Rebuilding a Gladiator

Thursday evening, after dinner and gym. Supposed to be that quiet time in the lounge with the other guys n a beer. Supposed to be the relaxin payback for our hard work today. But it's our first real punishment night, a floorshow. (Our initiation floorshow happened Monday night in Chapter 3). Damn! It's my fault, too. It's a hardcore flogfest, sorry. By the end, I was REAL sorry. I'll try to write this a little better than the last chapter.

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Today we (me n my slaves Darren, Luke, n Jamie) got to load a couple trucks in the lumber yard, hump real stuff. Me n Darren tried to play catch with the telephone poles, like Mr Whitmore said we would (Chapter 5), but we gotta train. We barely picked one up, carefully, use good form. Couldn't throw one yet.

Then we got to do real slave labour on a real construction job. I love workin the body hard, humpin heavy stuff, in the sun. Too bad me n Darren got so happy I took his dare to race him up a scaffold ladder. I won. That got me n him caned, 12 REAL hard. Got our leaders caned too -- our lead hands Luke n Jamie, my other slaves, plus Pete, our trainer n overseer.

We spent the afternoon in jockstraps, workin hard enough for me n Darren, normal slave labour for Luke n Jamie, way too much for Pete. After the shift, we stayed onsite to race up n down a scaffold for half an hour. I loved it. I won. The other guys got some quirt bites for comin behind. Then the overseers ran the five of us back to camp -- the company compound, sorry -- on the street, through town at rush hour, wearin slave collars, jocks, canetracks, slave steel-toe boots. It felt buff. Wonder what the civilians on the street thought.

Shower (cold). Just jocks tonight. Don't remember dinner except I didn't like sittin on the bench. Don't remember the gym except that my trainer tawsed my canetracks.

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Now it's time for us to meet Mr Hardwicke, company owner, for our floorshow. That's the punishment session in front of all the guys in the lounge. We entertain them while they relax with a beer. Or two, in our honour.

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We lose the jocks. That makes the whole scene worse. Really nothin to protect me. The jock was like the last shred of dignity.

The boss reminds us he don't just flog first, ask later. He asks what happened. I tell him I raced Darren up n down a scaffold. On the lunch break with no one around, no one overhead. Jamie n Luke had already headed to the break truck. Pete was workin somewhere else on the job site. It wasn't their fault.

The man laughs, says he should've expected that a hardass like me would find a way to fuck up to get another round. That our initiation flogging Monday wouldn't be enough for me (Chapter 3).

He tries not to crack up at how dumb us dumbasses can get. He apologizes to Pete, Luke, n Jamie, but for a failure of trainin or supervision, trainers n overseers get what us dumbasses get on their watch. Says the rules that outlaw grabass n other actions that could cause accidents don't specifically outlaw racin up the scaffold cuz nobody done it before but everybody should know better. Guys don't trim their toenails with a buzzsaw, neither. WE'LL damned straight know better after tonight.

He'll give us a break in the floorshow, but it has to include the blacksnake whip. This one's new to us. He passes one around. It's black like the name, longer than the bullwhip, heavier. He says it's heavy because it has lead pellets inside the lash to make it swing harder, hit harder. Says we'll get over it okay, though -- its soft lash won't break the skin or leave scars, it won't bruise the muscles under TOO much. The damage won't keep us from a hard day's work tomorrow. We just won't enjoy it. The nurse-practitioner will check us after, give us an ointment to rub on to reduce the skin damage, make the welts less extreme, so the boss can hit harder tonight n we can work harder tomorrow.

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He tells us that Pete, Darren, n me will cane the Aces n Mr Jackson (the inventory-fraud guys guys that we helped catch -- Chapter 5). Luke n Jamie will hold em down.

He knows Pete n Darren can go hard, but he asks if I know how to. I say I don't know how to go hard, how hard to go, that I've gotten way too used to gettin caned myself, but that today's dozen was my worst since my first time, at the municipal punishment centre, after my first conviction.

