In 1984, Mason Powell wrote a classic novel of erotic military torture called THE BRIG. While many have clamored for a sequel, he never (to my knowledge) wrote one. I have taken it upon myself to finish the story. I've also got the audacity to change his ending...I never liked his (too convenient and radical an ending). My story begins at the end of chapter 16...
BACK-STORY: The novel, written in the first-person, is about an idealistic young navy man who had walked off his watch one night as an act of conscientious objection. As punishment, he was sent to THE BRIG until his discharge would be finalized. When he went into THE BRIG he was straight; that would soon change. Each prisoner was assigned a three-man team that systematically worked him, both mentally and physically, until the prisoner was broken and put back together as a dog-slave, unable to get excited by anything other than a strong man abusing him. While the subject still had independent thought, his will and reactions were given over to his trainers through the systematic use of torture, rape, whippings, hypnosis, and drugs. By the end of training, each dog would only be able to respond to orders, and not his own thoughts or impulses. It was explained that this brainwashing would make them better soldiers, obeying all orders immediately and without questions. By the end of chapter 16, Rover had learned to suck _c_o_c_k_, drink piss, and think of himself only as a dog. He spoke only on command, and never begged for mercy during puinishment/training sessions. He had learned to love the whip and having a big _c_o_c_k_ up his ass--and the rougher, the better. His trainers were a sadistic trio: the sergeant, a muscular, hairy bear of a man, with a fat _c_o_c_k_, and deceptively soothing voice; he made the most frightening words and excruciating punishments almost seem like endearments. The red-headed corporal was a slender, tightly-muscled farmboy with a real sadistic streak and a long, slender _c_o_c_k_. The dark corporal was tall, and had the washboard abs and powerful arms the navy boy had only dreamed of one day developing. He also had the biggest _c_o_c_k_ Rover had ever seen; even soft, it barely fit in his mouth. Rover thought it had to be at least 12 inches long, and incredibly thick. Rover thought he'd be torn apart the first time the dark corporal had _f_u_c_k_ed him; now he'd even grown to crave those attacks.
All during his captivity, Rover had been shown films of a dark-haired sailor going through the same training process, although with a trio of blond marines as the trainers. The dark-haired sailor was ahead of Rover in the process, and so each film served as a coming-attraction reel for Rover. After several weeks, Rover finally is put into a room with the sailor, and must torture him, or be tortured himself. It seems that this is part of each prisoner's training; it breaks him of the last of his humanity. Understanding the sailor's pain, Rover tells him he must be tortured, but that it will be with love and understanding. When the session is over, Rover sees something in the sailor's eyes, but the sailor is too out of it to be conscious of the bond that passed between the two. Rover is later punished for inserting his personal thoughts into the session, and given electro-avoidance-therapy to make him cringe from any thought of love and afftection. He will only respond to pain and torture from now on...
This is where we pick up...
CHAPTER 17: By now I had lost any reserve of will that I'd been able to retain. I went through the daily training sessions without resistance, and serviced as many men as I was assigned to. I drank piss as if it was water, and swallowed _c_o_c_k_s like I'd been a sideshow sword-swallower all my life. My time in the brig seemed to drag on endlessly; was it really only eight weeks?; it seemed longer. I didn't know what else they could do to me, but the sergeant had told me I would soon be able to cum on command, which would be the only way I'd ever come again, since I was never allowed to touch myself without permission. After that, he'd fix me so I'd even sleep or wake on command. My viewing of the sailor's films were always scheduled a few days before I was subjected to the same fate; that way I'd have several sleepless nights of anticipation.
One day I was brought into the exercise room, where lately I'd been the featured attraction. It was here that I was lifted into the air by a winch in the ceiling attached to a rope around my wrists, then slowly lowered and impaled onto a giant vibrating _d_i_l_d_o_, bigger even than the dark corporal's _c_o_c_k_. When the vibrator was turned on, my _c_o_c_k_ would get instantly hard and would stay that way. During my earlier training, my hands would be untied, and another prisoner would be made to lick caress my whole whole body, except for my _c_o_c_k_. I would have to keep my hands at my side or clasped behind my back; if I touched myself, I would be subjection to special punishments. I never touched myself. My excitement would build to unbearable levels, and just when I thought my _c_o_c_k_ would explode, the sergeant would bark "CUM!" and I would. I was getting good at cumming on command; today would begin the next step...
