Today, Thursday of their first week, free-man, ex-Marine Steve wonders if he's getting too used to his punk slave, Luke, fucking him every morning. Steve and the guys work hard (and get worked hard) on a real job site. First up, bareass back in the warehouse, they check in yesterday's missing deliveries and the man who sent them missing. Working all that muscle on a building site gets Darren and Steve a little too excited -- they race up the side of a scaffold, which makes toil, trouble, and pain for them, for Jamie and Luke, and their overseer Pete, but cracks up everybody else. In the next chapter, they join a flogging floorshow with a challenge and an opportunity.
Mornin in the barracks, testosterone risin even if the sun ain't yet. It feels too kewl, too normal, even Luke spooned behind me, arms around me, dick in me. He didn't start the night that way. I started on him, my dick in his crack. My Marine situational awareness don't tell me when he moves in. Sure ain't no Marine barracks, except the testosterone n the hard bodies.
Like what feels like always but only started this week, Luke rubs my pecs, presses his hard torso against my lats and glutes, twists my tits, jerks my slave chain collar, slaps my hip, and shoots in me. I shoot too. Then he holds my balls while he feeds me my spunk, works my tits and balls to resurrect my dick, sits on it, shoots onto me when I shoot in him, holds my balls again while he feeds me his spunk. Remember how back when I started at the gladiator stable, I wouldn't let Mike even WASH my balls?
I can't fuck Luke, can't even think about it, because he's not just my indentured slave. He's the ward I promised his father I'd take care of. Besides, I like to pick on guys my own size, like Mike or Darren -- and I'm still the straight Marine that fucks women. But tryin to do that my first weekend stateside, five-odd years ago, busted me out of the Marines and into indentured slavery as a gladiator (Reluctant_gladiator 1 - 3).
This is all WAY too much to think about, before I'm quite awake, while my punk ward slave, Luke, fucks me, which turns my little head on so much that head stays hard and shoots. But getting flogged gets him hard, makes him shoot too. Try to live in the moment of Luke on my dick. Works until Luke holds my balls while I square the cell away. Another day on the new job.
Outside the cell, we present (parade rest, stand tall, legs hip-distance apart, chest out, arms behind the back above the butt, don't speak unless spoken to).
Pete, our overseer, says do the full after-shower drill except shorts -- shave, groom, deodorant, sunscreen spray, jocks, quirts for Luke & Jamie. Check into the warehouse after breakfast and report back to the warehouse dock. Sunscreen means out in the sun! Quirts means they're lead hands for me n Darren, means we call em Sir (I own them both, dammit). Maybe we get to WORK today, not just stow or retrieve stuff carefully enough for the computer. No shorts means quirt buttbites in the warehouse; hope it's not so many as the bareass logistics training yesterday.
We get some looks and whistles in the shower and mess hall, again, and a couple guys look disappointed there are no fresh canetracks on our butts, but it's mostly respectful, friendly, like we respect the hard-muscled workin dudes. Breakfast is way better n what I could have put on for us, again. We're doin the right thing, stayin on. Fuck freedom (at least for now).
A warehouse overseer orients us. We'll receive, log, and stow some stuff, n make up a couple pallets for job sites, then head to the lumber yard, load a couple trucks, n ride one out to a job site. There Luke and Jamie will run me n Darren while they help us act like jobsite labourers, haulin stuff. Hope it's heavy. The overseer's quirt bites my tit. 'Sir! Yes, Sir!' Sounds kewl.
First up, the Ace Plumbing & Electrical van backs in -- same outfit that didn't deliver everything our company ordered yesterday. The two sorry-assed Aces that Darren caned for the shortage bring an unhappy dude with them, wearin just a pair of Ace shorts and a shiny new slave collar. Mr Whitmore, the logistics manager and company part-owner, arrives and introduces him, 'Mr Jackson, until yesterday the Ace business manager. He's joining our crew.' The Aces take the shorts back cuz Mr Jackson won't need em no more.
The Aces bend Mr Jackson over the bench for the same dozen cane cuts Darren gave yesterday. Me, Luke, n Jamie help hold him, one of our legs around each of his. Darren does his dozen, REAL good, real hard, real well-timed, real well-placed. Mr Jackson's SO not used to this. He shows fear, swears, tries to buck. Too much like me the first time (Reluctant_gladiator 1), except he don't fight nobody like I did.