'Good question.' He explains that the damage depends on the power behind the swing. Cane for effect -- to punish so hard the guy learns never, ever to come back -- means a whole-body swing, like a baseball slugger drivin the ball outa the park, like we got on the jobsite today. Call that a home run. Wrist action gives the snare drum, like I got while they made blow me him n Doc last weekend (Chapter 2). Mostly a guy gets arm action, maybe shoulder. It hurts bad then and reminds him worse for a couple days after. Folks read on his butt how dumb or hardass the guy is. Sounds like what I got used to with the gladiators. Call that a base hit; not sorry about the sorry pun. Sure not like what I earned today.

A base hit just nails the top layer of the glute muscle. A home run goes into the muscle -- like I felt. Remember how, when you train a muscle, you do just enough damage (the microtears) to make it regrow stronger. That's what you feel two days later. A deep cane cut bruises inside, which means it tears some little blood capillaries, don't just tear the muscle fibres. You need to squeeze the muscles, work 'em hard, right away, to squeeze the bruised places, expand the muscle fibres, limit the damage. That's why we needed to work hard on the job this afternoon, why we needed to race up the scaffolds, needed to run back to base. Why that actually did make it feel better. So did the gym session.

The man says to use the full-body home run on the Aces n Mr Jackson. Follow Pete. 'Sir! Thank you, Sir.'

He grins, asks if I want a demo to understand the difference. 'Sir! Thank you, Sir, but if its okay, Sir, I'll pass.' He grins again. I'll get a pair -- one just shoulder base hit, one full-bore homerun. 'Sir! Yes, Sir!'

I bend, flex, breathe, try to prep, try to focus on anything but my butt. FUCK! That was just the 'easy' shoulder base hit. It cut across every one of today's dozen. I tighten glutes, tighten both hamstrings, jackknife tits into thighs. Not good enough. THAT'S THE ONE! DAMN! I feel my glutes -- they cave under the cane, rebound, fill in the cut, recover their shape. Dick's hard on my abs but he don't shoot. 'Sir! Thank you, Sir!'

He makes my guys the same offer, only for them to try on me. Luke n Jamie are pissed enough at my stunt catching them that they accept. Maybe they would anyway. Darren does too; he likes to cane me (Chapter 1). Pete gets two pair. Six pair -- a pair for the man, a pair for each of MY slaves, two pair for Pete, my overseer, who's a pro. This makes my poor sore ass's second dozen today. Hope the shoulder ones just hurt, don't destroy. 'Sir! Yes, Sir!'

One more time, not the last time, I bend, flex, breathe, try to prep, try to focus on anything but my butt, again, especially tits on quads. I see legs move as the guys take their turns. I hear the limbering swishes, feel n hear the rangin taps, while the man positions himself for the best hit. DAMN! Every one burns across the first dozen. Like the boss's pair. I try to guess which is just shoulder, which is the roundhouse swing, but it all hurts way too fuckin much to do anything but stay down.

When it's over, the boss, tells me to try to stand, slaps my butt to help, says the home run's what I give my Ace tonight. He says, try to stay mad enough to remember. 'Sir! Yes, Sir!' I keep breathin, keep flexin, keep, tryin to focus on anything but my butt. He gives me a tissue to wipe off my spunk.

He says this is my payback for bringin my lead hands n my overseer into this -- at least the start of my payback. He grins at them.

Then he says I need to practise too, get the difference between what I give my Ace tonight and just a routine caning punishment (routine???!!!). 'Darren. Your turn. Six pairs. Get you in the mood for your Ace.'

So my slave Darren, who made the dare I couldn't refuse to race up the ladders, gets into position for me. Too bad I have to do the six base hits just tensing my glutes, can't flex em like in the six home-run swings. I make him count and call which hit. I hope he'll lose count. I wind up for give a solid, shoulder-only base hit. 'Base hit one, Sir!' I pat his butt, tell him he's a good strong slave. Wind up, get in the legs n glutes, full back, shoulders, arm, wrist. It felt good to me. 'Home run one, Sir!' I'm glad I got to practise. Darren's probably not. But his dick's showin proud. Keeps it up all six pair.

I try not to think how weird this must look, one naked slave with an aroused dick n abused butt -- me -- abusing the but of another naked slave with an aroused dick. I help Darren straighten up.

The man slaps our butts, tells me n Darren to do some stretches, squats (deep knee bends), pliometric jumps up from a squat.