The session began the same as usual, but as soon as I was impaled, the sergeant took out a pair of sharp tit-clamps and snapped them onto my tits. I groaned with pleasure as the teeth bit into my tender skin. The prisoner working on my body was now working his way up my thighs. The combination of pleasure and pain was exquisite and my moaning increased. The sergeant smiled at this. I was turning out to be the best dog he'd ever trained. He went to the side of the room and returned with a riding crop. Telling the other prisoner to suck on my balls, but not touch my _c_o_c_k_ at all, the sergeant began working my ass over with the crop. It was all too much for me; my ass was on fire, my balls were sending waves of pleasure through me, and I could feel the cum rising in my engorged _c_o_c_k_. Just then, the sergeant yanked off the tit-clamps. I threw my head back and let out a moan so intense it made all the other prisoners in the room stop and take notice. (Of course, they were all later punished for interrupting what they'd been doing.) The sergeant came around to stand in front of me, and began whipping my aching nipples with the crop. My screams built to a crescendo, and the sergeant said "CUM!", and I did, my body heaving and spasming wildly from the release.
This session was repeated daily until the sergeant could make me cum any time he wanted just by torturing me, then giving me the order. I also found myself getting more and more turned on by the ever-increasing levels of pain I was subjected to. And I never begged for mercy. I was becoming a good slave.
CHAPTER 18: The physical ordeals were bad enough, but sometimes the brainwashing exercises were worse. After he'd trained me to cum on command as a result of punishment and pain, the next step was for him to take command of my very state of conciousness. I was kept up for days at a time, and punished any time I might drift off. I was also hypnotized at this time, and given more drugs. I was repeatedly told that I could not sleep until the sergeant gave his permission. When he did give permission, I was given ten minutes to fall asleep, or I'd be stimulated and kept awake for hours more. Even when I did manage to fall asleep, I'd be awakened after a short while. I was given the post-hypnotic suggestion that even when I was asleep I'd be able to hear the sergeants voice and would do whatever he told me. First he'd captured my concious mind; now he owned me when I was asleep. Eventually I reached the point where I could not fall asleep with his command, no matter how tired I was. And no matter how tired I was, even when asleep I would hear his voice and awaken on command. The only thing I did on my own anymore without permission was breathe. My training was nearing an end.
CHAPTER 19: One day the two corporals came to get me, and they brought a uniform with them. I hadn't worn clothes since my first days in the brig, and it was a strange sensation. After all, I thought of myself as a dog now, and how many dogs wear uniforms? As we silently walked down the halls to a part of the building I'd never been in before, I wondered what was about to happen to me. I knew better than to ask either of the corporals--they wouldn't answer, then they'd punish me for talking without permission. We continued on in silence.
Eventually we reached an oak-paneled door. I saw the nameplate; it was the sergeant's office. He was inside, along with a well-built man in civilian clothes. The man was tall, maybe mid-40s, with salt-and-pepper hair. Something about him seemed familiar.
The sergeant spoke first. When he addressed me by my first name I almost didn't respond. Not only did I now respond to "Rover", I'd begun to think of it as my real name. He introduced the man with him--it was my home-town senator. (No wonder he looked familiar!) I'd forgotten about the letter I'd written to him before I was sent here. It had been so long ago, I'd just assumed he'd never replied. He apologized, saying it had actually fallen behind his secretary's desk. He responded as soon as the letter was found. When he investigated, he'd found out there'd been an error in the orders given upon my arrival; instead of eight WEEKS detention, the orders had said eight MONTHS. I'd been here 5 months longer than I should've, and if that letter hadn't been found, I'd have been in for one more. My head began to spin at the thought of what I'd gone through because of some bureaucratic foulup. I began to faint, but just before I blacked out I saw the red-headed corporal smiling that knowing, sadistic smile of his. This had been no foulup.
Chapter 20: I was revived, and discharged. I left the brig with the senator. I didn't know if I'd be able to survive in the real world again, but I was glad just to be free. I had never thought I would be again.
I stayed with the senator in his suite that night. We ate in the room, and discussed my plans. I told him the whole story of what had happened to me in the brig. He was horrified; he promised to launch a full-scale investigation the next day. I broke down several times while telling him what happened. I was exhausted when I finished, and he suggested I wait until I was refreshed in the morning to call my family. I agreed and wished him good-night, as I headed off to the second bedroom. I heard him call out "pleasant dreams."
CHAPTER 21: I drifted off immediately and found myself back in the brig. The sergeant was telling me I'd never be free. I no longer owned my body or my mind; even if I'd left the brig, I was still his prisoner. I tossed and turned violently. I was telling myself it was only a dream, but it felt so REAL. I HEARD the sergeants voice. The sergeant saying I'd never be free, saying I'd spend the rest of my days as a dog serving his master. IT'S ONLY A DREAM, I tell myself. WAKE UP! But I can't. The dream goes on, and suddenly the senator appears. Instantly I feel relief; I'll be safe now. I know the senator will save me.
