Sailor Boys' Discipline


by Karl Gatt <Kbouwde@hotmail.com>

SAILOR BOYS' DISCIPLINE

Errol and I both knew that fighting on board was strictly forbidden, but our mutual dislike had got the better of us, punches had been thrown and we had been caught in a tangle of limbs and flying fists and now the time had come to pay for my freely bleeding nose and his black eye.

There had been no suggestion that because he was a Midshipman and some sort of a Lord as well, he should be dealt with any differently from me, a mere enlisted boy. We were both well-grown 16-year olds, we had both committed the same offence and the Navy would exact the same penalty from us both - a flogging in front of the whole crew, to serve as a dire warning to the rest of the ship's boys.

It hadn't taken long to rig up the 'donkey', a rolled up sail, laid lengthwise in the well, which we would 'ride' in turn for our floggings. Both being under 17, we were still 'boys' and under the articles of war, were not to be flogged on our backs, like the men, but 'over the naked breech', which was the Navy's way of saying 'on the bare bum'. Apart from that, though, there wasn't much differenc, as the 'cat' was also used on us boys and sentences of up to three dozen lashes, which would be a very sound flogging even for a grown man, were allowed.

And now the pair of us, still casting angry glances at each other, were standing barefoot and stripped to the waist, in the well, each held between two husky ratings who were waiting for the signal which would indicate which of us would be the first to be led over to the donkey, stripped of his trousers, all each of us was wearing, tied down naked astride the wide roll of canvas and then whipped as mny times as the officer who was still speaking indicated, with those awful, nine-tailed 'cats' which were then dangling harmlessly from the wrists of two of the mates.

Oh _s_h_i_t_, here it comes - two dozen lashes each - our bums are going to be raw; spin a coin to see who goes first. I hope it's me, so I don't have to watch Errol's arse getting it first and yet, I'm not ready for all that pain. But now I've got more trouble. I can't imagine why, but I'm getting the horn. There is no way I can let them take my pants down so everybody can see me like that. It doesn't matter that we've all seen each other stiff often before; this is different because we are being punished and you're not supposed to get anything except pain out of it, so they'll probably flog me twice as hard just to teach me a lesson.

Then Errol wins the toss and chooses to go first and they're leading him over to the donkey. They get there and stop while one of the ratings unties the rope that's holding his pants up; they fall down and he's bare down to his ankles. He steps out of them. He's got a small, firm, round bum that's very white against the dark brown of his back. I wonder what it will look like in a few minutes' time. He half turns to lie down on the donkey and I feel better at once because his _c_o_c_k_ is just as stiff as mine. It must have something to do with being so scared.

Now his two ratings have got him down on the donkey with one knee each side and they are tying his feet and hands to the cleats that stick out. It looks very uncomfortable and apart from anything else, the donkey is pushing his knees so far apart that his bum is wide open and you can see right down to his hole and the back of his balls, that are pulled up tight against his body from his having the horn.

_s_h_i_t_!!! that means that the ends of the cat's tails will also be able to hit him right down there and me too, when lt's my turn.

Now they're ready to flog him. Like me, he's quite a big 16, but he looks like a little boy, lying stark naked on that sail, bent over at his waist and with his bare bum pulled tight and wide open to be flogged. I think it's worse for us than for the men - they haven't got a hole or balls on their backs that to feel the whip as well as your arse that is all that is supposed to be getting the flogging.

There is a mate on each side of him, so we are going to get 12 from each side. They both lift their cats and first the one and then the other brings it down with a long, loud swish that ends with a sound lik a bucket of water being hurled out of a window on to cobble stones as all those lashes land on his bare bum. It's not like when you get the cane or even the rope's end; then there's just the one red stripe on your back or bum. Now the red marks seem to cover most of both cheeks after just one cut and when he's had one from each side, his whole arse IS bright red. He screams and I don't blame him because it looks very, very sore.

As soon as each cut has landed that mate pulls his cat away and lifts it up for the next one, so the poor guy is getting a lash about every five seconds. His bum is so small and the cats have so many lashes that the stripes start to cross each other after 3 or 4 strokes and I can see that he is beginning to bleed where they overlap, so that, by the time he has had about 6, his whole tail seems to be bleeding.

By then they have got their eyes in and they start whipping him so that the tips of the lashes go in between his cheeks, near to his arsehole. You should hear him yell every time a lash hits his hole or, I suppose, flicks the back of his ball bag. I can't bear to think how sore that must be and I nearly wet my pants when I realise that I will be finding out quite soon.

He's had his first 12 now and the ship's doctor has gone over to him to see if he can take the rest; maybe he will be let off the second dozen. I hope so; he's my enemy, but we are really quite alike and I honestly don't want him to suffer any more. No such luck. The doctor says, "This one has a backside that can take all the whipping that comes its way. Carry on, Mr. Mate." I wonder what he'll say about mine just now.