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The boss takes me aside. Tells the others to keep Darren movin. Tells me to do squats, no jumps, but come up quick. So the whole time we're talkin. I try to look the boss in the eye while I do deep knee bends. I get into it because they do make me feel better.

Luke has asked him to make Luke look like the rest of us -- skinned or circumcised, name tattoo on left shoulder n dick. He says I'm Luke's owner, so it's my call, but it matters to Luke that he look like the real gladiators, his heroes. He says it'll make us more marketable as a team. Both jobs will happen after our shift tomorrow, so Luke will have the weekend to recover. He says he'll keep the bullwhip n blacksnake off where Luke's name will go. He says Luke's dick can be sore just the one time. The company will pay. He hopes I'll agree.

He reminds me that my dick don't miss its foreskin. That I shoot without even touchin it. That I shot real fine when I fucked him yesterday. I try not to blush.

He asks if I consent. I ask what happens if I don't. He smiles, shows the coiled blacksnake, says that depends on my reason. I try not to flinch, try not to think about my butt already and the rest of me in the floorshow up next, try just to think about what's good for Luke.

What's good for Luke? Takin care of him like I promised his dad means, first, he don't get enslaved for life. He don't get hurt, well, he don't get injured. He n his body get more valuable, not less. It means I keep our family together, me n my slaves. I'm helpin Hardwicke Co make a man of him so when his indenture's up, he'll have a future, not just another unskilled dropout, no skills, no life, worryin his dad, driftin into trouble, maybe gettin enslaved. That's all cool.

I guess I'd expected to keep him lookin foreskinned civilian for when he's free again (freein him will break up our family, but I promised his dad.)

Back with the gladiators, I tried to protect his big brother, Jamie, from gettin skinned. (I wasn't skinned then neither. I'd wanted to stay that way. Losin my foreskin wasn't my idea.) But Jamie wanted so much to look like the other guys (not me, the unskinned freak), he had Darren do it with scrap metal, no antiseptic, no anaesthetic. (That got me caned, 12 of Mike's best, for not canin Jamie, then fully shaved n bareassed for a week.) If Luke wants it, better it gets done safely.

The name tattoos don't bother me, really. Jobs that depend on an untattooed hide probably wouldn't pay much. Actor? Model? Makeup would cover it.

But the free man's foreskin? Mr Hardwicke reminds me that he n Mr Whitmore are skinned. The Army encouraged it, for hygiene. Like what the Royal Canadian Army did to great-granddad, back in 1940. Probably the first ever in his family. The Marines were always on me to do it, but I never . Then the gladiators just took it. I say, okay, but only after I ask Luke.

Mr Hardwicke asks why I don't wear the Marine tattoo -- the eagle, ball, n anchor of the Corps. I had to think. I'd always guessed that was for guys who didn't look or feel enough like a Marine already, the way I always did. I never wanted some weirdo stickin needles into me. Most buff guys' hides look better without the artwork they get after too many beer. Or worse.

He says it could go on my left pec, like most guys, or it could go on my shoulder (medial delt), where the slave 'S' brand would go. That would keep any rogue outfit from brandin me there, to enslave me or just own me. He said to consider it. He said it would make me safer n my overall presentation more marketable. I'll think about it.

He calls Luke over, leaves us alone. Luke says we're his heroes, the gladiators. He wants to be one too, not just some labourin ex-delinquent punk. He really wants to look like one of us, doesn't want to feel left out, feel not good enough. He's been afraid to ask me. (Damn! I scare him more than the Boss does! Maybe I do show attitude.)

I call Mr Hardwicke over, say I agree. 'Great, Steve. Congratulations, Luke.'

He reminds me that Luke will need to sleep alone tomorrow n Saturday nights. I'll bunk with Pete, my trainer n overseer. (The one who gets punished with me because he didn't think to train me not to race up ladders. He'll be sore, mentally n physically, after today n tonight. Damn!) 'Sir! Yes, Sir!'

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Then Mr Hardwicke tells me to check with my guys to see if we REALLY want to stay on after our trial week, especially after today n tonight. Luke n I meet em. I ask. They give me real black looks, slap my butt hard, but agree they do. Luke n Jamie say I'll pay. Darren tries to look invisible.