The senator smiles at me. A warm, benevolent smile. Everything will be all right as long as he's here. The senator tells me to wake up. I opened my eyes half-way, and sat up, banging my head on the top of my cage. I looked up to see the sergeant and the senator smiling down at me.
CHAPTER 22: I'm fully awake now. I am in an oversized pet cage, maybe one built for a great dane. It's about 6 feet long, so I can just stretch out. It's only about three feet high, so I can't really sit up. I CAN stay on all fours. I'll eventually get used to that position, especially when I eat (my food and water dishes are in the corner of the cage).
The sergeant began talking. Apparently, writing to my congressman would've been a good idea if I lived almost anywhere else. It was my misfortune to write to the man who'd envisioned and constructed the special "program" at the brig!
The senator was a long-time master sadist, an expert in the art of molding and training men through pain and torture. In Washington, he'd come across a secret society of high-powered men with similar interests. Politicians, businessmen, and military men, all with wealth and/or power. Talking to a high-ranking marine and a general from the army, the senator pondered how effectively slaves could be trained using all the techniques our government (and others) know to bend men's minds. All 3 men agreed that such a place would yield slaves that would be trained to follow any order without question or hesitation. That night, the senator had an idea...
All this time, the senator had been quietly watching me. He came over to the cage and put his fingers through the top to scratch me behind the ear. I felt the instinctive pleasure and gratititude a dog feels when his owner pets him. The senator looked at me with that benevolent smile and picked up the story...
He had realized such a facility could exist, if the powerful men he'd met in the society could band together. But no matter how much juice they had, the facility would have to be explained to someone at sometime. How to explain doing this to our young men, even if it's those being punished for wrong-doing. He formulated a plan; this would be a facility to train spies (at least that would be the cover story). Any prisoner who emerged from the program reasonably intact would then be a perfect spy to send abroad--he would follow all orders, never act on any personal impulse or agenda, and if he were caught, he'd actually enjoy the torture attempts. He'd never crack! Of course, there'd be other, less-discussed uses for the trainees-- if U. S. intelligence knew of any special "desires" of any foreign dignitaries, a spy could be sent in as a _s_e_x_ slave, privy to the dignitary's most private moments. In special cases, the slave could be sent with no spy mission, simply as payment for something in the dignitary had done for us in the past, or to build up goodwill for something we might need in the future. Almost nobody was told that some slaves are simply sold to wealthy men here and abroad to help pay for the program. This way, they are able to need minimal federal funding and don't raise any suspisions about the cost of "special equipment." Using the small but powerful network of politicians and military men he'd met, the facility was set up as a military prison with "special training facilities." Special psychological profiles were designed to help select men who would support the facility and keep its secrets. The profiles looked for sadists, gay men with a mean streak, men with such strong patriotic feelings that they'd be able to do anything to another man and feel pride in what they were doing for their country. They also looked for Marines who just liked roughing up young men from the other branches of the military. Special tortures were designed to break men and bend their minds. Many young men had passed through before me, and many would follow. The senator told me I should feel a sense of pride; I'd been the best-trained dog they'd ever had. When it came time for the senator to pick a pet for himself, he picked me. My dreams last night had been a result of more drugs and the sergeant's suggestions in my sleep. He had transferred control of me over to the senator, and from now on it would be his voice I would follow. I looked up at the senator's warm smile...and for the first time saw the cold sadism in his eyes.
CHAPTER 23: Over the next several years I was the senator's pet and slave. I would spend my days in my cage, then be allowed out to service him the rest of the evening. Most of the time I'd be at his feet, licking his boots, often hog-tied. Most nights he'd subject me to a torture session. This wasn't for punishment (THOSE sessions were much worse). It was just for his amusement, almost like foreplay before he'd raped me then lock me in the cage overnight. In the brig, I'd mostly just had to survive whippings, with occassional pain and torture of another sort. The senator was much more versatile than that. I learned the agonizing joy of electrotorture, endured hours of total mummification with only my nose and _c_o_c_k_ and balls exposed, so I could breath and so the senator could torture them while I was completely bound and immobile. He would rub ben-gay on my _c_o_c_k_ and balls, then attach electrodes to my balls. After setting the electric current to the setting he wanted he'd whip my _c_o_c_k_ with a crop until commanding me to come. He'd usually make me come at least 3 times before releasing me. Then he'd rape me with his big _c_o_c_k_, never lubing up or loosening up my hole in any way. He'd just ram his _c_o_c_k_ inside of me and start pounding away. This happened every night. I loved him so much.
