Intense pain this time. I put my scream into my count. "Sir FOUR SIR". It seemed to work. Think about only four to go. CRACK. "Sir FIVE SIR". Three to go. A really HARD CRACK. He's bearing down, but only two to go. Kor had upped the ante. "SIR SIX SIR". Another really HARD CRACK. Screaming them full out now "SIR SEVEN SIR." CRACK. I had made it through this much. "SIR EIGHT SIR." I was panting, muscles straining against the restraints, sweat streaming from every pour, my ass on fire. I looked at Kor. Just then the corpsman slapped the alcohol sponge on my butt and I couldn't help myself. I yelped. Kor smiled.
Now it was time for the cat. At least I had known what to expect from the strap. The cat held unknown terrors, handed down from the old navy. I had watched several miscreants suffer, never expecting I would be in their place. Now I would find out what it was like. The whippers returned holding their whips. I had looked up the specification in the manual: I would get the 'standard' cat, nine tails made of nylon cordage, each 24 inches long with one knot tied in the end, attached to an 18 inch handle. Looking at it now, the tails seemed even more menacing than I had expected. Kor's cat was much heavier, 27 inches long, made of rawhide leather strips of several thicknesses and attached to a longer handle. One whipper said to both of us "Count each stroke, prisoner, you won't be warned". "Sir, yes SIR" we chanted in unison. We were ready to try our game again. The whippers stepped back. I could see Kor's looking towards the Brig Warden.
Illustration by Malex, commissioned by "White Jacket" for this story.
Used by permission of "White Jacket."
"The sentence is 12 strokes of the cat o nine tails" said the brig warden; "execute the sentence". "Aye aye warden". The whipper shook out the tails of his cat so that each one hung free, then twisted his body and drew back his arm. He swung with his whole body in the stroke. I thought I heard the whistle of a whip behind me. Were we to be whipped simultaneously? I tensed just as I saw the whip land on Kor. I heard the CRACK then felt the whip striking my own back. I could feel each tail individually; collectively, my entire back pulsed. My neck and upper body moved involuntarily with the force of the blow, slamming against the restraints, pulling hard on my arms and shoulders. It was an incredible whole body pain that took seconds to die down. I had to breath hard to get back my wind. We both yelled at the same time. Strangely, I felt a surge in my groin. Was it making me hard? Our eyes met--I finally saw him blink. Shout it out. "Sir ONE SIR". Eleven to go!
I could see the whipper draw back for the next stroke. Knowing exactly when it was coming only heightened the anticipation. It STRUCK on my lower back, setting it on fire as well. The next one was higher. Now the tails would fall on previously whipped skin. The whipper crossed over to Kor's other side. I saw him wind up again. "Jesus" I cried out as it fell on my shoulders which had just been struck on the last stroke. My neck muscles twitched as my pinioned collar resisted my body's attempt to twist at the impact. "Sir FOUR SIR". Still eight to go. After the sixth they paused and I felt my arms being pulled up. They were retensioning the wrist chains, taking away the slight amount of play in the restraints that my struggles had produced. The whippers moved back into position. Six strokes to go. All of the tails would fall on sensitized skin now. CRACK. I realized I was blubbering.
"SIR 12 SIR". We had literally screamed our count for the last six. The pain had been intense. Every inch of my back was hurting, nerves raw. I had had to fight back the cries of agony and struggle to repsych myself after every strike. I wondered if I were bleeding. Kor's eyes were puffy red. He had to be feeling the pain. A hand touched my back. For an instant it felt cold, then it blazed into a fury and I SCREAMED. It was the corpsman alcohol rub. At least this part was over. But I knew it would be a long night. After letting us hang in the frame for what seemed an eternity, our arms were detensioned, and our wrists brought together and locked. If we had had any inclination to fight back it had been whipped out of us, but they took no chances. I thought I would welcome the release, but just moving my shoulders and back was agony.
With a guard on each side holding our arms, we were half marched, half dragged back into the cell house. We knew what would happen, they did it the last time. They called it the razz. We were taken back to the Rogues gallery wall. Our arms were raised over our heads and locked to a staple in the wall. Our leg chains were also locked down. We would hang there as the prisoners filed in from the yard, so they could see our wounds up close. A warning of what they could expect if they screwed up. A red line on the floor was supposed to keep the prisoners at a distance, but as they shuffled by the occasional hand would touch us. Sometimes a flick on our sensitized skin, making me wince. Sometimes a gentle touch, which always gave me mixed feelings. The razz part was a typical marine touch. A prisoner would say "Sir request permission to razz the prisoners sir" followed by a "permission granted" from the guard. Than he would say something nasty like "How did you like that, faggot" (our hard-ons had not gone unnoticed). Whatever he said, we had to shout in unison "Sir the rogue got the punishment he deserved SIR". After more than an hour of the razz, they finally took us down and led us back to sickbay. We were made to lie face down on a rubber sheeted mattress and our arms and legs were chained to the bunk rail. We got another alcohol rub, none too gentle either, but after screaming some more I began to feel like I would live. Lying down felt good too. I had been whipped in public and endured it. I tried to close my eyes; I knew this wouldn't last. We had two months of continuous harassment and bullshit to look forward to.
Top of Page
|