Stories of Tie Up Games

Well, let's hope it goes the way you want it to. Or do such offenders deserve the worst?

Xtc wrote: 1 year ago Well, let's hope it goes the way you want it to. Or do such offenders deserve the worst?

I mean I hope "eventually" Patrick gets released but I don't specifically have an end time in mind. Though honestly it's really hard for me to want the worse, even for fiction. I believe almost everyone deserves a one time screw up before throwing more harsh sentences at them. What Patrick did wasn't the worse thing anyone could have done, so does he really deserve the worse? I mean with these rules, it's already pretty strict. I guess if Patrick would have bullied or hurt someone or stolen something, it would be more fitting for the escalation. But at the very least from this, he should have learned a valuable lesson and hopefully will live a better life. But as I said previously, in a society like this, I would assume they'll be keeping an eye on him for a good while after release and one false move, back to jail. But what happens here is not in my control, now is it

It's been a little different from what I normally read here (with the more brutal beatings) but its been an interesting read!

It's a question of "sort the little things and then the larger tings won't occur"

Yes, I did warn people right up front that it's not like the kind of light-hearted stories I usually write. Shall we say it lacks the 'game' element of TuGs?

I have to wonder what the dynamic will be between Patrick and Jeremy after Patrick's eventual release. Jeremy is obviously distraught, and needs those reminders to look after himself, and was seemingly the sub in the relationship pre-incarceration, given how this story opened. However, Patrick has spent quite a time on the receiving end of bondage, punishment, and submission. Will he remain quite as subservient to Jeremy once released?

My horrible suspicion is that Jeremy will end up going in just as Patrick gets out. Whether or not he then immediately commits another infraction is unclear...

Surely you are not suggesting that we have a household of habitual criminals just to sustain the story ?
Surely not ?

The two Corporals went about their business. The strap drawing the youths' necks towards the pole was first unbuckled and then re-buckled again but only around the stake and the darker boy's neck. Judging from his reaction, he seemed to think it was too tight. No one seemed to have much sympathy and the disingenuous cries of, "Aaaah", usually preceded, "What a shame". Some of the younger spectators were obviously set to pelt the bully with what remained of their ammunition until a stern look from the Transport Corporal made them think again. Hitting one of the public servants by mistake would not have presaged a good afternoon for whoever launched the offending missile.

The Corporals returned to their work. The Transport Corporal unlocked the cuffs of the smaller, pale-skinned boy with a resultant squeal that could clearly be heard in spite of the bit. Finally, Bobby, as his supporters were calling him, got relief from being stretched upright. In contrast to the bully, the smaller boy was receiving a level of support and comfort from all but the more brainless young spectators. His misdemeanour was obviously not one of those that the majority of the youth would condemn. Before Bobby could do anything towards loosening his shoulder joints, the Duty Corporal threaded a leather strap through the d-rings on his cuffs, looped the strap over his head and buckled it under his chin. The boy ended with one hand on each side of his neck but in very little danger of being strangled.

The broad strap pulling the youths together at the waist was unbuckled and tightened rather more than was strictly necessary round only the stake and the darker youth's waist. Upon his release from the strap, Bobby immediately fell forwards but the Duty Corporal took him in his arms and protected him from the worst of the impact by helping him quite gently to the ground. The Corporal's calling required him to administer any legally prescribed chastisements but he saw no reason to cause any further distress to a non-violent juvie. His compassion did not, however, extend to words of comfort to the sobbing boy who must have known that his gagged pleas would fall on deaf ears.

Bobby's ankles were freed from the bed of the tumbrel after which the other young offender's legs were strapped into place again before he could bring his feet forwards, and Bobby was lifted to his feet and half marched, half dragged to one of the 450-millimetre square timbers that were swinging slightly and somewhat ponderously in response to the activity on the dais. Having seen juvenile transgressors being punished in the past, although not so frequently recently, Bobby knew exactly what to expect next.

The hefty beam hung from a hook attached to a pulley block wound with strong rope. The base came to within about fifteen centimetres of the floor. It could swing quite freely. Bobby felt his ankles being clamped into to a device that looked like a set of stocks sticking out from the bottom of the beam. He could still stand but, without the assistance of the Transport Corporal, he would probably not have been able to retain his footing for long. Once a long strap had been fastened round both the beam and Bobby's chest just under his armpits, he would at least not be able to fall, especially while his elbows protruded like that. The Duty Corporal then undid the strap holding Bobby's wrists to either side of his neck and slipped it free from the cuffs and then both he and his colleague took an arm a piece and clipped the cuffs to staples at roughly hip level on either side of the massive block of wood. Bobby's arms had been pulled well behind him and were not far from straight. He could hardly move.

One last adjustment was necessary and this always required the careful positioning of another small set of stocks a fixed distance above the head of the occupant of the beam. The Duty Corporal assessed the physique of his subject and fitted one half of the device into one of a series of receptor slots about 40 centimetres above Bobby's head. This device stood farther out from the beam than the one that was currently restraining his ankles and was held in place by two hooks that fitted into eyes in the sides of the beam.

The Duty Corporal gave Bobby a little shove and declared himself satisfied as he struggled to regain stability. He then cut the cable tie from round Bobby's neck and slipped the hood from his head. Then his colleague and he departed to collect their next subject. It was unusual for the Corporals to notice so much support from the assembled crowd for one of their subjects; perhaps he had just made an unfortunate mistake; perhaps his parents just wanted him given a short, sharp shock. Such a thing was not unknown.


All the while the Corporals had been giving Bobby their full attention, some of the young bully's former victims had been letting Curtis, as he was known, know what they thought of him. It was noticeable that, in contrast to Bobby, nobody addressed Connor Curtis by his forename. The Transport Corporal inspected the well-built youth and found only minor bruises and a fair amount of filth adhering to his person but could see no cuts so the Corporals went about their business. They didn't bother to check under the hood.

It probably wasn't really necessary for the Duty Corporal to have pulled the strap round Curtis's neck quite so tight in the process of unbuckling it but his subsequent reaction certainly went down well with his ill-wishers. Once the over-tight waist belt had also been removed, Curtis was still held in a more erect posture than was comfortable by the cross-bar that stopped his bringing his hands down. The Transport Corporal "pulled the plug" on the cross bar and the thug slumped as much as his cuffs allowed. The Duty Corporal threaded the short strap that had recently secured Bobby's hands though the hasp of the padlock holding Curtis's wrist cuffs close together and buckled it none too tightly round both his neck and the metal pole. It was certainly now safe to free his ankles.

The bully's indecipherable protestations and threats had subsided almost immediately bobby had been removed from the stake and had morphed into seemingly heartfelt moaning which continued as his ankles were released. The protestations resumed when the Corporals kicked his legs out from under him so that he slumped even further until he was sitting on the floor of the tumbrel. More repositioning "assistance" was provided by two pairs of boots to his bum, and his head slipped down the pole to within about 40 centimetres from the floor of the tumbrel. The subsequent choking noises proved popular with a number of the spectators. Their gleeful allegations that the Transport Corporal was a spoilsport (and worse) rang out as he removed the pole from its location in the bed of the cart allowing Curtis to collapse completely. He was in no state to resist.