Jamie grabs my balls, looks me in the eye, says he knows I'm bigger than him, stronger than him, fight dirtier than him. He knows I own him, fought five hard years to earn him, put my own ass on the line for him every day. But if I EVER do ANYTHING this dumb again, he'll rip these balls off n feed em to me. 'You got that, slave?'

He has my balls. He's right. 'Sir! Yes, Sir!'

I tell the man we really will stay. That's the last thing I control tonight.

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Floorshow time. We've used the washroom on the way. No accidents tonight.

We're one of three groups of nervous naked guys standin with our burned butts to the wall in the corner of the lounge while the other guys enjoy their beers n down time. One group is the Aces n Mr Jackson -- the guys that ripped off our company, that we helped catch. The other group is two young guys I might've seen around. We all show cane tracks, fresh today except the two Aces' dozen each that Darren gave em yesterday.

Pete breaks rank to tell the two guys that this is a contest, them versus the man. They win if they take it like men; they win every guy's respect, too, especially the boss's. The boss wins if he breaks em. So tighten your core. Breathe. Flex the big muscles. Stand tall. Look proud (not scared like you are). When you get it, bend from the hips to keep your back straight, straighten one .leg at a time, flex everything.

Me, Pete, n my guys try to brace, look buff, not look scared. Say we'll take it for each other. Hug. Slap butt. I breathe, flex, try to zone. Hope Pete n my guys do too.

The Aces n Mr Jackson have Mr Whitmore, the logistics manager, plus another suit I guess is their owner. We have the overseer who nailed us today; he's still tryin to look stern, not to smile. The other two have an overseer who looks the role -- buff, outdoor worker, older, grim. Plus a suit who's tryin not to smile.

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Mr Hardwicke, the Boss, takes centre stage. The room goes quiet. He says what will happen tonight shouldn't happen. That it will hurt just to watch. That the point isn't just to hurt the guys in the show, though they need to get hurt to learn, to remember. The point of the discipline tonight is like what an overseer does with his quirt -- the quirt doesn't just make a fuckup work; it proves to a good guy that everybody else works as hard as he does. The punishment scene tonight reinforces the rules by provin that everybody follows em. That's why an overseer (points to Pete) and two lead hands (points to Luke n Jamie) will get flogged along with the two dumbasses they were supposed to train, oversee, n lead.

He points out the other two groups -- guys that were trusted but stole -- from their company and their customers.

He points us out, the gladiators. We didn't steal, just played grabass. Says he knew we'd find a way to get back to this position. Guys laugh, sound relieved.

He takes a break while the guys get another beer. Not us. We get some buttslaps, some backslaps, a couple curious hands on my growin dick, while we brace, look straight ahead.

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The bar drops, the bar we bend over or hang onto for support. Mr Hardwicke holds the blacksnake whip, curled up into about a one-foot or 30-cm circle. Overseers stand by with the other implements -- quirts, tawses, canes, floggers, bullwhips. A platform gets rolled in.

The two guys' overseer presents them first. They're apprentices -- electrician, carpenter. They've worked okay until now, well enough to get sent on a renovation crew at a good customer's company. They fucked off just long enough to hit the customer's office liquor stash. Fuck off work. Steal from a customer. Drink on the job. Three major, intentional violations. Y'all know better. He introduces the customer, the suit, watching.

Mr Hardwicke unfurls the blacksnake, cracks it, tells the room it's reserved for intentional violations, like these. It comes after the usual cat or flogger, usual bullwhip.

The two dudes face him. He makes em tell the room what they did, why they got here. He asks if they understand what they did. How that could ruin the company. How drinkin on the job could hurt somebody, especially workin with wiring, power tools. 'Sir! Yes, Sir.' He says another intentional violation gets their sorry asses sold to a labour outfit that burns through slaves He'll flog the hell out of them first, so only a badass buyer would want em. They understand. 'Sir! Yes, Sir.'

Each offence gets a dozen bullwhip, dozen blacksnake, supporting dozen flogger before n after. Their three offences get 18 flogger chest n back, before, 18 bullwhip front n back, 18 blacksnake front n back, finish with 18 flogger front, 18 back. They won't get the usual buttwork first -- six cane per offence, six tawse before n after -- builds up too much tolerance. But they get a makeup cane -- six cuts across the pecs n tits. He suspends a dozen bullwhip lashes, dozen blacksnake, so just two dozen total. But they have to train with the gladiators -- us -- the hardasses that try TOO hard -- for the next week. We n their overseer will report. 'We want these gentlemen back on the job, smarter, workin harder, tomorrow.'