Darren's first cut drives way deep into his flabby butt, deeper than into one of us hardasses, way down till it finally hits muscle. Mr Jackson looks surprised at the whistle and the impact, then he jerks when the hit registers, then he swears when the pain registers, just in time for the next cut. Holdin him is hard work, so it's good we have the two Aces with Jamie, Luke, and me. Darren proves my time in the gym with him has paid off (Rebuilding a gladiator 1) -- not just his shape and strength but his caning technique. But I knew that from losing some races to Darren, and from our initiation Monday night (Rebuilding a gladiator 3).
Darren gives Mr Jackson and us a break after the first three. Mr J yells, bitches, tries to bite. Darren rubs his butt, pats it, slaps it, kisses it (blowin Mr J away), while we rub his back and shoulders, put some knuckles into what muscles there are, hold his balls, to relax him. We check his dick. At least that head's into it; he likes to be held too. Another set of three, the second and third ones landing just when the pain hits the big head, which pumps up the little head. The first five cuts go parallel, top of glutes to top of hamstrings; the last one cuts across for the classic five-barred gate. Too bad on his flabby ass the neat work don't look so good.
Mr Whitmore crouches to look into Mr Jackson's distorted face. 'Welcome to Hardwicke Company, your home for the next six years. You made the right choice, indenture to us rather than try the police and courts; sellin your sorry ass repays some of what you stole. You'll have time and opportunity to think over the wrong choices that got you here. Your two colleagues will join you for your initiation tonight. After these gentlemen finish with you here, you'll spend today and the next several days SITTING with investigators while you tell them EVERYTHING you did, how you did it, what went where, how much money went where, who helped you, and who knew. We can always return you here if my quirt doesn't jog your memory.' To Darren, 'Carry on, no break.'
Darren, carrying on, changes the angle, cuts across the first six welts, varies the timing. That breaks Mr Jackson's big head -- he won't fight nobody today -- but shoots his little one. The Aces must have taken him to the washroom a couple times before they brought him, cuz he didn't piss the floor like the Ace swamper yesterday or me my first time.
After a couple minutes, the two Aces stand him up. Luke's quirt helps him wipe up his spunk. The overseer hands him a jockstrap, which he doesn't want to pull over his sorry butt. Some quirt buttbites n titbites help. The Aces head to their van.
They return with the dozen fixtures they missed yesterday, stand by while we scan them in. Check. They head to their van. 'See y'all tonight,' Mr Whitmore calls. They look less cheery.
Me n Darren walk Mr Jackson to a side office. Luke's titbites, Jamie's buttbites ALMOST straighten him up. Some guys in suits are waiting for him. We set him on a straightbacked, hard, wooden chair and hand him a glass of water. Then Luke titbites me, Jamie buttbites Darren to move us out.
Mike, the gladiator Champion until I broke him, said that guys enjoy any flogging but their own. That makes sense for a buff gladiator in a trial of strength and will with a buff overseer. Mr Jackson's caning just now didn't do much for any head but his own little one. I don't look forward to his initiation at tonight's floorshow. Not the two Aces' neither. (I didn't know then how much I'd dislike tonight's floorshow -- Chapter 7. But first some good times.)
We stow the missing dozen fixtures in the carton with the first dozen, log the location. After we pull, log, n stack a couple pallets' worth of stuff and shrinkwrap them, the overseer sends me back for shorts for all four of us. I'm gettin too used to walkin the yard, wearin collar, jock, boots, no shorts, sun on my butt. I ask, 'Sir! Walk or run, Sir?'
To me, 'Run -- barracks, check in, boots off, get shorts, put on one pair, clean socks when you leave with the other shorts, check out, then lumber yard, report to Pete. If anyone asks why you're running, say it's penalty laps, thank him for whatever he gives you.' To the other guys, 'Y'all WALK to the lumber yard, check in, find Pete.' To all of us, 'Check out of here, check into the yard.'
Flex to check out of the warehouse It still feels kewl to flex for the machine, turn its light green to clock in n out. Not like my dad, uncles, n brother talking about punchin their time cards at the mine or mill.
Run bareass to the barracks slave entry, flex in, shed boots, WALK to shower to grab shorts, put on one pair, get socks, retrieve boots, flex out, run to yard. My butt misses the sun. Wearin the jock and shorts to the yard reminds me how kewl the rough fabric of the basic slave shorts that I bought the guys felt when I moved after gettin caned. These jocks n shorts move with your skin, kewl too, but not across it in that stimulating way. Maybe that's why Luke n Jamie didn't bitch TOO much after their contractor caned them. (What kind of free Marine am I?!)
I find Pete n my guys at the lumber yard. Pete, our overseer, meets me, quirt crackin. 'Sir! Good morning, Sir!' No titbite. He gives us a quick orientation tour -- what stuff's where, how to check it in n out, how to pick it up n move it He gives us our pull lists. Says not to play catch with the telephone poles. Darren n I gotta try that. We manage to lift one of the shorter ones but couldn't throw it far enough. Pete laughs. Buttbite each, through the shorts, almost the same impact. No titbite.