The duty corporal tightened the strap round the well-tanned boy's neck and used it to lift him to his feet. The pale flesh between his tan lines was not nearly covered by the skimpy apron which only just about provided occasional, precarious protection for the teenager's personal equipment but such considerations had vanished from his concerns. He had other things to worry about such as whether either of his official tormentors would take any notice of the growing chanted advice to "drag him by his balls" from his assembled 'fan club'. He became determined to cooperate because he had seen something similar done to a contrary, adult convict in the past.

Curtis managed to avoid being offered the proposed guidance and was soon swaying slightly alongside his erstwhile fellow passenger. Once his hood was removed, he searched the crowd, desperate for a sight of his gang of genuine supporters (or, rather, his enforcers) but he was out of luck, the only faces he could recognise were those of his past victims. It hadn't even dawned him that the only reason most of his posse backed him up was the fear of what he would do to them if they didn't. Their absence, however, wasn't merely cowardice; "friendly advice" had been offered from on high and they had acted upon it.


The Corporals discussed whether they should take a break following their exertions but decided to send for a take-away first. The local Waitrose gave a half-way decent free coffee to any customers who wanted one and the Corporals had an account that they could activate from their tablets. It was time to make use of the youth who was serving his "Community Payback" sentence for minor vandalism.

Being a youth offender the youngster, who had been standing with his ankles shackled alongside the paramedic, hadn't been allowed the baggy shorts of an enslaved adult convict, he had to make do with an apron of the type that Bobby and Curtis were wearing and, with his hands cuffed behind him, he could do very little to adjust it if it became displaced. Not without moving, that was, and moving from the prescribed "feet apart, legs straight" pose would almost certainly earn him an extension to his sentence. He knew he simply had to stand there, chained and with a bit-gag in place facing the crowd waiting until he was called upon to provide some service or other until he was dismissed. He probably hoped that he would get the chance to demonstrate his contrition by carrying out some menial task efficiently so that he would get a good report. He was also desperate to be able to move after having been there for an hour already. "Serviiice!" He heard the Duty Corporal calling him.

He moved. Fast!

His chains hampered his climb up the steps to the platform but he certainly tried to arrive as soon as possible before kneeling in front of where the Corporals had seated themselves comfortably towards the side of the dais. He was certainly eager to please and did his best to look attentive.

The Corporals ignored him until they had finished sending their orders, then the Duty Corporal held out his right hand palm down with index finger extended. He twirled his finger counter-clockwise and the boy shuffled round on his knees to face away from him. The Corporal checked the security of his padded bit, he would not need to be able to say anything, and of the tamper-proof electronic tag round his right ankle. With the tag in place, the chains probably weren't necessary to prevent escape; they were really there to further humiliate the delinquent. The Corporal expressed his satisfaction, freed the youth's wrists and hooked the padlock onto his right cuff. It would not do to keep him cuffed and run the risk of having him spill their coffee, as he explained.

The youngster immediately linked his fingers, raised his hands to the back of his head and forced his elbows back. The Corporals looked on approvingly. "Right, order number . . . ", the Transport Corporal examined his tablet, " . . . TC3May06. Remember that; the person on the service desk will read it to you. Don't bring back the wrong order." That required no reply so the youth remained immobile. "Dismiss."

If he wasn't shackled the boy would not have been so clumsy as he took to his feet but, even so, he moved quickly, even on his way to the ground. He was even given a clear passage though the surrounding spectators with just the odd swat to his unprotected bum to encourage him to further effort. Community Payback in action!


Patrick didn't know whether to hope that the Corporals would wait for their refreshments to arrive before attending to him or not. Alright, he was a bit more than uncomfortable kneeling on the metal surface and he wanted to get things over with, but he still had no idea of the severity of what might lay ahead of him. Then he saw the Duty Corporal approaching and re-threading one of the double layered hoods with a new cable tie. Jeremy's face became even more contorted with concern and pain than it had been previously as he reassured his skinny lover that he would be waiting for him however long it took. His distress was the last thing Patrick noticed before the well-used and far from fragrant hood took his sight away.

Patrick's previous visit to the public scaffold had given him certain expectations of how he was about to be treated but, without either a pillory or a horse evident, he could still only speculate about what might be about to happen. Some of his speculations gave him no comfort at all and others gave him even less!

Patrick felt the Corporals going about their work and he was soon face down on the floor with his ankles still trapped behind the post. Next came about the only act of comfort that Patrick could expect to receive until his release: his mitted hands were freed from the body belt and locked behind him before his elbows were also cuffed close together. At least now Patrick knew that he was not going to be whipped. He groaned slightly. It was not counted against him. It did seem, though, that he was about to be "accommodated" in a very far from pleasant fashion.

The Transport Corporal removed the restraining pole and, even after all his travails, Patrick's not inconsiderable member sprang to almost instant attention as soon as he felt the Duty Corporal's fingers come between his chin and the hood and his knuckles press against his windpipe. Breath play would probably not have the same appeal for him in the future even in Jeremy's loving hands. A further wheezing noise escaped both Patrick's muzzle and his hood followed by a prominent nasal grunt as he was led forwards.

It was only a few steps before the Corporal stopped guiding his priapic charge into place and his colleague used his boots to adjust the position of his feet. Patrick's ankles were clamped immovably about 40 centimetres apart. There was no padding in the ankle clamps which were tight enough to restrain a prisoner securely but not completely constricting round the skinny legs of their current occupant. Patrick knew what effect such restraints had when a convict jerked convulsively against them. He also knew that falling over was to be avoided if he did not want to risk breaking his ankles. Nothing more was done to support him before the young delinquent returned with the Corporals' snack but, once his hood had been removed, Patrick looked up almost involuntarily to see the hook of a block and tackle only a few centimetres above his head. Now he had a very good idea of what he had to look forward to.

I’m caught up and loving this story so far. Hope it gets continued soon

This regime certainly doesn't mess around with their restraints or punishments! I hope Patrick can continue to endure! Not only for his sake, but for Jeremy's!

Why should they mess around? The regime seems to work.

I suppose I have an ironic point to make concerning the type of unpleasant politicians on the "flog'em, hang 'em" side of the political argument.

The young vandal who was serving his Community Payback sentence carried the two brimming coffee cups as carefully as possible, not an easy task while shackled even though they were lidded. The carrier bag containing sandwiches that was looped over his right arm did nothing to help. It was a delicate decision to make: whether to risk being punished for being too slow or to risk spilling the precious fluid. At least this time the spectators let him pass through their ranks free from molestation. Climbing the steps up to the dais was a demanding balancing act but the boy eventually presented himself kneeling with the mugs raised in front of the comfortably seated Corporals.

The waiting blue-uniformed men were offered the mugs from which, after inspecting their repletion, they each took an initial draft and replaced the lids. At least they didn't expect the kneeling youth to continue holding their beverages within easy reaching distance - yet - and placed them on the floor. The Transport Corporal simply pointed to the carrier bag that was now hanging behind the porter's right shoulder where he had carefully positioned it when returning his hands to his head. The Corporal flicked out a finger and made a beckoning gesture and the boy held out the bag. "Open it." The bearer held the bag open with both hands raised and bowed his head. If he could maintain his submissive demeanour and carry out all his tasks with such efficiency, he would surely earn the maximum remission on his sentence.

