By Steellock
Matt was curled up. His boots were tight against one set of bars. His back was hard against another. His head was pressed against two bars on a third side.
But he was resting.
His butt was sore and he rubbed it; in fact it ached like never before. A throbbing warmth from the paddling and flogging but several real lines across his cheeks and thighs that ached from where Wayne had wielded a cane with the full strength of his arm. That had fucking hurt. Matt was never going to forget or forgive that one. So that’s why Wayne had been baiting him these last few weeks, asking him if he had a girlfriend that he kept going off to at the weekends. He would have to think that one through; how to get his own back without the feud becoming public knowledge at the barracks.
He felt his butt again, and the ridges of bruising were clear. He ran his hand up and round his shoulder too, and there the results of Jim’s attention was clear. Then his hand went up again and he felt the thick firm leather of the hood that covered his head with its buckles down both sides and the thick rigid strap round his neck with its padlock. It suddenly occurred to him that whilst he felt like he was in a closed and dark world of his own, he was locked in a steel cage in public with a crowd of horny guys probably watching him now. He had never been self-conscious in the store before, and it was a fairly weird feeling, the eyes on him that he could not see.