We load a couple trucks with nonbreakable stuff -- studs, sheathing, wallboard, wallboard mud n tape, boxes of nails n nailbelts. Check it out too -- scan the barcodes of stuff that don't have a chip. Real work in the sun feels good, like my run in the compound, but I miss the sun on my butt. (I say that too much because I notice it too much, but I served almost five years as a bareass gladiator.) Jamie works with me, Luke with Darren, so they stay too busy to crack the quirts. Pete tells us to climb into the last truck with him, says remember the seatbelts, says I smell sweaty, makes sure I remembered the deodorant, laughs. Asks if I'd rather carry somethin to run alongside. He seems happy too, headin to a real work site.
We flex to check ourselves in to the project n get our hardhats. Scan the load to check the stuff in. Break time. Portable toilets with handcleaner. Break truck. Hardwicke Co does it right.
Then we ride to the individual building sites with Pete to unload the stuff its list says each one needs, checkin it all in to each building's account. Pete turns us over to the last building's overseer and heads to the site office. We four flex for the building account too.
I'd rather work with Darren, more my size, but contractor's stud Jamie's good n he knows how to handle the stuff quickly, even safely, look casual doin it. He made decent money for me with his contractor n didn't seem to get caned much, but how much he knows impresses me. My body says this starts to feel like real work -- I live that feelin in my back, glutes, thighs, calves, shoulders, arms, all over.
Lunch break. I catch up with Darren for a minute while Jamie n Luke head to the break truck. We're next to the end of a scaffold on a six-storey building. The corner supports are double vertical tubes, about a handspan apart, with horizontal bars like ladder steps, maybe a foot and a half or 45 cm apart. Crosbars just wide enough for two hands on a bar but not really two boots.
Darren gives me the snakeye, looks at the ladders to his right n my left, gives me the snakeye again. Bingo. I move to my ladder, set the hardhat down (break, so nobody overhead), place two hands and right foot on the rungs (march movements start on the left foot). Cue from Darren. I'm goin aloft! I top it n watch Darren's head appear. Then I hear some noise. Seems like all the guys down below are lookin n yellin. On Darren's cue, we climb back down. I remember ladders from troop carriers, so I skip some rungs. I wait while he catches up. This felt GOOD.
The building overseer gets there first, lookin n soundin like a drill sergeant at boot camp. 'WHAT ! the FUCK ! was THAT !!! ???'
'Sir. We climbed the scaffold, Sir.' Titbite! Hard. Each.
'Looked like grabass aloft to me. Was that part of the job?'
'Sir! No, Sir.' Titbites.
'Y'all know the rules about grabass?'
'Sir! Yes, Sir!' Titbites.
Pete, Luke, n Jamie arrive a bit out of breath, look worried. They look like they wanna laugh but they're too scared. I find my hardhat n put it back on.
'Who's y'all's overseer?'
'Pete, Sir. Luke n Jamie are our lead hands, Sir.'
The site overseer asks, 'Who, uh, TRAINED these two?'
Pete does his best answer the call of duty. 'Sir! I did, Sir!'
'Did you REALLY train those dumbasses?'
'Sir! It looks like I didn't train em not to race up n down the scaffolds, Sir'
The overseer works to stay mad instead of laugh. 'Damn straight!' His quirt titbites Pete through his overseer's shirt.
He turns to us. 'Whose idea was this?'
Darren straightens up, 'Sir! Mine, Sir!' Titbite.
The overseer asks, 'Who won?'
I brace. 'Sir! I won, Sir!' Titbite.
He asks, 'Did I see you cheat on the way down?'
I brace. 'Sir! Yes, Sir!' Titbite.
To Pete, Jamie, n Luke, 'So nobody trained these dumbasses?'
They give the only answer, 'Sir! Not enough, Sir!' Titbite each, backbites from other overseers.
To Pete again, 'And Mr Overseer didn't oversee?'
Poor Pete. 'Sir! No Sir!' Titbite. Backbite.
To Luke n Jamie, 'And the lead hands didn't lead?'
Only answer. 'Sir! No Sir!' Titbites. Backbites.
'All you gentlemen know the rules. No grabass. Trainer gets what trainees get when they fuck up. Overseers get what slaves get when they fuck up. Dozen cane now. Floorshow tonight.'
'Sir! Yes, Sir!' Titbites.