After a few years, the senator brought home another dog from the brig. Gradually he began to take my place in the senator's affections. This made me very sad. When I'd been sent to the brig and then selected for training, my family was told I'd committed a far worse crime and would be incarcerated for years. Their subsequent letters were returned unopened, and they were told I did not want to see them. After awhile, they gave up trying. Now I feared the senator didn't want me anymore. One day he had me come into his den. He told me to sit in the chair. I knew something was wrong.
He said he was retiring, and simplifying his life. With all the people that came into his house all the time, he didn't want two slaves on the premises. He told me that the understanding was that any dog whose owner didn't want him anymore would either be sent back to the brig to be re-trained for another master. No dog would ever be allowed to go free, for fear that he'd blow the whistle on the program. Any dog unwanted by another master, or that tried to run away too often, would be put to sleep. I began to shake with fear, but the senator smiled, and this time I saw warmth in his eyes. He said I'd been a wonderful pet, and that he couldn't bear either of those options. He said he was going to release me, but if I ever tried to go public with my story, I'd be hunted down and killed. My family was told that I'd been killed in a jailhouse fight. He warned me not to contact anyone I'd ever known.
And that's how I was left to wander the netherworld of leather and pain, always looking for, but never finding what I needed. I was used and abused by many men, and still I was incomplete. Then one day, I saw him in a leather bar...
CHAPTER 24: It was the dark-haired sailor. I was sure of it. How had he escaped? He had the same lost look in his eyes that I had in mine. Suddenly I knew what I had to do. I shifted the keys on my belt and strode up to him. I felt sure he wouldn't know me, because he'd only seen me the one time, and his focus was on the ever-larger _d_i_l_d_o_es I'd kept ramming up his ass until he came. Now I looked him over head-to-toe, made eye-contact, and wordlessly led him out of the bar. Back at my house I did things to him that only I could understand he needed. As I tortured him I told him I loved him. That night I topped a man for the first time.
He has been my slave now for several years, and we are both finally at peace. That is, we came to be at peace after what happened next...
CHAPTER 25: One night when we were out in another bar, I stopped dead in my tracks. Again I recognized someone from the brig, only this time it was the sergeant. A little grayer, and thicker around the middle, but it was him. I played it cool and struck up a conversation. He didn't recognize me. I was relieved, but also a little hurt--I had been his best dog. But then again, he must've trained hundreds of dogs. I invited him back to my house and my slave and I quickly jumped him and secured him. He was still trying to get loose when I told him who we were. The fear in his eyes was priceless! It is something I've seen very often since that night.
Both my slave and I had been through the deepest underground world during our years of looking for what we needed. It gave us a thorough knowledge of where to find the most depraved men on the planet. That knowledge would come in handy as I plotted our further revenge. I had decided to spare the senator because he'd freed me (and, though I hated to admit it, because I'd loved him), I wanted revenge on the 2 corporals and the three blond marines who'd trained my slave. Since my sergeant had run the training center, he knew all the personnel there. My slave become quite a computer wizard, and he tracked down all 5 men. We eventually tracked down all 5, and sold them off to men we knew would make their lives hell. One of his trainers, a bigoted southern redneck, was sent to a black man whose family had suffered terribly from slavery and racism. It was a special joy for the owner, and a special hell for the blond, to know that he'd spend the rest of his days as a slave to a black man.
Another of the blonds had been sold to an Arab white slave-trader for use in a brothel someone in one of the Arab countries. I always smile when I think of him getting _f_u_c_k_ed daily by new _c_o_c_k_s and never having anyone he can speak English to.
The third blond was simply send to the most sadistic man I knew. He's been kind enough to send me tapes of what he does with his new possession. My slave especially loves watching that.
I had special plans for my 2 corporals. The redhead was sold to a biker gang who keeps him as a _s_e_x_ slave. He services anywhere from 10 to 20 guys on a daily basis. He had been the first one to rape me. I made sure he'd get it back in spades.
The dark corporal had had the biggest _c_o_c_k_ I'd ever seen. He'd enjoyed raping me, and making me crave his big fat _c_o_c_k_. It always seemed to be hard, and he would give me a cold evil smile when he was about to make me take it. I sold him to a man who wanted to castrate a well-endowed man and have a eunuch-slave. The dark corporal will never _f_u_c_k_ anyone again.
As I write this, my slave is at my feet working on my boots, and the sergeant is hanging from the ceiling with clamps on his tits and weights on his nuts. Of course, he's been trained not to complain or ask for mercy. After all, I know how to train a man; I was taught by the best.