Two pre-packed sandwiches were withdrawn and consumed in a leisurely manner while the carrier bag remained being held ready for re-use. It was flapping annoyingly against the boy's face but he could do no more about it than he could about the apron that threatened to expose him to public view. At least he hadn't been required to cross his ankles. Tuna/mayo and coronation chicken sandwiches were eventually consumed along with the coffee, and the containers were returned to the proffered bag. Before there were any further instructions, the unfortunate lad suffered the indignity of having the Transport Corporal wiping his hands on his hair. "You know, I wish Waitrose would supply napkins." In spite of the look of frustration, the youngster managed to hold it together.

"Stand up. Turn around." The lad did so and pre-emptively presented his hands behind him. The Duty Corporal padlocked his cuffs closely together leaving the plastic bag flapping against his legs. "Go back to your place. Hold onto the rubbish." The delinquent, who had obviously been serving his sentence outside, was deeply tanned and the humiliating "uniform" had left no tan-lines. He rushed, as much as safety would allow, down the steps to stand once more beside the paramedic who risked a sideways glance, a smile and what he hoped was an encouraging wink in the lad's direction. The boy returned a shy smile before both convicts faced the crowd again.





All good things must come to an end and it was time for the Corporals to get back to work. Bobby was to be the first of their subjects to receive closer attention. The massive beams are quite versatile devices for the torment of the young but they are weighty enough to require the use of a mechanised pulley system to manipulate them efficiently. The Duty Corporal checked the positions of a couple of strong trestles that were positioned securely behind the beam to which Bobby had been secured and which was swaying slightly but in an unnerving manner. Then, while his colleague positioned himself beside the beam, he went over to the controller of the hoist and chose "Station 4". As he pressed the button, the beam with Bobby attached started lowering. Bobby panicked. The Transport Corporal shoved the top of the beam backwards. That at least had the advantage, as far as Bobby was concerned, of lifting his feet from the floor instead of letting the stocks securing his ankles bear down on them with the full weight of the timber.

The top of the hefty beam gradually lowered and, as it did so, the timber slid noisily along the nearer trestle until it came to rest and the heavily breathing boy looked as though he was some sort of sacrifice secured to a wooden altar. By that stage, even though he knew what was likely to happen to him soon, he was almost relieved when his wooden tormentor came to rest. Teenager or not, Bobby was sobbing noticeably. The experienced Corporals knew they would have to monitor their charge carefully; a minor misdemeanour certainly did not warrant a delinquent's having to choke to death.

The Corporals waited. Bobby gradually calmed down. The Corporals saw no need to summon the paramedic. They waited a bit longer. The Duty Corporal looked into Bobby's face, tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. Bobby understood. He screwed up his eyes and nodded slightly. It was better to get things over and, if he had not acknowledged the un-vocalised question, he might have simply been left lying there until his two fellow wrong-doers had been chastised and, perhaps, even longer. He might even have been hoisted upright again which would involve another unnerving laying out later.

Now was not the time for Bobby to try to control his sobbing.

Seeing the Duty Corporal move away from where Bobby was frantically trying to control his breathing, the younger members in the crowd initiated the customary chant of "Open the box, open the box, . . ." This was becoming a ritual whenever the young were gathered to witness public chastisements, even among those who had previously been on the receiving end. No matter how trivial the offence, correct form had to be observed. The Corporal unlocked the lid of a metal case that was built into the dais. As he swung the lid open, concerted raised voices made mock straining noises.

The Corporal reached into the case accompanied by an expectant, "Oooooh" from the unpleasant quarter of the assembly only for it to be followed by a disappointed, "Ahhhhh" when they saw what he had withdrawn. They didn't approve of the lath, it seemed that Bobby was going to get off lightly. The Corporal placed the instrument carefully across the beam on which Bobby was lying. He caught only the briefest glimpse of it but, if he had not been in such distress, the sound of a disappointed crowd should have given him the hint that he was not going to be put through the severest of the torments available to the State.

The younger spectators cheered up a bit when the Corporal returned to the chest and reached in again. "Ooooooh", was followed this time by an aspirated, "Fwoaaaar". That was more like it. The Duty corporal set the thing down in front of Curtis where he could see it easily. A certain element of the congregation cheered. They really didn't like Curtis.

Patrick was dreading what might be withdrawn from the box of torments next but the Duty Corporal seemed to have forgotten that there was a third convict in need of his attention, an adult one who was expecting more severe treatment than could be meted out to any juvenile delinquent. The uncertainty certainly added to his trepidation. The Corporal closed the chest and locked it. Patrick assumed the worst.





Without explanation, the Duty Corporal removed the top section from the stocks that were retaining Bobby's ankles while his colleague restrained his legs. Bobby knew better than to resist while his feet were raised and his body folded until his toes touched the beam behind his head and his shins sat in the fixed part of the pre-positioned stocks. Bobby's legs were soon efficiently clamped into place leaving him doubled up with his backside humiliatingly displayed and leaving not only his buttocks but also the backs of his legs completely vulnerable to whatever corporal punishment had been decreed for him. Needless to say, he had not been told.

Being doubled up in the way he was, Bobby could get no real sight of what was happening to him as the Duty Corporal went about is work. The lath was a length of thin, oiled wood, the flexibility of which rendered it quite whippy. It was about 70 centimetres long and no more than four centimetres wide with a padded handle at one end by which the Corporal wielded what was probably the least vicious of the instruments of chastisement available to him. It was more humiliating than agonising and was very unlikely to leave permanent marks, but it still stung mightily when applied skilfully - and this guy was a master of his craft.

The Transport Corporal checked his tablet to confirm the sentence and showed it to his oppo who nodded in a cursory manner. The number of strokes was prescribed but he could exercise some discretion over the way they were administered. Taking Bobby's offence into account, he made a judgement call.

Bobby yelped as he felt the stinging sensation to the thickest part of his calves. The lath made an alarming noise of its own as it made contact with pale flesh. The Corporal was, as is normal, going to administer the instrument from alternative sides of his subject so Bobby was left in anticipation as he moved round to the other side of the beam. Another stinging report elicited a rather less sharp yelp from the recumbent delinquent. The next stroke was to Bobby's thighs and so did not require the Corporal to reposition himself very much. One more blow to his thighs caused Bobby to start breathing rapidly and shallowly. The combination of rapid breathing and being folded quite strictly, rendered any further yelping difficult to say the least.

Bobby might well have been treated leniently but he certainly wouldn't volunteer for a repeat of the procedure. His watching parents thought he might have learned his lesson by that stage; at least they hoped so. He wasn't such a bad kid but they did not want him to go off the rails and so didn't appeal against his sentence. Unlike Bobby, they knew there was more to come.

