I like my job. I really like it. I've been a guard at this facility, just outside of Edmonton, for more than fifteen years, and in that time I've managed to work my way up, paying my dues and doing what I'm told. For as long as I can remember this has been my goal, to be the one who gets to have the fun, to burn their bottoms and to make them glow. Yes, it's all been worthwhile, and now, finally, it's me that wields the strap and paddles their rears. I love doing it too, strapping the misbehaving prisoners until their bottoms are the color of ripe cherries.
Now, I don't decide who gets the strap. No, but when the prison rules are broken, and a prisoner refuses to do what he's told and to do it now, then I often get to see them, as they are fastened to the table and their bottoms are exposed. It's always done on the bare, always, and so I get a good look at them, and their balls. I love the way they swing, once I've started their strapping and they can only jerk within their restraints and bob their bottoms up and down. I love watching them struggle, jerking and thrusting into the table as if its a woman. Still, no matter what they do, I strap their bottoms relentlessly, and even though they wiggle them and jerk them and try and move them side-to-side to dodge the blows, it doesnt really matter. I lay the strap on them just the same, one stroke after the other, piling them on top until their bottoms are crimson and they sing for mercy.
The punishment room is off the main cell block, through two locked doors and down the main hall beside the warden's office. It's not that big of a room, but it's big enough, and usually when I'm doing a strapping there are at least six or seven people in attendance. I think they come to watch the show, to see the prisoner beg and squirm, thrusting his hips and swinging his balls. I'm good at what I do, and I've got a well earned reputation by now, so when a prisoner gets sent to the table it means something. All of the prisoners fear the strap, all of them, and that of course helps to keep them in line. If they screw up, then I get to see them, and each time it happens I enjoy every minute of it.
The table itself is old and worn, and has been a part of this institution long before I came here. The old leather cuffs are dark now, and well aged, and the leather has been worn smooth from all the many men that have jerked against them, straining with every muscle to stop the onslaught they feel in their rears. The man's legs hang down one side, and are cuffed at the ankles to the legs on the table, so that his ass is on top, in the very middle of the table and a perfect target for my strap. His chin rests on the other edge, with his hands secured on the other two legs, hanging down. He can lift his ass upward if he wants, to the extent his bonds will allow, and many men do as they try and escape the blows. Oh how they buck and jump! I've seen the entire table shaking on a really big man, as they jerk and slam their hips and dodge the strap as best they can.
The surface of the table is worn totally smooth, as smooth as a baby's ass even. It wasnt done with sandpaper either. No, it's been worn smooth, over the years, from all the movements of the many men that have been strapped to it. We throw a towel down over it now, before we lash the prisoner down, so that if they mess during their strapping it's easier to clean up. I've seen some men piss their bladders as I work the leather strap into their bare skin, and that's always funny and it does get a reaction. Of course, that is very rare. It's a good thing, because even the towel cannot contain the contents of a man's full bladder.
However, there are other messes that happen more often, and for those the towel is very useful. You wouldn't think it would happen, but it seems that many men, in fact, most men even, will mess the table if they are strapped long and hard enough. I guess its the friction of the punishment more than it is anything else. They fight, and as they do they hump against the table, dodging the strap and in so doing they jerk their hips up and down.
Below them, for the majority of them, their _c_o_c_k_s grow stiff in spite of the pain in their bottoms. Soon enough they are jutting under them, upward, and along their bellies, stiff and hard and oh-so-eager. As I strap them they thrust and jerk, struggling, desperate, to dodge the blows, and as they struggle their stiff _c_o_c_k_ moves under them, smashed into the table's surface and rubbing within the terry cloth towel. Do it long enough, with enough blows to their bottoms, and more than a few will actually ejaculate while I'm strapping them. That always grabs their attention, and when it happens I make sure to increase the speed, so that I'm paddling their bottoms in a frenzy as they squirt their loads. When a man does that he usually grunts it out, embarrassed as it's happening, and when I detect it, which I usually do, I always intensify the blows and work the strap up and down their naked bottoms even as they are pumping out their wads.
