The Humiliator. Chapter 12
Court Martial
There's carpet underfoot here, the first encountered so far. An office perhaps because when he speaks his voice comes from low down as if he is sitting behind a desk. "Read the Charge, corporal"
There's a rustle of paper. In an un-natural, sing-song voice the corporal reads: "The Prisoner is charged in that while in transit to this place, he did wantonly and lewdly solicit another man for sexual purposes"
"How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?" intones the Brigadier. My mind races into overdrive. What the fuck is this all about? Those football supporters on the train? But how would he know about them? Unless he was having me watched. By the Corporal! It had to be. But hang on, I hadn't even smiled at them, let alone "Lewdly and (whatever) solicited . . ."
"Not guilty" I protest. "SIR!" shouts the corporal behind me. "Not Guilty, Sir" I repeat.
"Give your testimony, Corporal, in your own words"
"SIR! While driving the prisoner here from the station last night, he blatantly offered himself to me, seeking sexual contact. SIR!"
Jesus! It wasn't the lusty louts on the train at all. And the Charge was true. I was flustered and hot with guilt.
"What have you to say?" my interrogator demanded.
What could I say? "I'm sorry, sir" I stammered. "You admit the Charge then?" he demanded, sternly. "Yes. Yes sir, I do" What else was there to say? I felt so ashamed and wished the ground would swallow me.
"Do you wish to change your plea to Guilty?"
I murmured that yes, I did. "Speak up, lad." bawled the corporal behind me. "Guilty, sir" I repeated. The Brigadier asked if I had anything to say. I rambled on about having been disorientated and confused - blindfolded, stripped naked, not knowing where I was, where I was being taken or who I was with.
An ominous pause followed while he considered this. I was so frightened. Then he asked, quietly and with unerring precision, the only question that mattered: "Did you or did you not believe yourself to be in the presence of The Humiliator at that time?" How could I possibly do anything except tell the truth? Had he not said he would send 'one of my men' to pick me up? I confessed that I had not believed it to be him driving. "Yet even while in the very process of being transported into my presence, you shamelessly offered yourself to a complete stranger by rubbing you knee against his hand, inviting him to grope you?" "Yes sir." "And you freely admit that was your intention - to seduce him into manhandling your naked flesh?" "Yes sir" "And did he?"
I saw the chance of dropping the corporal in the shit. Hell, I could even say he had seduced me. But what the hell, I was in enough trouble and needed all the friends I could get, so I admitted that my overtures had been humiliatingly rejected. There was another long pause, punctuated by the slow tap tap tapping of a pencil on the desktop.
"As a matter of principle" he said, "I aim never to send a slave up to the punishment room on a first visit. I like to assure myself that he has the necessary commitment to servitude before inflicting serious punishment on him. However, you force me to over-ride that scruple by the outrageousness of your behaviour. You force me to impressupon you what should never have needed saying - that while serving me you are reserved for my use only. Do you understand that?"
"Yes sir."
"Well, I am glad you do, but I mean to teach you that lesson in a manner you will not forget." Oh God help me now, I prayed, dreading what was to come, as that nerve- wracking pencil tapping continued. Then it stopped. My punishment had been decided.
In stern and formal tones, he announced his decision. "It is the sentence of this Court that you be taken up to the punishment room where you will be bound and suffer six lashes - (six of the best? not as bad as I had feared. But he had not finished) - with each of three implements - (oh God, not six but eighteen!) - on each thigh, this being the part of your body so shamefully offered to another man." I gulped. Not eighteen but thirty six lashes - far more than anything I had ever experienced. Shocked, I dropped to my knees, pleading for forgiveness.
"On your feet!" screamed the corporal, then "Stand at attention in front of the Officer. No moving!"
"Forgiveness?" echoed The Humiliator, "This Court is concerned with punishment, not forgiveness. Take him up, Corporal and prepare him for punishment. I want him splayed and bound like that blond American, remember?" The corporal assured him that he did remember, but his boss still stressed "EXACTLY like the American. Take him away. Use this" There was a clatter of something thrown onto the desk, - the Follow Me obviously, for it was slipped over my balls and jerked tight. By this means I was unceremoniously dragged from the room, left turn this time along the stone corridor to a flight of stone steps. Was everything in this dreadful place made of stone, I wondered, only to find my feet on wooden boards when we reached the top.
More than that, we crossed scattered rugs too. Had we moved up from a basement to the ground floor proper? Next came another staircase, but of polished wood this time and with wide, shallow treads which gave the impression of some elegance and style. Intriguing! Then the landing, more polished boards and rugs, to another staircase, only this time narrower and steeper. The servants stairs up to the attic? Bare boards up here, unpolished (it is amazing how much you can "read" through bare feet when blindfolded!) and no rugs. A difference in the air too, that hot, dry, musty air you get under the rafters of a house. I felt quite sure the ceilings would be sloping, with dormer windows - or maybe only skylights? There was no doubt in my mind that we had arrived.
I was now in the punishment room.