First they move to the platform, maybe a couple feet (60 cm) high. They climb aboard, do a back bend or bridge -- feet on the floor, arms back under their shoulders, chest up. Hard position to get into, hard to hold. Mr Hardwicke n their overseer each take a cane, show the canes to the room. They make the flexin strokes, rangin strokes. They land the first homerun-swing ones across the two guys' pecs n tits. Their noises drown out the impact. Two more. The tops switch positions. They pat the guys' pecs n tits, rub em, pinch a tit, slap a bit. We hear the slaps. Then the next three, real fast. It hurt just to watch. They let the guys chill or flex or shake or whatever before they help them stand.

The guys shuffle under the bar, stand arms wide overhead, holdin it. They don't want to raise their arms, so quirt titbites encourage em. Their overseer n three others, all with floggers, take their positions, one in front of each guy, one in back. 'The first 18, gentlemen.' The overseers put their backs n legs into the guys' chests n backs. The two kids look real miserable but hold on real hard. Maybe they're still drunk. Maybe the endorphins are runnin. Maybe they're too scared to relax. Turns out mine's not the only dick that gets hard while gettin hit hard.

Mr Hardicke faces the guys with his bullwhip, to do their chests. Their overseer stands behind them with another bullwhip. They alternate between the two guys so each gets chest n back at the same time, one pair at a time. 'Just' 12 pairs. Workin the zones that just got the cane n warmup floggers. The guy waitin hears the impact n feels the bar jerk, I remember. They'll remember tonight. They're still hard.

The nurse-practitioner checks them. (He didn't check us Monday; he musta thought us gladiators were just up for it. But we didn't get the blacksnake. Then.) "Continue."

Blacksnake time. Mr Hardwicke's solo. He starts in front, alternates guys' chests six times. The snake makes a horrible sound through the air. Worse when it strikes. We can see the skin tits muscle compress each time, almost like a cane, cuz pecs are shallower than glutes. Overseers behind the guys buttbite n backbite them with quirts to keep em standin, holdin on. The buttbites hit this afternoon's cane tracks; the backbites hit tonight's flogged areas. The guys look n sound horrible too. But they hold on. They're earnin respect. They'll have good journeyman careers with the company. The first six back. The next six front, the next six back -- these are suspended, dependdin on how they work n train with us hardass gladiators.

The nurse-practitioner checks, says they're okay. The guys don't look okay.

Mr Hardwicke n their overseers slap their backs, say they take it like real company men, slap the caned butts too. Says he looks forward to workin with em for a looong time. He looks forward to their trainin with the gladiators. The guys actually straighten up, almost stand proud, look better. Until the four overseers get beck to work with the floggers for the last 18 pairs.

This is tough to watch. Especially knowin we're up next. I still feel half hard. Can't look at the guys with me. The Aces n Mr Jackson look sick.

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The Aces n Mr Jackson go on next. We get to wait through theirs too. Ouch! Except for our walkon role.

Their owner, the owner of Ace Plumbing & Electrical supplies Inc, says Mr Jackson was a trusted manager, a long-time friend. Mr J watched Ace's customers, the builders, developers, contractors. He figured he was smarter. He started buyin some income properties, small apartment blocks. Set up a company. The investigators are still workin out whether Mr Jackson used Ace to help this business.

But then, in the real-estate boom, Mr J bought a property to develop. It was tougher than it looked. It started needin cash 'refunds' from Ace, then some inventory that ripped off Ace and its customers. Like the light fixtures we helped our Mr Whitmore catch. He was gonna repay everybody when it sold big. Sellin Mr Jackson's company n properties will repay some. So will what Hardwicke Co paid for his 'services.' Any extra will go to his wife n family. Auditors ain't figured out how much yet, how long he's indentured.