If I'm in an especially foul mood, or a particular prisoner deserves a special "treat", then I work the strap with a twist of the wrist, bringing it up between their legs as they are squirting. As I do that, the tip of the lash catches their balls, which are vulnerable and swinging beneath their legs. Most men will scream if they are shooting and their balls take a hit, and when that strap strikes a swinging scrotum it makes an impression no man can ignore.
Yesterday one of the younger, _c_o_c_k_ier prisoners was sent to the table, for throwing his food in the cafeteria. He was cute as hell, nineteen and with a muscled, well-toned body, and I remember his legs how they fought and jerked after he was on the table and feeling my strap. His asshole was oh-so-tight and ringed with his hair, which had grown down over his balls and upward, forming a thick patch over his thin teenage _c_o_c_k_. Other than that, his chest was totally smooth, and except for the two little matching patches of hair under his armpits he could pass for a much younger teen.
Oh how he screamed when he felt the strap! You would have thought he was dying from the way he yelled. I didn't give him any mercy though, and I'm sure it will be a long while before he plays with his food again. I strapped him and strapped him, and soon enough he was begging for mercy, his ass going up and down and wiggling side to side as he struggled and fought and begged. I never slowed the strap, but just kept it going, and of course as I did his entire ass got redder and redder. I think I strapped him for about ten or fifteen minutes.
We don't use a specific number of blows here, as it's all left to me and I do it by color. When their bottoms are bright red, cherry red, and they are crying and blubbering out their begging, then, and only then do I let up on them. They are never sentenced to a specific number of blows. Instead, they are just told they are going to be strapped, and after that it is done and I am the one doing it.
Right away I make them very sorry for whatever got them to the table. I usually get them begging pretty quickly, and I try and get an apology out of them as well. I'm usually successful, almost always in fact. The trick to a quality punishment is to show them no mercy, and so no matter how hard they cry or beg or jerk, once I begin it I just keep it going, blow after blow, criss-crossing that leather down and across their naked ass, up along the inner crack and even over their hole if I feel it's necessary.
For the misbehaving food thrower, I let the lash lick his hole, just flick-flick-flicking it there since I wanted the lesson to stick with him. The fifth or sixth stroke in that spot got him shooting, and after that he was grunting out his load as he screamed for mercy. His thin _c_o_c_k_ was off to the side, and the circumcised tip was exposed, jutting out under him, so as he shot his load it missed the towel and shot out under him instead. His belly rubbed in his cream and his pubic hair mopped up his load as he squirmed and jerked and fought. I almost burst out laughing, as he grunted and yelled and ejaculated his teenage load. His cream shot out in lines of jism, and because of the angle of his prick they shot out under him, across the table top, and everyone watching watched as it happened. I think the kid was totally humiliated. By the time I finished the boy's face was as red as his ass; in fact they were both so red they looked like they had been painted.
This morning I strapped a big man, who was in his late thirties and was one of our biggest troublemakers. He always picked on the new prisoners, and whenever one of the younger ones came into the institution he would chase them like they were a woman. Plain and simple, he liked to _f_u_c_k_ the boys. The warden finally had had enough, and so this time we dragged him down to the punishment room and strapped him for the rape. Needless to say, I laid it into him without mercy. His balls were big, really big, and swinging, and at least every second blow I just let the strap kiss them as they swung. He was screaming like a banshee then, a terrifying inhuman scream that seemed to echo through the room and carry down the halls. He fought so hard! His ass was big, and made a hell of a target, and I painted it with the leather until it glowed.
