Sgt. Colt Cipriano hung sweating in the brick cell; alone, now, for well over twenty-four hours…seemed like a fucking eternity. His lean, hairy body twisted in the still air, self-consciously naked at his captor’s laughing whim. Colt felt the short hairs prickle with humiliated discomfort along the muscular ridges of chest and hard abdominals, dark patch of wiry pubes, and even the silky tuft at the base of his dangling balls. Wishing that at least one of his buddies was there- despite the shame of being strung up nude- to somehow talk past the gathering fear…but the ragheads knew all about that sort of thing and that’s why, after the initial cat-calls, guttural grunts of obvious admiration and rough, assessing caresses of the young soldier’s hard physique, he was left alone to twist in the thick air…to think about things, to wonder in the hammering silence, over and over again, what are they gonna do to me?
He was an Iberian Barcid, and a member of the royal house, with the rich blood of Carthage running through his veins; pedigreed for nearly a millennium. For all of that, the catastrophic aftermath of the Second Punic War robbed him of his heritage and the pedigree became a curse.
The handsome young Barcid fetched an astronomical sum when brought to market; the combined pack animal, high-end status symbol…and…plaything of the obscenely rich patrician able to afford the asking price. His anger smoldered like banked coals- remembering all that he had been, recollecting what he had become- and the blood of squealing Romans filled his dreams at night. His new master guessed it all and approved; a true connoisseur, he appreciated the challenge of training such a spirited young buck.
New prisoners were thoroughly examined and relevant physical statistics duly recorded on the first afternoon of their incarceration. The experience, which began with a nude weigh-in, though quite lengthy and callously invasive, was, nevertheless, considered essential by the state law enforcement agencies…and, an often-noted beneficial side effect, was the marked improvement, afterward, in many a cocky young convict’s attitude.
The cops reckon it’s good policy to take a young prisoner, randomly selected, out in the yard on a regular basis- doesn’t make any difference if he deserves it or not- strip him down and fit him to the frame. The other inmates get an eyeful and, as the proceedings commence, an earful; doesn’t matter how tough the young stud thinks he is- being naked in the frame and then tasting the lash always ends up with the same response, some sooner, some later…
At any rate, the cops also enjoy the fine sight of yet another buck made into a good example.
The old farmer ran a brutal operation, but times were hard. Down South in the mid-50’s saw no shortage of strapping bucks drifting from shimmering field to field in the summer heat.
He fucked up making out one night with the old man’s daughter. Girls kiss and tell and, well, next morning found him nearly pissing himself trying to explain things. No use, the boss wasn’t in a reasoning mood. The blubbering girl sat to the side but watched, nevertheless, as the young stud was ordered to strip to the waist and loosen his work pants. Daddy noticed and backhanded the dim witted thing, banishing her to the porch.
‘You wait here, boy! Gotta fetch me some rope, a strap and maybe a couple other things… Billy!’ he yelled to one of the loiterers out in the drive. ‘Go fetch the other hands and bring ’em over here. Gonna make an example of this one’
Head down, heart hammering, he waited as long minutes ticked by slow as tar pooling at the base of a telephone pole.
‘Hey, man…I, uh, feel really weird. Yeah, sort of fuzzy around the edges, if you get what I mean? You…put something in my beer?! I…I don’t,’ he tries to rise from the table in order to leave, but leans drowsily forward instead, ‘don’t…understand…why?
That priceless moment of realization- the beer, generously offered by a complete stranger, was drugged…
Corporal Jim Tanner had fucked up once too often. A man’s man, he liked nothing more than carousing off base, maybe scoring some pussy, and usually landing himself in a bare-knuckle brawl. Sprawled in the brig with heavy shackles weighting ankles and wrists, he waited, barefoot, stripped to the waist, and with his worn khakis opened at the fly, for the commencement of his sentence; fifty lashes strung up buck naked on the parade ground followed by a month under lock up. Though he tried not to show it, the handsome young corporal was scared shitless.
The door to his cell swung wide and the MP barked, ‘On your feet, soldier, and strip down- NOW!’ The military cop grinned wickedly, ‘You got yourself an appointment with a hungry coil of braided leather and there’s already a big crowd anxious for the show to commence.’ Jim Tanner slowly stood on suddenly rubbery legs and, swallowing hard, removed the rest of his clothing before being escorted into the glaring sunlight of the parade ground.