The next blow did not come as a surprise to the recipient as it landed squarely on his buttocks. By now Bobby's sobbing had subsided but his restricted breathing was still noticeably strained. The Corporal moved around the beam and delivered a further blow to Bobby's reddening backside. The livid red stripes left by the instrument demonstrated the expertise of the man who wielded it: there were only three marks. Bobby waited in anticipation of further lashes. As has been said elsewhere: the Corporals did not usually make their subjects suffer any more than their offences warranted and, with a minor delinquent such as Bobby, the Duty Corporal thought he had served his sentence once he had received the prescribed number of strokes without needing to experience any further delay. He muttered surreptitiously, "That's it. Won't be long now."

Bobby felt his feet being released and he immediately unravelled against the beam almost involuntarily. Bad move. He yelped again and bit down onto his gag as his arse and the backs of his legs came into contact with the beam. He quickly raised his knees while the Transport Corporal freed his torso. The two Corporals worked in consort not simply to release Bobby's cuffs from the side of the beam but to unlock the cuffs themselves. Bobby dared to hope.

As the youth's hands immediately flew to make sure he was covered up, the Transport corporal released the bit that had done very little to mute its wearer's sounds of anguish. Bobby looked from one uniform to the other. There was one formal announcement he was desperate to hear.

"You have been chastised. You have paid your debt. You are free to go." Bobby did not need telling twice.

After a stumbling start Bobby made his way to the ground where not only his parents but even a few of his friends were waiting to receive him. Some of the waiting youngsters placed their hands on his shoulder as he passed them on the way into his mother's waiting arms. They knew he would not want to look them in the face. His father had brought a long coat with him which he wrapped round his son's shoulders as he made his tearful apologies to his parents. They thought he had probably learnt his lesson and his mother finished covering him up and walked him gently away from the scene of his recent torment.

The Corporal restored the lath to the metal case. Most of Bobby's friends and a large number of others thought they would stay. There was certainly more entertainment to come.

With all that's happened in this story, indeed Bobby got off easy. I think it's more torturous to leave us readers waiting for what is to come

Red86 wrote: 1 year ago With all that's happened in this story, indeed Bobby got off easy. I think it's more torturous to leave us readers waiting for what is to come

I hope Bobby appreciates just how lenient his punishment was compared to our poor protagonist!

As long as he doesn't believe it was his right, I suppose.

Connor Curtis was next on the Corporals' list. He must have been slow on the uptake because he was still giving it some through his gag and he was obviously already not going to be treated as leniently as his erstwhile fellow juvenile delinquent. These public chastisements were not like the old-fashioned school canings which could almost be treated like a rite of passage and even be worn as a badge of pride by the youthful "hard men" of the community. They were always deeply humiliating and often very painful although youthful transgressors were seldom left with permanent scars. Violent offenders could not, however, always rely upon that last aspect.

Curtis's "fan club" had various suggestions as to what they would like to see happen. Many of his past victims seemed to be present. They were even making representations to the Corporals that the instrument they had chosen was nowhere near severe enough and that nothing less than the rod would be appropriate. Curtis looked down at the cane lying on the dais in front of him. He was not impressed.

The cane was a piece of rattan shaped like a walking stick for reasons of tradition. It was somewhat thicker than the rod and considerably lighter. It was, though, very whippy and conformed unpleasantly to whatever part of the body with which it came into contact. Carefully handled, unlike the lath, the tip could also be relied upon to draw a little blood.

Curtis was lowered into place and the Corporals were not being complimented. It was like water off a duck's back and all the gagged threats were completely impotent. The more comprehensible ones raised sarcastic "Oooo" sounds from his assembled victims. The thug even persisted in struggling against his restraints. As I said, he seemed to be a bit slow on the uptake.

As before, the Corporals checked the official sentence and entered into quiet, private concourse. Following much conspiratorial nodding, the Duty Corporal picked up the cane and gave it a few intimidatory swishes. It was only then that Curtis thought they had forgotten something. He went quiet and tried to raise his head from the beam.

The Duty Corporal had taken up a position at the foot of the beam and it was only then that Curtis realised what some of the discussion must have been about. The intense pain in the soles of his feet and the concerted, "Yesss!" from his assembled victims shocked Curtis into a sudden realisation of his actual predicament. With the second blow, Curtis still almost out-volumed the celebrating youngsters. The Corporal was in no hurry but the next two blows eventually seemed to require more inhalation than exhalation from the shocked delinquent. He wasn't so cocky now; he'd been publicly chastised previously but not like that. It even sounded as though his violence of the tongue had moderated to a somewhat pathetic whimpering noise as he repeatedly shook his head.

After he had allowed Curtis a time for contemplation, the corporal folded his arms without relinquishing the stick and approached to within the quivering bully's vision. This time, when he tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, the response was different. The kid continued whimpering and shaking his head. The crowd jeered. The Corporals took their time.

After allowing their subject a few more minutes to contemplate his imminent fate, he was folded into the customary position to receive the more conventional style of chastisement. The stocks that held his feet above his head seemed to have been positioned in such a way as to have pulled him much tighter than Bobby had been stretched. Curtis was capable of hardly any voluntary movement. The Corporals left him to "relax a bit" and sat enjoying a few minutes pleasant conversation.


All the while the youth offenders were being addressed, Patrick had not much more to do than to feel the stresses on his bound person and to ensure that he did not fall over. Well, not much more than that - other than to anticipate the use to which the scaffold might be put once the Corporals had finished with Curtis. His shoulders felt like thy were being wrenched out of their sockets as his skinny chest was being forced to ape the prominence of a randy wood pigeon's breast. His legs were stressed, the clamps dug painfully into them just above his prominent ankle bones, and he was far from sure that he would be able to maintain his bizarre posture for much longer. The thought of the alternative, though, did not bear thinking about. The purpose of the pose at that stage was just that: to inculcate insecurity, fear even, in the mind of the sufferer as well as causing pain. Its other purpose would become clear later but, as far as Patrick was aware, there were still several possible alternative ways in which the Duty Corporal could proceed. Patrick was certainly determined to try not to inconvenience him.


When the Duty Corporal addressed his subject again, he thought he ought to put him on notice before proceeding. Lightly, he tapped the soles of the prisoner's feet with the rattan cane and just massaged them lightly with it. That did the job. Curtis tensed up immediately.

"How many?" The Duty Corporal was just checking. The Transport corporal extended all his fingers and both thumbs once and then made a rude sign. The crowd approved. Connor could not see the gestures.

The duty Corporal thought he would cut down on the amount of walking he needed to do. With so many strokes, he could deliver them in batches. That would also make it easier for him to make sure that several strokes landed in exactly the same place. The first stroke to Curtis's tightly stretched glutes caused him to jerk against his restraints to a greater extent than certain of the crowd had considered possible. The Corporal was obviously really laying it on. The hard man was determined not to cry. With the second stroke his determination subsided somewhat and, when the third blow landed in exactly the same place, it had completely given way. The fourth expertly targeted stroke opened the wound and Curtis was crying as much like a baby as his constricted breathing would allow.

The Corporal took his ease and called for the paramedic. There had obviously been no serious damage done to Curtis but, all the while he was a juvenile who was guilty of what was officially considered to be a minor misdemeanour, even such tiny spots of blood had to be examined.