Since he was on the table for rape, I snap-snap-snapped that leather strap right into his balls and at full force too, getting his big sac swinging as I laid that leather into them. He jerked and pulled inward with his knees, trying desperately to close his legs together and to protect what made him a man. I didn't care; he was well tied and he was exposed and oh-so-vulnerable. I liked watching his naked ass go up and down. I just never let up, and I blistered it, letting the holes in the strap do their damage as I worked the leather and flicked my wrists. He was bucking like a madman, and his thick _c_o_c_k_ could be seen whenever he raised his ass upward, high in the air, and jerked against the restraints. As his bottom would come up I would strap in between his legs, even catching his big dick on occasion. He didn't like that! Still, he deserved it, and so he got it, and as he babbled out and begged for mercy I had to stifle my laugh.
The last boy he had assaulted was made to watch, so the teenager was in and watching as the big man took his hits. The boy was new to the prison system, in for grand theft, and so it was a good lesson for him and would serve to keep him in line in the years to come. I had the boy stand so that he was looking right into the face of the man who had raped him, so he could catch his expression and see what the strap did to him. As the boy watched his assaulter being punished I noticed that it made him hard. I never let up, and never slowed the pace of the strapping. The man's big ass got redder and redder, and was soon glowing like a cherry tomato. Still, I kept it going, smack-smack-smacking the leather into his nuts when it seemed appropriate. Before I was done, he was gasping, and as he slammed his big hips up and down the entire table jerked, bouncing as he screamed and fought and grunted.
Finally, the big man ejaculated, shooting his mess into the towel. He was grunting out as he shot, squirting out his man-load as we all watched him do it. As he emptied his balls I laid the strap up between his legs, so that the curve of the leather went clear across his scrotum, from underneath, and curved upward to catch the base of his _c_o_c_k_ even as it squirted. I flicked it there several times, one after the other, and the end of the leather kissed the tip of his dick as I did so. That made him buck his hips even more as he gasped and begged and with a look on his face of total disbelief. Soon, he was just screaming, yelling out words as he begged for mercy in an incomprehensible blabber. The boy, watching, was grinning then, relishing the misery of the man who had dared to _f_u_c_k_ him.
The prison strap I use is standard issue, and is used in most of the Canadian institutions. It's two inches wide and eighteen inches long, with holes running straight down the middle. The leather is attached to a wooden handle, which is well worn, as is the leather. It is designed to hurt, and it does do that and always makes an impression. I've never seen a man yet that can ignore the burn, as its intense and deep and over time it consumes the soul. I've gotten used to using it, and I know how to make it go where I want it to. With the right flick, you can twist the tip, causing it to curve upward or downward, kissing a scrotum or popping a hole. I love hitting a man directly on his asshole, and as the ring of muscles reddens the man will always scream and fight it, the feeling more intense than anything he could ever have imagined. No wonder they will do almost anything to keep from seeing me again!
I almost always enjoy punishing a man. Still, sometimes the prisoner I'm told to punish looks a little too young, or perhaps undeserving, and those are harder to do well. Still, it is my job, and if they are brought to the table for me to punish then I will do it. A few weeks ago they brought in a boy, who was crying already before I ever picked up the strap. He was just barely seventeen, a kid really, and he looked so young and so innocent it was hard to get into his punishment. He was in prison because a robbery had gone bad, and a man had died, and even though he hadn't had much to do with any of it he had been there and he had been a part of it. So, here he was, in a man's prison, when he probably deserved to be in a juvenile facility or even out on probation instead.
He had spit on one of the guards, and that had earned him the table. I don't know...the kid seemed so _d_a_m_n_ innocent. His unkempt blond hair was long, and he had a wisp of a mustache trying to sprout. He wasnt even shaving yet, not really, at least not daily. His armpits hardly had anything growing there, and for a minute I thought he had shaved them, before I finally saw the few strands and realized he was still in the middle of his adolescence and his blond hair had only recently begun to sprout there. Even his sac of nuts was small, just boy-nuts, hanging below him and oh-so-visible between his stretched out legs.