The flogging goes on just as hard as before and now trickles of blood are running down Errol's legs, so his tail must be just about raw. He isn't yelling so much any more, so perhaps his arse is too numb to feel any more pain. But then those bastards start whipping the tops of his legs. That's not fair. You can see how the lashes go into the crease where his bum meets his legs and also in between his legs, missing his balls, but curling round the insides of his thighs where the skin is very soft and tender and then he does sing out again, even louder than before.

Then, suddenly, it is all over. The two mates stand still, their cats, now wet and red with Errol's blood, hanging from their hands; before Errol can even try to move, here come two of the smallest cabin boys, with eyes as big as saucers and each carrying a big handful of the salt they use in the galley to preserve the fish that get caught, which they put all over poor Errols raw bum and start to rub it into all the open cuts on it. That must have stung him even more than the flogging and he screamed and fought like a madman all the time those kids were rubbing the salt into his cuts, so he was sweating all over by the time they let him get up. He didn't even dare try to rub his bum, it was so badly cut about and he also didn't try to put his pants back on.> His horn was gone, so I could see how much it must have hurt him.

Now the two ratings who are holding me, are pulling me towards the donkey and the other ratings are rinsing Errol's blood off it and off the cats with a bucket of seawater. My guts are turning over and over and I want to throw up or start screaming for mercy or just crying like a baby, but somehow I don't and I just walk over to the donkey with them. My feet are bare and the deck feels as though it is red hot under them. When we get near to the donkey, the flogging drill starts, just like with Errol.

They stop, untie my pants and take them down without hooking them on my _c_o_c_k_, which is still as stiff as ever. Now I am quite naked and ready to be flogged. Then I am lying on the donkey, which is cool and wet under my bare chest. My legs are so far apart it feels as if I am splitting up the middle. I am a bit shorter than Errol and that's why I get spread open even more than he was.

I can feel the sea breeze blowing cool over my arse cheeks and my hole and then I feel the lashes of both the cats lying on my bum as the mates get their distance and aim to flog my bare arse raw like they had just done to Errol's.

SWISH.....SPLASH.....SCREAM/SWISH....SPLASH/SCREAM/SWISH....the flogging soon settles down into a steady rhythm of sound and pain. It feels as though a big swarm of angry wasps has landed all over my naked backside and is stinging every inch of it. A few find their way down in between my cheeks and drive their stings into my arsehole and one or two get as far as the base of my _c_o_c_k_, between my hole and my ballbag, but not yet into my balls themselves. I don't think my _c_o_c_k_ is still stiff, but I'm not sure. My arse is too sore for me to worry about a stiff _c_o_c_k_ any more and the heat, even more the the sting, is getting worse all the time.

They stop. It must be half way. Surely they won't give me any more. The doctor runs his hands lightly over my red hot bum. It MUST be so raw the he will have to stop the flogging. He leaves his hands there for a few seconds and then he shatters all my hopes. "This lad must have a hide like an elephant, gentlemen, or else you have been going easy on him. The skin is hardly broken; come on men, flog him with a will now and let's hear him sing out a few times; he is a really tough nut, I do declare!"

Now they REALLY lay into me. I can feel each lash of each whip curling round my cheeks and biting into both dides of my tail and also into the soft parts in between. Luckily, though, they're so keen on skinning my bum that they're not getting so many down near my hole any more. I count down desperately - 8 more....7....6. Then they start on my legs and everything goes up in red hot smoke. I had forgotten how sore it is to get thrashed in that crease, but now I am being reminded with a vengeance. I'll never be able to sit down again; the skin there will never heal; I am being cut open right down to the bone. I can't...

Then there are no more. The flogging is over and I'm still alive. Under my left arm I can see two pairs of small bare feet coming towards me and I want to scream - its those kids with the salt. I feel the rough crystals being poured over my bum and the stinging starts straight away. I try to clench my cheeks, but it's too late and some of them roll down to my raw hole and set it on fire, forcing a hot, stinging spike up my arse and into my guts. Then the rubbing starts, not hard, but very sore and I do scream as the chemical sting overtakes the physical smarting of all those whip stripes in my bare flesh. Some things hurt so much that you seem to be watching somebody else, not yourself, suffering, from far away. I think I would rather have got another dozen lashes than have that salt rubbed into my raw arse like that and I can feel the tears running down my face and I cry like a little baby, far more than I did while my tail was actually being flogged.

After a few minutes of that agony, during which I prayed for death over and over again, the smarting eases a bit and the heat in my bum gives way to a stiff, sore throbbing, as though someone is pounding both my cheeks with his fists, bruising the raw, whipped fleah and keeping the pain of the whipping alive, deep in the muscles of my tail.

It must have taken me a good ten minutes to prise myself off the donkey and you know what, the only person left there was Errol. He still had tears on his face, but he put his hand out and I shook it. There is nothing like joint misfortune to reconcile people and being flogged together like that certainly did the trick for us - two sore-tailed, raw-rumped boys with a common bond of agony to settle their differences. And so a new friendship was formed under those unlikely circumstances.....


More stories by Karl Gatt