The paramedic brought his kit with him and donned a latex glove. Even his touch filled Curtis with dread. "Please, Masters, in this slave's opinion, there is no call, at present, for treatment." The paramedic, not the same one as before but an equally skilled practitioner, had become deeply tanned over the duration of his service and his naturally olive coloured skin almost shone wherever the little, baggy shorts had not provided protection.

"Report noted. Stand on observation while punishment continues."

"Please, Masters, should this slave complete his report?"

"No, slave. Just observe the chastisement and complete the report after the convict has received the entire punishment ordained by law."

"Yes, Masters." The paramedic positioned his kit where it would be out of the Corporals' way and from where he would be able to carry out the ordained observation. He adopted the expected feet apart, hands behind his back posture. He knew that, unless he had to provide treatment, he would not have to lodge an official electronic report. He also knew, now that he had been ordered to observe the chastisement, that if he needed to intervene, he would certainly be punished if he did not do so.

The Duty Corporal took up the cane once more and adopted a position on the opposite side of his subject from the previous one. Back-handed strokes would obviously not be as distressing as forehand ones but, as you might have gathered, this guy was a trained professional; he was also ambidextrous.

The fifth stroke merely extended the wheal raised by the first four so did the sixth one, but it also drew blood once more. The paramedic was unmoved. The Corporal decided that even a bully like Curtis didn't deserve to be permanently marked at his age and the next two blows hit an area on his well-padded arse about two centimetres away from the existing wound and parallel to it. Curtis was shaking uncontrollably. He was certainly attempting to plead for mercy now. His former victims were not impressed.

The Corporal decided that it was time for another rest for him and time for Curtis to consider his sins. He beckoned the paramedic to come and examine the boy's minor wounds. Once more, the medic decided that no remediation was required before returning to his station. Judging by the way Curtis jerked under the comparatively gentle touch of the paramedic's latex covered fingers, he looked as though he disagreed.

After about five minutes, the Duty Corporal collected the cane and positioned himself ready to deliver further punishment with his right arm. Curtis's breathing quickened again. The stick cut into his buttocks and raised just a few drops of blood from the extended site of the seventh and eighth strokes. So did the next.

As the Corporal swapped both station and working hand, the paramedic raised his hand and was beckoned forwards to examine the tiny wounds. Even the examination was like torture to Curtis but, once more, no treatment was deemed to be warranted. Curtis still had no idea how many more lashes he would have to endure.

The Corporal made sure that the last two strokes counted and the tiny red spots along the livid blue and yellow bruise seemed to join up like the sort of perforation seen on some cards. The Corporal laid the length of rattan in front of Patrick, took his seat beside his colleague and called the paramedic into action once more.

While the paramedic was applying an astringent to Curtis's somewhat battered and now almost technicolor backside, the Transport Corporal got a message on his tablet. He showed it to the Duty Corporal who raised an eyebrow, pursed his lips and nodded. "Well, no surprise there, then." The Corporals sat back and discussed their next move in the light of the message received.

Poor Patrick, having to witness all this prior to his own unknown upcoming punishment

Also seems as though Curtis's fan club wanted a harsher treatment for him but in the end, he still ended up crying. The old saying "don't do the crime, if you don't wanna do the time" truly fits here.

Thanks for checking in, @Red86 . That, indeed, should be the attitude but I sometimes fear that our Lords and Masters would happily implement such harsh laws for real.

 



Unlike Bobby, Curtis was obviously not going to be released immediately. The message said that it was, "Due to further reliable evidence having been received". That was all the Corporals needed to know. Since the introduction of the Progressive Penal Code with its subsequent public display of even juvenile offenders, not only has there been a significant reduction in crime but witnesses to further offences often come forward once they have recognised the convicted felons. Now the Corporals had to decide how to proceed with him. In fact, the Corporals had to reorganise their routine in general. They seemed to be in no hurry except that the Duty Corporal decreed that they should, “Get the skinny mush ready,” so that he would be "bedded in" by the time his chastisement started.

There were several things to address but the Transport Corporal agreed that it would be best to attend to Patrick first, especially as that didn't involve him in doing any work. He continued to take his ease while the Duty Corporal went to the hoist control and selected "Station 1". Patrick saw the hook descending.

Without explanation the Duty Corporal inserted the hook into the hasp of the padlock connecting Patrick's wrist cuffs and returned to the controller. Patrick felt his arms being raised uncomfortably as he was forced to bend forwards. As the hoist continued to rise, the discomfort morphed into worse pain than that being caused by the ball that was stressing Patrick's jaws. At least he could not yet feel his ankle bones being forced up against the clamps. The Corporal watched his subject carefully; just a few more inches. Patrick's scream was only just discernible as it escaped his nose. The corporal saw the skinny young man's ankles start to ascend. He lowered the hoist almost imperceptibly.

Just before that, Jeremy's anguished cry outdid his muzzled lover for volume. Patrick could no longer raise his head sufficiently to look him in the eye without discomfort. That in itself was a mixed blessing because there was little consolation to be derived from witnessing Jeremy's evident distress that his treatment was causing him. At least he had stood by him for all the while he had been incarcerated.

The Corporal grabbed Patrick's cuffs and gave them a small shake. This time, Patrick's groan was rendered completely inaudible to anybody but the Corporal who seemed to be satisfied with Patrick's predicament. He went to sit next to his colleague.


Next on the order of service could have been to attend to Curtis, who was still doubled up on the beam, or to decide what they needed to do about the youth who was on Community Payback or the draught beast, who would not be needed any more but who could probably have been usefully employed elsewhere. Obviously, the paramedic who, having completed his report, had returned to his allotted place on the ground facing the crowd, would have to be retained in case Patrick needed medical attention either during his official chastisement or immediately afterwards, so that was one decision that was not in their remit.

The Corporals decided that Curtis could wait.

The draught beast had not been on his knees for long enough to be in serious need of relief so the youngest members of the assembled crowd were not going to get their chance to play on the tumbrel that afternoon but the unfortunate convict was still going to get very little relief from his torments. The Corporals decided to kill two birds with one stone.

The Transport Corporal detached the tumbrel from the dais and tapped the draught beast on the shoulder. He rose clumsily from his knees and, while the Corporal was making suitable adjustments, he took some surreptitious steps on the spot in an attempt to loosen up. The Corporal did not stop him but he did call, "Seeer-vice!"

The Community Payback boy ran as fast as his shackled ankles would allow and presented himself kneeling before the corporal whilst still holding onto the carrier bag containing the remains of the Corporals' lunch. Any of the waiting crowd could have relieved him of his annoying encumbrance and deposited it in a nearby litter bin but nobody had bothered to do so therefore he would simply have to put up with it swinging against the backs of his legs whenever he moved.

The Transport Corporal ensured that the youth knew where the stables were and told him that he was to make sure that the draught beast got there. He did not bother attempting to speak to the hooded criminal. No one ever seemed to do so in public once such a draught beast had completed his training.