I probably wouldn't have done much, except the guard he had spit on was in the room too, and because of that I had to do what was called for. As soon as I started swinging the strap the boy just howled, and he bucked his hips then in a frenzy, up and down and up and down, jerking his teenage bottom that was oh-so-cute. The kid had a nice bubble-butt, and as he bounced it up and down he would raise it high in the air in his desperation. His _c_o_c_k_ was young, a thin boy's _c_o_c_k_ that seemed to jut out from him like an eager little pole. Still, he was a teenager, and well enough into manhood, and his _c_o_c_k_ did grow hard and after that it looked a little more substantial, especially as it was jutting out from his little patch of pubic hair.
Still, I'm sure he was a virgin, and I'd be very surprised if he had ever had a woman. Still, he bounced his ass up and down, almost as if he was _f_u_c_k_ing something, and as I was watching him do that it occurred to me that it would be many years before he would get the chance to do it for real. I strapped him and his bobbing ass, and as I did the boy just _f_u_c_k_ed that towel, literally, and grunted as he did it. I slowly worked the strap over the cheeks of his ass, and after a while they turned pink, and then finally red.
He was crying and bucking his hips, and he shot his first wad after only a few minutes. We all saw it come out, as it was shooting down into the towel when his ass came up high. It was a typical teen boy's wad really, mostly clear, and watery, and yet he squirted it out with an intensity that only a youth can deliver. It seemed such a waste to me, meant for a girl and squirted into a prison towel instead. He was at the prime age when he should have been discovering girls, _f_u_c_k_ing his first pussy and becoming a man. Instead, because of a mistake and a few bad choices, he was tied to my table and humping it instead, squirting out his teenage load while a group of men watched him waste it. It just seemed so wrong! Still, I had to keep the strapping going, because his bottom wasn't red enough then, and so I did, hitting his bottom again and again as he screamed and bucked and struggled and shot.
All the while he was oh-so-sorry, apologizing, and I finally just stopped because I felt the kid had had enough. I guess I even felt sorry for him. I asked the guard if he would agree that the teenager had learned his lesson, and I pointed out that he had been blubbering out his apology the entire time. Unfortunately for the boy, the guard shook his head, and said "No...I want to see his ass BRIGHT RED, and it's barely pink now! GET ON WITH IT!!!!"
So, well, I had to lay it into him then, painting the boys bottom as he humped it up and down. A few minutes before I was done the boy shuddered and shot a second wad, just ejaculating it into the towel as he gasped and screamed. His eyes were so wide! His back glistened with his sweat, and his hair darkened as it grew wet. The boy was shaking after that, just shaking and begging, and I was actually relieved when his ass was finally tomato red and I could stop. When they took him down I looked at the towel and the boy's two wasted wads that he had shot there one after the other. His teenage spunk looked out of place, and it occurred to me that there were many girls his age that would have willingly spread their legs and allowed the boy to shoot it into them. Of course, by the time he would get his chance he wouldn't be a teen anymore and that would no longer be true. Oh well. As I stared at his wads of wasted goo, it made for a hell of a thought. What could I say?
As I said, normally we don't count the strokes, but instead just spank them until their bottoms are the right color. Sometimes it might be twenty strokes, sometimes more and more often, less. The only exception to the no-counting policy is when a prisoner comes to us with a court-ordered strapping as a mandated part of his sentence. I don't especially like those, but of course I'll do them if I'm told. Usually they have a sentence somewhere between twenty and one-hundred strokes, with half to be delivered within the first two weeks and the other half to be held to the end, after they have served their time. The second half usually has to be given within the last thirty days. That always seemed cruel to me; to get whipped on arrival is one thing, but then to wait, as the months or years go by, for a second strapping, is extremely difficult. Once a man has been strapped, the fear of it being done to him again can tear apart his soul. The worry eats at him, and soon enough it's all that he can think about.