'Pete, lose the shirt.' To Pete, Jamie, n Luke, 'Lose the quirts.' To all of us, 'Lose the shorts.' We all set them aside, neatly, with the hard hats and tool belts. We brace in our jocks, which outline the target. We're in a line.
Another overseer hands our man and another a cane each, holds one himself. Kewl. We each get four from each overseer.
Our lead says to turn 45 degrees, givin him and his colleagues easier access. On his look, we spread our legs, grab our ankles. I remember to bend from the hips not the waist, keep my back straight so I can breathe deep, stretch one hamstring at a time, breathe slow n deep through my nose. The stretch n breathe helps, so far. I hope my guys remember. I hope they take it okay. Pete will be PISSED. I hope he takes it okay too, for my sake. The sun feels good on my stretched muscles. My dick enjoys stretchin the jock. I hope this doesn't mean I'll shoot the jock that I'll have to wear the rest of the day.
We get a break. We unbend enough to pull our dicks out the top, keep the balls in, to protect the balls better. Hardwicke Co thinks of everything. Body back into down position while dick finds his own up position.
'You gentlemen are experienced. (Too damn right!) Y'all know the drill. You stay down. You take what you've earned. You can yell, swear, bitch -- that motivates us. But you move you lose -- three extra the first time, then six if there's a second time, and it doubles from there.' Fuck!
Three caners mean three canees at a time, four cuts each at a time. Two guys wait n hear. Me n Darren are in the lucky first three. I see the boots n legs around us. I hear the practice swishes, feel the air move, feel the ranging swings, first tap, harder tap, breathe n brace like bloody hell. The first one IS bloody hell. Expel breath sharply when it lands, gasp, flex everything when it cuts in, fight to stay down when the pain hits the brain. Breathe in again just when the next one lands. HOLY FUCK! It BITES! Breathe flex fight. Two more this round. Breathe flex fight. Somebody yells, swears. Wonder if it's me. Breathe flex fight when number four bites. FUCK!. I'd rather give blowjobs. (I hate givin blowjobs.) This hurts like that first time, after my first arrest, in the Municipal Punishment Centre.
Overseer number one pats butt, slaps butt, says 'good job, dumb fuck,' pats sweaty back, slaps butt again (actually feels good !?). Moves along.
Number two's legs move into position. Same swishin, same rangin. I brace breathe flex fight. First fuckin bite -- register impact, register pain. The guy swearin's me. Damn!, my back stays straight, I breathe like a steam engine through my nose, chest on thighs, both hamstrings stretched straight, both glutes tight. Didn't know I could hold this position, perfect jackknife. Dick points down, along my abs. He feels the air. I focus on him. Next bite. Dick likes that one? He did! (Big head, body didn't.) Next bite. Dick LIKES taut muscle, taut bitten burned glutes. Bite number four from man number two. Can't relax but breathe, flex, relax both hamstrings before stretchin em, one at a time. Everything fires at once.
Maybe I'll get a break now, while the three tops share the five targets. A break would be pure hell. Break. It is hell, n my butt feels like hellfire. I hear, feel three other lucky bastards get theirs. Swishes. Impact noises. Their voices sound different -- grunt n squeal all at once. Wonder if I do too. My tits have found my thighs. Dick between legs, off abs. Jackknife's perfect. Break's pure hell.
Boss says we all stay down till everyone's finished. Somebody keeps me goin on the break with his quirt -- legs back butt. Keep the adrenaline n endorphins runnin, keep the fires burnin. Glad balls are tucked in jock. My hamstrings n glutes ache from holdin the bend. My butt hurts more. So does hearin the other guys.
My turn again. Kewl! Butt burns like fuck. Butt don't know he's supposed to go numb for now, hurt me later. He's gonna hurt me all the time. Man ain't even started yet. Man's just pattin my butt n back. 'Sir! Thank you, Sir!'
Swish, rangin stroke. Breathe flex brace. Holy fuck! That's one -- actually nine. 'Just' three more to go until the floorshow. TWO! I'm spaced not zoned. Dick shoots. Damn - that makes the rest hurt more. At least it's not into the jock I'll wear the rest of the shift. It'll wash off my abs. I should make Darren lick it. Three! Fuck! Breathe flex brace. Swear. I'm a free man. I volunteered me n my slaves for this to make us a better life. FOUR! Everything hurts -- what got hit, what's still flexed. Everything but happy dick. I have to stay down, burnin in and out, while the other guys finish theirs. I can't really relax but do try to ease the hamstrings. The cut-up glutes can't let go yet. Some guy pats my butt n back, slaps my butt, quirts back legs butt, just to keep me in the mood.