The Corporal shortened the reins and fastened them together before telling the young vandal to stand and putting the knotted reins into his hands. The lad was warned not to relinquish them unless it was to the Official Ostler and the Corporal moved the lad forwards to take the slack out of the reins. The draught beast did not know whether to start moving or not but, as he felt no further strain on his bit, he stood his ground. The Corporal released the cord that connected the draught beast to the tumbrel by his testicles, the convict's relief, however, was short lived as he felt his scrotum pulled forwards. Wanting to stay connected to his ball-sac, he took a step forwards. The Corporal gave him a sharp back-hander to the gut and pulled upwards on the cord - hard!

The draught beast squealed past his bit. The Corporal released the tension on the slave's tackle. He doubled up but he did take the hint! The Corporal continued his task. He hooked his finger under the strap that anchored the hood under the wheezing man's chin until he was upright again and gave him a reminder of how he was expected to behave that left a noticeable palm mark above his waist belt. He braced himself and breathed in deeply. The Corporal told the youth to take the slack out of the reins again; the draught beast stood his ground. The Corporal tied a blood bight in the cord just behind the young delinquent's back. He passed the end of the cord round the boy's body and tied it to the bight so that the chord was tight around his waist. It was also quite tight between the two convicts. The draught beast was going to be in considerable distress unless he managed to follow his guide closely. Being completely deprived of sight, that was not going to be easy.

"Boy," the juvenile delinquent looked intently at the Corporal. "Do not run, your charge might fall and you cannot afford that delay. You have only half an hour. Go."

The draught beast followed the direction in which he felt the tension before anything unfortunate could happen.


Having seen the tumbrel party on its way, the Duty Corporal roused himself to deal with Curtis but, before doing so, he decided to check to see how well Patrick was "bedding in". He gently raised his subject’s cuffed wrists just slightly and even the ball and muzzle could not completely obscure the yell. The Corporal made a note to check once more before administering the specified punishment just to make sure that Patrick was sufficiently incapable of any movement that might spoil his aim.

The clamps were now digging into Patrick's ankles in such a way as to cause severe bruising. His legs were cramping from their forced immobility and the over-sized ball inside his muzzle had strained his jaw more than he would have believed possible; when Jeremy and he played, he could keep their much smaller breather gag in all night with very little problem at all. Now it felt as though his jaw was burning. Making those agonies pale into insignificance, though, was the pain in his shoulders and chest. He was well aware of the potential danger of over-rotating his shoulder joints and, with every pained breath he took, he was afraid that he might do just that.

The Corporals both turned their attention to Curtis.


Curtis was to stay. As a youth offender, or at least a youth offender who had not yet been brought before a higher court, he would have to be restrained to a beam. That was the way of things. The beam, however, would have to be immobilised because he would not be taken down from it for some hours and, when he was, it would be by a Guard who would formally re-arrest him.

Never wanting to make life difficult for themselves, the Corporals decided to transfer Curtis to the beam that Bobby had recently vacated and to secure him to that one. The Duty Corporal chose "Station 3" on the controller and the massive beam was raised clear of the dais. The Transport Corporal moved a substantial frame across and secured it under the beam. The beam slotted into it; it was a tight fit but the weight of timber forced it neatly into place leaving the lower stocks about ten centimetres from the floor. The Corporals gave the beam an investigatory shove. It was going nowhere.

When Curtis found his feet freed from the stocks, he just couldn't resist unthinkingly unfolding himself immediately and completely. That hurt. The muscular bully quickly adopted a wrestler's bridge. The Duty Corporal announced, rather too theatrically, that he should probably secure him properly even if only for the next few minutes. Just like most of the assembled spectators, he didn't like bullies. Curtis was soon lying along the beam with his feet secured in the end stocks again. He wasn't finding it easy to raise his tortured backside from the wooden surface.

The Transport Corporal set about re-threading one of the hoods with a new cable tie whilst making sure that Curtis could see clearly what he was doing. Once more, the Corporals seemed to be in no hurry. If it wasn't for the need to complete Patrick's chastisement, they would probably have been even more tardy. Curtis had to put up with being unable to lift his battered bottom from the beam for any length of time and, once he seemed to have given up, the hood was fastened quite tightly round his neck.

Realistically, all the while he was hooded and raised about two metres from the ground, there was no way Curtis could resist successfully during his relocation but the Corporals were intent on going through the full security procedure. As usual, neither officer saw the need to explain anything to their subject who, by then, was sobbing gently.

First, the Transport Corporal cuffed the lad's feet just above where they were clamped using metal cuffs with a very short chain. Double locking was not deemed necessary. Next, both Corporals worked in concert to free the wrist cuffs from the sides of the beam before forcing Curtis to bend forwards so that they could padlock his wrists behind him. By that stage it looked as if he had given up the fight which disappointed the audience somewhat because they wanted to see him suffering more.

The Corporals let go and Curtis managed to control the return of his back to the beam. The stocks were undone and Curtis was pulled up short (literally) when he realised that his ankles had been cuffed so closely together. A frustrated snort preceded his being swung round so that his feet met the floor and he was left sitting sideways on the beam. He whined. The whine was repeated as the tall, muscle monster was hauled to his feet by the cable tie that anchored the hood round his neck and was then prolonged as he was forced to bunny hop blindly to the nearby vertical beam.

The "Hop, bunny. Hop, bunny. Hop . . . ," from the crowd didn't seem to be exactly sympathetic. Even less encouraging were the more vehement exhortations that substituted the word "bastard" for the lagomorph named in the more innocent version of the chant. One over-excited youngster was even seen to receive a clip round the ear from an embarrassed parent who obviously did not approve of the language she was hearing from her offspring. After the initial surprise, the youngster did manage to look sheepish but his parent did not take him home. It would seem that no good will was being enjoyed by Curtis from any generation in the crowd.

Curtis was slammed against the beam and the Duty Corporal adjusted the position of his ankles until they were snugly accommodated in the fixed element of the lower stocks. Then he felt the device being closed round his shins and heard it being locked into place. He could stand easily but his ankles had been completely immobilised. Curtis found himself being pulled forwards by his shoulders causing him to fear for his equilibrium only to be slammed back against the beam again once his wrist cuffs had been separated. While one of the Corporals held him in place, the other locked one cuff to each side of the beam putting an unpleasant strain on his shoulders. Having seen this procedure in the past, Curtis knew that even the slight deviation from the vertical that was open to him would cause even more strain. He was only hoping that the Duty Corporal would decide to bind his chest to the beam. He was out of luck.

The subdued blend of groaning and sobbing that was emanating from the dark hood was doing nothing to melt the hearts of his assembled victims, their friends or families. Even the increasing number of adults who were arriving for the main event of the afternoon were obviously somewhat less than sympathetic and Jeremy did not enjoy a protective posse this time as he tried to reassure the agonised Patrick.

The Duty Corporal removed the stifling hood and examined both convicts. He called to the paramedic. "Baste them".

The paramedic collected a plastic bottle from his stock and ascended to the scaffold. He first addressed Curtis, applying generous amounts of sunblock even between the youth's back and the beam to which he was uncomfortably attached, yes, and even to what was under the apron he was wearing as well. It was perfectly in order for the Corporals to torture the youth but only using the measures ordained by the law; it was completely a different matter, though, to allow him to get sunstroke.