The double strapping sentences do serve a purpose though. The second half that is mandated is usually at the warden's discretion. Of course, the warden soon lets it be known that if the man is "really" good, and does "exactly" what's he's told to do, then the warden will take that into consideration when it comes time to give him his final strapping. Of course, there are no promises given, but even so, it offers the opportunity for the prisoner to partially control what will happen to him, and possibly, if he's "extra good" then he might get out of the pain he otherwise faces all together.
In reality, most prisoners that have a split sentence get their bottoms burned before they leave, regardless of how they did their time. The reason is simple enough, because the nature of the crime that got them strapped in the first place usually isn't the type of crime you want to let go only partially punished. As an example, a few weeks ago this man came to us with sixty strokes as a part of his sentence. It turned out he had abused a young teenage boy, a lad of just barely thirteen. He was just a neighborhood kid, and the man had lavished gifts on him until he had finally made his move.
The judge was less than pleased. However, since the man was a good citizen in the community, and this was his only trouble with the law, ever, he couldn't lock him up past five years. So, to avenge the abused boy, and to send a lesson to others, the judge sentenced him to the maximum sixty months, but then added a second sentence for sixty strokes, with thirty given within thirty days and thirty more to be given at the end of his jail time. I knew as soon as I saw him that no matter how good he was in prison, I'd be strapping him again just before he left.
He didn't like that strap one bit. When they had him secured to the table and I saw him that first time, the man was angry and yelling that we had no right to do this. I laughed and showed him how wrong he was! I gave it to him, all thirty, as hard as I could and without any mercy what-so-every. Oh how he screamed when he felt that leather! He shook so hard that the entire table rattled, and I slammed that leather into his ass and across it, flick-flick-flicking the end of the leather right against his hole, stroke after stroke after stroke.
I let that strap speak for the boy he had abused, burning it into his soul, and as I was laying it into his ass the welts that I made were ugly. I've never seen a man so shaken as he, as soon as he felt the burn. I don't think he had any idea that anything could hurt that much, and so when I slammed that strap into his bottom he screamed like there would be no tomorrow coming. He just couldn't believe it. The entire time I was doing it to him he was begging, ranting and raving about how sorry he was and how he would do anything if we would only stop. As his legs were spread wide, the way they are when they are tied right, when he raised up his ass I could see his entire sac of nuts. His thick _c_o_c_k_ was jutting out, under him, and as he slammed his hips up and down the man was slamming his _c_o_c_k_ into the wooden surface of the table. I hate pedophiles, and so I made him pay.
I lifted the strap so it came with an underhand movement, moving the leather in an upward cut, from between his legs, the strap kissing the very tip of his _c_o_c_k_ and along his balls. On the next stroke I'd come down, across his ass, sideways, making a welt that rose up like a railroad track. Next, I'd came straight down, across his hole, burning the leather into it until it was puckering, swelling even, puffed up and oh-so-red. Next, I'd go back to his _c_o_c_k_ and balls again, and start the series over again, literally lifting his balls with the leather as I laid it into him stroke after stroke. Back and forth, up and down and from one direction and then the next, down and across his naked buttocks, the leather strap painting lines of bruised skin with every stroke. He screamed and screamed and screamed, bucking his hips and screaming, literally, like a crazed idiot.
By the time it was ended and the thirty strokes were done, he was a babblying maniac, crazed, just struggling and fighting with a desperation that can't really be described. Of course, as they dragged him away and back to his cell, I said to him: "See you in a few years to give you the other half of it." The expression then on his face, realizing he would someday go through it all over again, was priceless. Of course, in the years to come, it would be all he could think about, and hopefully by the time he got out he'd never think of hurting another kid as long as he lived.
Well, enough for now. There are two young men that are in need of a strapping. They were fighting, and of course that isnt allowed. I'll do them one after the other, and in a very real way I'll strap the fight right out of them. I smile, and have to go, as I can hardly wait to get it done.
[Authors note: © Copyright October, 2003. All rights reserved. Not to be copied without the consent of the author.]