Mr Hardwicke points to Mr Jackson's shoulder, says it has no 'S' brand, while the two Aces' do. He says he don't need to brand on the shoulder because he brands in the head. He points to me, says even the gladiators didn't brand me because I was a Marine, war hero, before I turned violent sex offender. Lots of our guys are indentures, some to avoid lifetime slavery, some for the opportunity, and indentures can't be branded without their consent. He points to the two apprentices' unmarked shoulders. Customers usually prefer a tradesman who doesn't look or act like a slave. 'Y'all know not to act like a slave -- all except those two sore-assed punks.'

Then the Ace owner introduces the two Aces, his trusted warehouse n delivery crew. Aces never seemed to need much in the way of discipline. So he asked his longtime associate, Mr Whitmore, to get the accomplices -- the driver, the swamper -- caned yesterday. Mr Whitmore points to Darren, says Darren did them REAL well, thanks him -- one of the slaves waitin with me for his own turn. Some guys whistle; some laugh.

The Ace owner continues. Mr Whitmore invited our company to handle the rest of his slaves' discipline. He accepted. So the two Aces will share Mr Jackson's initiation -- n payback.

Mr Hardwicke said they get the full treatment. Butt first. Two dozen tawse. Dozen cane. Too bad they can't get more than two dozen a day. Dozen quirt. Mr Whitmore calls me, Darren, n Pete over. More guys laugh. For sure they laugh at the two dozen canetracks that make it hard for me n Darren' even to walk. Probably laugh at hardass overseer Pete's dozen canetracks. Probably laugh at all our half-hard dicks. Maybe they just laugh at the situation, three naked guys in slave collars with chewed-up butts, waitin for their own turn, flog the Aces.

The bar drops to hip height. We bend the Aces n Mr Jackson over it. Tell em to spread their legs, bend from the hips not the waist, keep the back straight so they can breathe. Remember to breathe. Alternate stretching hamstrings, tense the glutes. They're enough outa shape that just bendin looks like work. They look like they might not know glutes n hamstrings. Luke n Jamie help an overseer hold em down. Pete reminds em to stay down. Any move gets extra cuts. Says it's kewl to swear cuz it motivates us.

Pete, our expert overseer, gets Mr Jackson. Darren gets the big driver. I get the little swamper. We take our positions. The first dozen tawse, warmup. The next dozen tawse will come after the cane, to burn the cane tracks into the guy. I flex my abused glutes, flex my hard-worked body, feel mad. I try that homerun swing I learned on Darren. Feels good to me. They look n sound real unhappy, just from the tawse over the dozen canecuts they already got from Darren. We're gettin warmed up. The Ace targets get warmed up too.

Now the cane. Mr Hardwicks says this gets the full-bore, hit em outa the park. I practise windin up. Range it on my guy. Glad I got to practise on Darren. We begin. I like my first cut. My swamper REALLY doesn't. He takes it as bad as yesterday. Luke holds him down. His yells n curses do motivate me. He tries to kick my balls. That gets him three fast ones, before even the first one registers, while Pete n Darren hold up for me, just slappin their guys' butts. I could grab his balls, hangin down there, but don't. Wonder if I can get the cane on em. YES!

We finish the first set of three with the next two cuts. I watch Pete for timin, for technique. My next two feel even better. For me. I hear, see, feel the cane cut through the flab (the skin won't break). I land the next one just as the skin returns to its original shape, except for the new welt. I lay em at an angle across Darren's welts from yesterday.

Give the guys a break but hold em down. Rub their butts. Slap their butts. Juggle their balls. Check their dicks. My guy's sweatin real hard, breathin real hard. Luke rubs his neck, shoulders. The guy takes another kick. My cane taps his balls, just with an easy wrist, then for real.

Next three. I'm hittin better now. Darren's lucky I didn't know the homerun technique when I rebuilt him (Chapter 1). I'm lucky he didn't, when he started winnin races. My guy's real ragged.

Nurse-practitioner checks the guys' pulse, says it's fast but normal for this scene. He checks their butts. The guys look n feel normal, for this scene. 'Continue.' The guys look as ragged as they should, guys that don't even usually even bend over like this. Guys that knew they were too smart to get caught.

Next three, last three. I'm swingin n hittin REAL good. My guy n his butt look real bad. Final dozen tawse, just as hard, catch all two dozen cane welts.