My fear with a society like this one, what's to stop others from coming forward and saying you did something else to extend/increase your punishment, even if not true? Now I do think that punishment for those that would lie, would be a factor should they be caught in a lie but still, I could still see people doing such things. I often wonder how many people come forward IRL on things just trying to collect money or fame....

Xtc wrote: 1 year ago That, indeed, should be the attitude but I sometimes fear that our Lords and Masters would happily implement such harsh laws for real.

Unfortunately I can't respond to that because I'd probably go and break atleast one, if not a few rules on this site. So to air on the side of caution, I'll keep my thoughts to myself.

Ah, but @Red86, you must rememeber that, if he had not been guilty, Patrick had the opportunity to contest the sentence at the time of his arrest. Not to be able to do so would be uncivilised, now wouldn't it? The discovery of Patrick's stash, however would have been almost impossible to contest. You would surely not imply that officers of the law might manufacture evidence?

Xtc wrote: 1 year ago Ah, but @Red86, you must rememeber that, if he had not been guilty, Patrick had the opportunity to contest the sentence at the time of his arrest. Not to be able to do so would be uncivilised, now wouldn't it? The discovery of Patrick's stash, however would have been almost impossible to contest. You would surely not imply that officers of the law might manufacture evidence?

I believe Patrick quickly admitted his guilt to just get it over with because to contest it, would mean a much longer time waiting in jail until the case was heard. Possibly even more serve punishment(s) if convicted. That's one of the flaws in today's laws. Repeat offenders are often just let back out on the streets pending trial, to go commit more crimes, while they throw the book at someone who makes a simple mistake once. Our systems around the world are definitely flawed.

Ha, I dont need to imply anything, it happens IRL. So need I say more? Perhaps in this case (your story), the laws would prevent such things from happing but without transparency with civilians, I wouldn't trust anything at face value.

At the risk of being serious for a minute. the current prison system is crap. Too much recidivism that indicates its lack of effectiveness. And as for the number of remand prisoners . . . .

Red86 wrote: 1 year ago My fear with a society like this one, what's to stop others from coming forward and saying you did something else to extend/increase your punishment, even if not true? Now I do think that punishment for those that would lie, would be a factor should they be caught in a lie but still, I could still see people doing such things. I often wonder how many people come forward IRL on things just trying to collect money or fame....

I suspect that there has to be some sort of punishment for such false reporting/perjury. After all, the system only works if there is societal buy-in. If there is too much abuse of the system by the citizens, too much revenge/lying, the system falls apart. I can only imagine how severe the gags would be for convicted liars and malcontents to the system...

I assure you that there are checks and balances. I understand that perjurers have to suffer the same sentence that those who are or might be wrongly convicted as a result of their perjury have suffered or would have suffered with a little bonus on top.

The paramedic distributed more sunblock across his palms, crouched down and set to work on Patrick's completely rigid legs. That was not too bad and the paramedic tried to put no extra stress on his splayed limbs. Even so, Patrick felt as though he was being played like a fiddle; he was beyond shame as he reacted in the predictable way as the medic's hands worked their way towards the tops of his stringy thighs.

There were even calls from the younger element ranging from the sarcastic, "That’s impressive", to the humiliating "Better than the fat kid", as one of Curtis’s victims chose to term his erstwhile tormentor. Let's face it, an aroused Patrick would be difficult to ignore whereas Curtis had barely managed to hold his loincloth proud of his body for a few seconds.

The paramedic took a deep breath and braced himself to continue. He would have liked to have said something reassuring to Patrick before carrying on but he knew better than to do so and had to hope that his patient would understand. No matter how carefully the medic went about his task, his manipulations were going to put unpleasant demands on Patrick’s tortured frame as he slathered his back and arms with the lotion. The muzzle could not completely contain the resultant squeals.

His task completed, the paramedic was dismissed to stand facing the crowd again and Jeremy tried asking how his lover was likely to be able to hold up to his forthcoming battering. He got no answer, not even a non-committal shrug from the man in the red shorts. It was frustrating but, inwardly, Jeremy knew that making any response would have been very ill-advised. He simply hoped that the Duty Corporal would not drag things out.


In as much as his brain was capable of considering anything other than the pain he was presently in and the even more extreme torments that he was about to have to endure, Patrick was surprised to see that he was looking at a cane. It was a device that was usually deployed on the persons of juvenile offenders; adults usually had to suffer under more severe instruments and Patrick still expected to see it replaced by a carbon fibre rod. The Duty Corporal gave his subject’s posture a final appraisal and decided that it did not require adjustment. Then he picked up the stick.

Patrick waited.

The sound of four booted steps preceded a brief whistling noise as the cane ripped through the air. Then searing pains ripped into most parts of Patrick’s defenceless body. The Corporal’s run up dug the rattan into Patrick’s very spare glutes and the force drove him forwards stressing his over-extended frame even more. Everyone heard the muzzled cry of anguish.

The next four steps followed almost immediately and the skin that was already displaying an incipient bruise split open. Patrick had very little natural protective padding but that which he had was twitching uncontrollably. Not a single part of Patrick’s musculature was not in spasm. The Corporal positioned the cane where Patrick could see it and called for the paramedic.

The paramedic climbed rapidly up to the scaffold and examined his patient by observation. He did not want to manipulate the victim any more than necessary. He turned to face the Duty Corporal. “Please, Master, this slave believes that the bleeding is not excessive but that the prisoner is only fit to receive further chastisement as long as his wrists are lowered. Otherwise, there is a danger of the dislocation of the prisoner’s shoulders.”

Instead of the more customary dismissal, the paramedic was ordered to stay and observe the prisoner carefully in case his intervention was called for. He was also reminded about the consequences of disrupting the chastisement without very good cause. The paramedic stood aside where he could get an unimpeded view and stood straight-legged and with his arms behind him.

The Duty Corporal lowered Patrick’s wrists by no more than about five centimetres. Then he retrieved the cane. Patrick was still incapable of any significant flexion of his limbs.

The Corporals were experienced and well-trained professionals who had a certain level of discretion over how they carried out their duties as long as their decisions were in keeping with the word and the spirit of the law. This one had obviously made some decisions. The cane might not usually have been deemed suitable for the chastisement of an adult but, unlike the sjambok, it could scar its victims and the stripe that Patrick had received was unlikely to heal completely for many months. Whether he should continue to work on that particular wound was a question for the Corporal to answer to his own satisfaction. Patrick heard the boots approaching once more.

The miniscule extent of any extra movement as Patrick jerked against his restraints was not noticeable by the spectators but, in spite of the searing pain in his backside, Patrick seemed to be less stressed by the blow. Was it the relief from having the hoist lowered minimally, was the Corporal just not laying it on as much or was Patrick becoming desensitised to the beating? Patrick didn’t know but he didn’t think he could stand many more blows and started to dread collapsing. He knew that, if he did so, the prognosis for his shoulder joints if he was left there was not encouraging.