Finally overseer one says, 'At ease, dumbfucks.' We break position. I can almost stand. I try to relax my butt by bending back. Inside n out, it feels like a phosphorus grenade hit it -- too many welts for napalm. (I've had both. Cane hurts as much but does less damage, heals quicker.) Don't know how I'll handle bein a floorshow tonight. Workin will feel good except when I try to move. (Eh?)
'Well done, men. You make us proud.' Okay -- proud we're their tough guys or proud what they did to us?
My guys laugh at my spunk on my abs. I give Darren the look to lick it off. He laughs. I don't remember if anybody else had shot. Pete, Luke, n Jamie wanna kill me. Maybe Darren too. At least they won't have their quirts this afternoon. Hope we work hard again. Think about body parts besides butt. Work, gym, floorshow to go. We get to tuck the dicks back into the jocks. Tool belts, hardhats back on.
Overseer says, 'Y'all ain't workin hard enough. I wanna see y'ALL put out this afternoon. Then stay here when the shift ends.'
We all snap to, 'Sir! Yes Sir!'
We move through the portable toilets. I need to piss. Glad I didn't piss in the scene (like that first time). I clean the spunk off. Try the hand-cleaner on my butt. Cools it first, then burns more. Alcohol.
Break truck has food left. Maybe the other guys were too busy watchin us to eat. Lotsa smiles, buttslaps, laughs. We stand up to eat. Try flexin butt, hamstrings. Food's probably good but I don't notice it.
This afternoon they put a maniac overseer with us to hump stuff all over. I love it. Looks like Darren does too. I don't mind the quirt n its rhythm. Pete doesn't like it but he gets into it. Luke n Jamie settle into their slave labour groove that Darren n I still have to learn and that Pete hoped he'd left behind.
Shift ends. Everybody else loads into trucks to ride back to the barracks to rest n train. Not us.
Overseer says we need scaffold training. We clearly show we ain't been trained right. He has four colleagues, all cracked up but tryin to act like drill sergeants. Five overseers, one quirt each. Who know the job site had that many?
We walk to a scaffold that has five support ladders, two each end, one centre. One slave, one ladder, one overseer, one quirt each. The drill is to do as many PROPER runs up n down as we can in 30 minutes of hell. Bad move means the run don't count. Overseer's judgment final. Hope he's straight. Prizes for the losers (one buttbite, one backbite, one titbite for every run less than the winner). Prizes for bad moves like mine, up or down (three buttbites, three backbites, three titbites). To make sure we clear the top properly, there's a container of pile of lag screws just beyond the top of each ladder. We collect one each run, slip it into the EMPTY tool belt, bring it down, hand it to our overseer (hope he don't make me wait), climb again.
The man moves us to our ladders, says 30 seconds, 10 seconds, GO! I like to climb, like heights, like sun on muscle. Pete's on the other ladder at my end. I'm zoned. I'm outrunnin him up n down. Don't notice the other guys except when a head pops up at the top, like a gopher. 30 looong minutes! The man calls every five minutes. No idea how many runs I've made. When I look a little slow, there's an encouraging buttbite or backbite. The man likes his quirt. I surf the pain, ride the energy. Five minutes to go. Don't notice the quirt. I'm almost down from my sixth when he calls time.
The overseers count our lagscrews. I've won. 36! Just the first one disqualified. So 35. Three sets of bites for the bad run. I brace. He bites. He slaps my butt. Slaps my back. Sounds like he bet the others on me. I feel good.
I don't notice which guys came how many behind n got how many bites.
The boss says we don't need no truck. He n his crew will RUN our sorry asses back. Says when we get there, shower n deodorize for dinner, gym, n floorshow. Wear just jocks.
Run through the civilian traffic, gettin on to rush hour, down the right-hand traffic lanes. Hear horns, brakes, swerves, gunned engines, shouts, laughs.
I love the run. Sun on body, sun on butt. Well-worked body's VERY aware. Kewl guys to run with. Buff overseers with quirts to keep us movin, keep us together. The other guys must hate the run, hate me. Wonder what the civilians think. I outrun the overseer, the crew. I wait at the gate. An overseer catches up at the gate for a few buttbites.
I run the cold shower a LONG time. Pete Luke Jamie look worse than snakeyes at me. Daggers. Their butts look as grim as they do. Wait'll they get me in a cell. Wait'll they n their quirts get me on the job. Jock feels normal (not okay) but the bench in the mess hall don't. I'm pumped for my gym workout -- upper body anaerobic power, quick heavy lifts -- but don't remember it, don't notice the trainer's tawse except when it bites my butt.
Then it's time for us to meet Mr Hardwicke for our floorshow. That's the next chapter.
Ward 1 604 842 0780