Time for the guys to try to stand up. We help em stand, stretch. Their dicks had gone scared-soft, but they're comin back up. We five walk em to the toilet. Guys in the room whistle. We make sure our charges piss, like they really need to now. So do we. Walk em back for their upper-body workout.

We return to our corner to wait. I try to stay ready, limber.

They get the full bore -- three dozen flogger, three dozen bullwhip, three dozen blacksnake, three dozen flogger, half front, half back -- none suspended. Whether they get another round depends on how well they train up, how well they work, how well they cooperate with the investigators. I can barely watch and really don't remember. It wasn't anything like the apprentices fightin the man for respect. We're next.

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Our turn. We face the room. Mr Hardwicke reminds the guys that we're the gladiators, the hardasses that need to learn how to do an honest day's work. He says to stand on the platform, bend forward but not all the way down, show the guys how hardass we are. Do the same facin the other side.

Standin on the platform, we each say what we did to get here. I took a dare to race up the scaffold ladders and won; I half-jumped on the way down to win again. Darren dared me and lost. Luke, Jamie say they were lead hands but headed off to lunch but didn't lead their dumbass rookies. Pete was the trainer n overseer who did'nt train n oversee enough. All the guys know Pete the overseer, the pro.

Mr Hardwicke asks the guys what they think. They laugh, clap, hoot, whistle. He asks the guys what should happen to us. 'Flog em. Hard.' Right. more claps, more laughs.

We have three violations -- safety (the climb), rule-breaking, orders (grabass, didn't clear the site for lunch). But he gives us a break, us hardass competitors.

We're braced on the platform. He asks me, 'What's 'Drop-three-zero'?'

'Sir! 30 pushups, now, Sir.'

Right. This is special, though, so it's the three dozen, like the bullwhip. We get a cane stroke for every pushup short of 36 in one minute. Minimum six on the chest, like the two apprentices. No tawse, but the shortage plus the minimum six all on the chest.

He reminds me of the pullups or chinups he challenged me to in my interview Monday, the contest that let me bullwhip him (Chapter 3). I did 15 then. So the test is 18. One set -- one flogger, one bullwhip, one blacksnake, one flogger -- for every pullup short of the 18 in one minute. Plus a minimum six blacksnake front.

Pushup time on the platform. We each have an overseer -- touch my chest to his hand for the rep to count. I touch my chest to his hand every time. I have a trainer too, to keep me motivated, like in the gym. The trainer asks what I want -- quirt, tawse, cane -- to help. I say cane butt, tawse lats. He slaps my butt. I say, "Sir! Thank you, Sir!" He pats it.

Showtime. I raise my hips so my chest touches, not my dick. I call my 'One, Sir!', 'Two, sir!', don't remember but must have kept though to 'Sir! 36, Sir.' My butt n back hurt from the encouragement but I feel good. My counter pats my butt, says good job, all good reps. Probably got more than the dozen cane cuts, but it was worth it, to win the man's contest.

Some of our guys guys don't make the 36, at least not 36 good reps. Pete's short seven. Not sure about the other guys, but Pete looks REAL mean about the 13 cane cuts his tits are gonna wear.

Bridge, present tits. Hold position or start over. I get through my GOD_DAMNED_AWFUL six. Number one -- why don't he just bite the tits off? The cane there bites just like the cane on the butt, but the tits ain't built to take this -- why it works. Pecs are thinner than glutes, too, especially around the tits, so it feels like the first stroke cuts all the way to the bone. FIVE MORE! Holdin the bridge helps, though, firin the pecs, delts, core, glutes, legs, arms, fuckin toes -- all them muscles. I enjoy the bridge, not the fireworks. I remember doin a couple back pushups -- probably got me a warnin, maybe extra cuts, but it helped. The man pats my chest, says relax, down. My butt hurts when it hits the platform. I scramble to my feet quick. My man pats my chest, slaps my tits, slaps my butt. Both heads show proud to win another contest with the man. Didn't think I shot yet. The spunk I'll find on my chest says I did.

I heard somebody start over. Poor bastards. One poor bastard's my overseer, Pete. Three of em are MY bastards but two are my lead hands. They'll all be sore, lookin to make me REAL sore. Fun night, fun weekend comin.

The man says to do some squats n jumps.