Some of the Corporal’s decisions had become apparent to the spectators, not all of whom objected. He was obviously not drawing out the chastisement unnecessarily and had targeted an area somewhat distinct from the original stripe. The fifth blow drove home. Patrick’s breathing wouldn’t even allow him to scream as loudly any more. The carefully targeted sixth blow left a second, neat wound and a prisoner in spasm. The Duty Corporal sat down next to his colleague and called the paramedic to dress both of Patrick’s wounds. Patrick was beyond being able to draw the correct implications from that as his torso oscillated slightly in his bonds.

The paramedic went to his kit, extracted a latex glove and a tube of the usual styptic which he applied as gently as possible. Even after the shock of the beating, that still stung and Patrick’s under-developed muscles went rigid. The paramedic decided that the wounds would not need anything more than an adhesive plaster to keep them clean. He extracted a large roll of the stuff and cut a length from it before replacing the remainder. He stripped the backing from one end of the thin, white membrane and attached it as sensitively as possible to the side of Patrick’s left buttock, whose muscles twitched again. The latex covered fingers continued almost sensuously along the parallel wounds and a short way into Patrick’s arse crack before the paramedic stripped off the rest of the backing and treated Patrick’s twitching right buttock in a similar way. Practiced fingers almost caressed the plaster into place making sure that it conformed as nearly as possible to the pale flesh.

The paramedic humbly suggested that his task was complete and asked whether the Corporals would wish him to stay to care for the remaining prisoner. The Duty Corporal looked briefly towards Curtis and decided that that was unlikely to be necessary and that he would look after him until someone came to collect him. Curtis failed to look consoled by that. The Corporal completed the paramedic’s report, told him to pack his kit in the safe and the rubbish in his satchel. Once he had done so and strapped the bag on his back, the paramedic made a precautionary (and probably futile) adjustment of his caged genitals through his shorts before presenting the Transport Corporal with a small padlock and turning his back on him ready to be cuffed. The Transport Corporal locked his cuffs together and dismissed the convict who started his run for his barracks. Even though it lacked the internal spikes of similar devices, the metal cage made running a far from pleasant experience for its wearer unless he had supportive underwear.

Still no one had seen fit to explain his immediate prospects to Patrick, who had given in to the stresses on his body and had ceased all attempts to lift his head. He could still hear the lover whom he could no longer see; how he could do with being carried to bed in those arms - even if, as was often the case, he was tied up. These bonds were not giving him comfort; they were not the reassuring ropes that protected him and took away the need for him to make any decisions, his means of surrender to his lover and the man who cared for him. He was no longer even fantasising about being released by Jeremy following one of their prolonged episodes of intimacy. He was simply desperate not to pass out with the possible consequences thereof – or, perhaps, he would be better off if he were insensitive to the agony that was leaving no part of his body untormented. If only he knew how long he was likely to be kept there.

The two Corporals sat in seemingly leisurely conversation while reports were completed and records were entered before the Transport Corporal took to his feet and approached Patrick’s lolling head. He crouched down.

“The convict, HeinP 10/02/12 will look at me.” Patrick just about managed to return the Corporal’s gaze. “HeinP 10/02/12 has suffered the prescribed chastisement and there is no further penalty to pay.” Patrick wheezed. Even the slight sagging that resulted from receiving the news still further stressed his tortured shoulders. “Try to cooperate or you might suffer unwarranted injury.”

Not only that vicious ball in his mouth and the muzzle that was pressing against his lips but also total exhaustion prevented any such reply as, “How the fuck am I not going to be able to cooperate?” Patrick simply nodded feebly. Jeremy pleaded to be allowed onto the scaffold to help support him. There was no way that was going to happen.

The corporal freed Patrick’s ankles from the fixed restraints and, once his hobbled feet had come together, a cry of alarm escaped his muzzle as the stresses on his limbs moderated even by such a minimal amount. Next off were the cuffs that had kept Patrick’s elbows too close for too long and which had forced his arms to stay almost straight. Even someone as skinny as Patrick should not be subjected to such confinement for much longer, but the Corporal knew that.

Patrick was still very much in the strappado posture but at least he was now unlikely to break his ankles when his arms were lowered from it. The Transport Corporal went over to the hoist control, chose the appropriate station and lowered the hook quite gradually. After all, Patrick was due to pay no further penalty. By the time Patrick was kneeling and the hook had been disengaged from his cuffs, being no longer virtually stationary once more sent further shards of pain through his body. The Corporal waited. Patrick’s breathing gradually regulated but his sobbing took rather longer to subside.

Patrick’s ankles were soon freed from the hobble and he slumped forwards onto his useless hands as soon as his wrist cuffs were separated and his arms automatically swung forwards. Once more, the Corporal waited for his charge to recuperate a little.

“Ready?” Patrick nodded and the Corporal unfastened the wide body belt and removed it leaving noticeable reddening where its edges had dug into his abdomen over such a long time. At least the pain was insignificant compared to the pains he felt when he’d had his elbows released and the blood flooded back into his forearms. Immediately he had lain the belt aside, the Corporal gently pushed his hand between Patrick’s shoulders until he was laid out flat. “Feet up.” Patrick raised his feet and the Transport Corporal unfastened the hobble and hung it over the railing round the dais. Lying there, Patrick knew there was worse to come.

With Patrick’s official chastisement at an end, the Corporal seemed to be trying to treat the former prisoner as solicitously as possible; he was even speaking to him gently. “Alright, just stay still while I undo a few things.” Patrick felt the straps that were jamming that muzzle tightly against his face and digging into his skull gradually being loosened. The newly released bindings hung down from his face but the over-sized gag stayed in place. He braced himself.

“Can you stand up?” Patrick was offered no assistance to do so but the Corporal waited patiently while he made several unsuccessful attempts. When the Corporal thought that Patrick was as stable as could be expected, he moved quickly and without warning. He shoved the skinny guy up against the back of the beam that was securing Curtis, pushed his forehead hard against it and yanked at the hanging straps. Being now unimpeded, Patrick’s yell was spectacular. His jaw was burning but at least that bloody gag had been removed. Patrick’s mitted hands flew straight to his tortured mouth.

The Transport Corporal warned Patrick to stay put. He was more than prepared to do so. At least the massive beam, that was now fixed and completely immobile, gave some level of support to his newly liberated body. The Corporal released Patrick’s hands from the mitts and simply said, “The citizen, Patrick Heinz, is free to go,” and moved to sit next to his colleague once more.

Patrick still needed to take a minute or two to steady himself before making his unsteady way to the front of the dais and descending the steps to the ground. Jeremy continued to vocalise his unstinting support and to restate his love for his newly liberated partner whom, as soon as he was within reach, he lifted over the crash barrier. There was much sobbing on both parts as Patrick felt those powerful arms around him. Even some of the few remaining spectators seemed moved by the situation.

It must have been a good five minutes before Jeremy released his embrace and pushed his lover gently just far enough away from him to allow him to undo his jacket. He used it to improvise a sort of apron to restore at least some of the skinny youngster’s privacy before gathering him in his arms and making for the town’s central car park through the now sparsely populated Town Square.

Jeremy thought that Patrick would probably not want to be tied up in bed that night.