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Upper-body workout. We take our positions on the overhead bar. Hands wider than shoulder, just enough to keep the lats flat. Trainer with quirt for titbites in front, overseer with tawse n cane behind. Count the 18 pulllups. Go!

I call my 'One, Sir!', 'Two, sir!', don't remember but must have kept thouugh to 'Sir! 20, Sir.' My trainer in front, my overseer in back, both say GREAT job, slap my butt, chest, back. Tell me to let go. Rub my shoulders, biceps. I hurt but feel good. Don't know what the other guys did, what they'll get, hope they're okay too.

Now my blacksnake, plus whatever the guys who did fewer pullups get. I don't remember who got what flogger, what bullwhip, what blacksnake. Mr Hardwicke did say Luke would get his gladiator tattoo tomorrow, so he'd get his normal front whippin but get back bullwhip n blacksnake whip on his butt.

I really remember my six blacksnake. The man offered a flogger warmup, said it would help. I accepted. Six front. The flogger fired everything in n out that wasn't already fired. Now the snake. FUCK! 'One, Sir! Thank you, Sir!' Don't just bite. Digs like the fuckin cane, digs as deep but wraps better, extends farther. I think I held a pullup for the last five. He asked if I needed six back, to match. I was so high, felt so weird, I said I did. Endorphin rush -- runner's high. Flogger first, again. Then the six snakebites. EACH ONE BURNS IN! I held the pullup, shot again. No idea what I yelled. He finished with a couple on my well-caned butt. Maybe I shot then too. Held the pullup for wrap-up flogger front n back. Did some pullups. It took the cane to make me let go. I dropped for pushups -- clapped my hands on each 'up.'

I won my contest with the man. But I sure won't race on the job again. And I'll be real sore -- all that work today, plus pushups, bridge, pullups, all the hits I took -- especially after the endorphins wear off later.

============

The other guys look real chewed up. Butt from before, chest n back from the scene just now. They look real sore, real pissed. I'm gonna pay. But just now I'm real proud. Me n my slaves beat The Man at his game while he beat us.

I think the guys in the room got another beer, to celebrate. I know they clapped, gathered round, slapped butt n back n chest, squeezed butt, grabbed balls n dick. Respect shouldn't hurt so much. We got a lotion to rub into the abused places, the welts, after a cold shower. But first Mr H sent us all on a barefoot, bareass run around the compound. He sent an overseer with a bullwhip to keep us movin. We stay under the streetlights so the overseer can spot his targets. Now my feet hurt too, but the run felt good, feels good. We stay together, finish together.

============

Looong cold shower. I'm finally back at the cell I share with Luke. He calls Darren n Jamie in too, told em to close the door. Luke pulls a package out from under our bed -- my trainer's tawse, my owner's cane that Pete had delivered our first mornin here. Luke offered Jamie his pick to use on me first -- the cane. Luke said Pete said not to sweat the noise. He'll do Jamie's partner, Darren. Jamie will do me.

I jackknife again. Fuck! Don't know how many, but Jamie was learnin that roundhouse swing. He moves down onto my hamstrings to get fresh meat. No idea how many, but EACH ONE BITES! EACH ONE HURTS! Deep. Bites the skin first, then the muscle. Both hurt when they rebound. Just when the next one hits. Jamie n Luke switch implements. I stay jackknifed -- abused tits feel weird against hard quads. The tawse worked all the caned places on my butt, my thighs, my upper back.

The impact stops. They stand me n Darren up. Look us in the eye. Grab our balls. 'Punishment fuck,' Jamie says. 'I get Steve. Luke gets Darren.' They take us side by side, doggy-style, punch past my butchered butt, punch deep n hard inside. This fuck WAS punishment, like when Jason took me back at the gladiators. Don't know if I shot. Now I hurt all over, in and out.

After what seemed like forever, Luke sends the other two back to their cell. When we lie down n he spoons me, though, I feel his abused hide n hard muscle on mine, his arms feel good around me, his hands feel good on my tits, his dick feels good in my hole. FUCK! I feel comfortable, secure! My chain collar feels good when he jerks it.

He says he loves me! Weird fuckin way to show it. He loves me like a big brother. (I never loved my big brother this way. He'da killed me.) 'I love you too, punk.'

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Wolf