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A Fictional Establishment
Treville Correctional Training Camp, Tenessee
PART THREE
The electric bell sounded harshly throughout the compound, informing everyone that it was 12.30 and summoning both cadets and instructors to lunch. Fortunately, I was close to the Mess Hall and sauntered over, enjoying the warmth of the hot Tennessee sun on my back, but others were not so fortunate. Teams of cadets were racing to the Mess Hall from all directions, running four abreast, at the double, to assemble outside under the watchful eye of their instructor.
Although I was the instructor for Franklin troop, my own troop of boys had joined up with Jefferson troop and been under the direction of one of the other instructors for this mornings PT, so that I could join Kurt, the senior instructor, for the induction of a new trainee.
As I stood waiting outside the Mess Hall, I watched my troop sprint the last hundred yards to arrive panting before me. Already well drilled, they quickly formed three rows and stood in the "at ease" position. From the sweat marks on their shirts it looked as if they had been exercised hard. I cast my eye over them; they looked very sexy in their PT kit of blue sleeveless vests and yellow cotton shorts, and I could not help feeling proud and exhilarated to be in control of this pack of teenage American boys. Not since I was a prefect at my public school in England had I been in charge of a group of boys, but that paled into insignificance compared to this American Fundamentalist Camp. At my public school I could issue punishments that could result in a boy getting caned, or even send him to see his House Master for a whacking, but the use of the cane by prefects had been abolished long before my time, though the unofficial use of a slipper by prefects was not unknown. Here, however, it was bare bottom paddling for even the most minor of infringements of rules and, despite it being only my second day at the Camp, I was already becoming a dab hand with the paddle. The list of rules was formidable too; designed to have complete control over every aspect of a cadet's life, and everything was covered by a rule or regulation. The Conduct Book covered every aspect of Camp life, from the daily timetable to the maintenance of the bunk-house, and from hygiene to how to address staff, and the list of rules covered several pages. The rules reflected the strong Christian fundamentalist ethos of the Camp, and both swearing and sexual misconduct were expressly forbidden, and sexual misconduct included masturbation – I was due to punish some boys for this offence later this afternoon, but right now it was time for lunch.
I brought my troop to attention as Kurt strolled over and told them to follow us into the Mess Hall, Kurt said nothing to me as he strode ahead down the polished corridor. Reaching the large double doors he pushed them open.
"Regan," I heard him bark, "on your feet and stand by the wall."
As I entered the Hall I was just in time to see Joe Regan, the cadet who had arrived a few hours earlier hurriedly swing his feet from off the table and clamber out of the chair which he had tilted back against the wall. Kurt looked livid but said nothing until all the cadets had assembled in the Hall and taken their allotted places at the long tables. Then Kurt swiftly said a blessing for the food and told the boys that due to the inappropriate conduct of the newest recruit, Cadet Regan, they were to eat in silence. Cadet Regan looked worried as he remained standing by the wall, and Kurt came over and whispered in my ear. Reaching into his pocket, Kurt pulled out a key and handed it to me and told me to go to the Dispensary and fetch the paddle that was in the desk drawer.
Taking the key I went back to the Dispensary where barely half an hour earlier we had given Joe his induction medical examination, and what an examination that was; he had been stripped naked and every part of him measured and probed, and it had culminated in an internal examination and a rectal prostate check that made him ejaculate during the examination. Kurt had explained that the first day's induction was specifically designed to break even the cockiest of lads. It was a ruthless mix of bullying and humiliation in which the new cadet was stripped of all self-confidence, and the intimate examination and shaving of head and pubes was part of the process; as was the severe corporal punishment merited out at every opportunity. Kurt had said that even an apparently well behaved cadet should be spanked several times on his first day to teach him that utter compliance is required, and that I should not be tempted to go easy on my boys. It appeared that Cadet Regan was about to get his second spanking of the day.
Letting myself into the Dispensary I went to the desk and opened the middle drawer. Inside was the record book in which I had written the measurements for Joe; his height, weight, chest size and the more intimate measurements. I could feel my cock start to harden as I recalled the events, and quickly I flicked the pages of the book. Sure enough, there listed in the book were the intimate details of all the boys; their cock length and girth, whether they were cut or uncut, their ball size, measured in cubic inches like some American motorcycle, and even how much spunk had been drained from them. Hastily I put the book back and searched for the paddle; it was in the side drawer and locking the Dispensary door behind me I returned to the Mess Hall.
As I entered the Mess Hall the cadets looked up from their meal, and I was conscious of sixty or so pairs of eyes watching as I walked down the Hall carrying the paddle. It was a well worn paddle of dark wood, thick and heavy, with a double row of holes drilled down its length, and I wondered how old it was and how many butts it had stung in its time. I handed it to Kurt and he slapped it against his hand a couple of times as he walked over to where Regan was standing facing the wall.
"Take your shirt of Regan," Kurt said.
The boy hesitated a moment, looking confused, then complied and dropped his shirt on the floor.
"Now your shorts, Boy," Kurt instructed.
Again Joe hesitated a moment before pulling the bright yellow cotton shorts past his hips and letting them fall to his ankles. Joe was greeted by a few whistles and cat-calls, and Kurt called for silence before telling Joe to step out of his short. Joe looked very cute standing in just his jockstrap though I could imagine how embarrassed he must have been feeling. It was standard practice for cadets to have to lower their shorts for a spanking, and to be spanked in just their jockstraps, but as a new boy Regan was not to know this, and furthermore this punishment was in front of the whole Camp. Kurt's next instruction took me by surprise. I had been expecting him to tell Joe to assume the position, but instead he told the lad to drop his jockstrap and step out of it – you could have heard a pin drop.
The whole dining hall waited, eyes fastened on Joe who stood unmoving, as if in a daze.
"I'm waiting," Kurt said. I looked at Joe and saw tears forming in his eyes. "You will receive an extra stroke for every second delay," Kurt said and started counting "one, two, three."
Joe was galvanised into action; with a quick yank Joe had his jockstrap down and stepped out of it to stand completely naked in front of all assembled.
"Now pick up your clothes an item at a time and put them on the table," Kurt told the boy.
Joe was forced to scamper round and pick up his discarded clothes, parading himself in front of the other boys, his cock and balls swinging about as he bobbed up and down and ran to the table. Once he had done this, Kurt led him to the front of the Hall and had him bend over and grasp his ankles, legs wide apart. Kurt took his time positioning Joe. Under his instructions Joe was forced to stand legs apart and to thrust his teen butt, already a deep red from his earlier spanking by the Rev Jackson, right back - giving us all a clear view of his balls hang down like ripe plumbs in front of his ample cock, and of his hairless pink boy hole.
Kurt took up position to the side of Joe and raised the paddle.
"You will receive five licks for having your feet on the table, and a further three for not doing as you are told instantly – count them out," Kurt said.
The paddle descended with a loud swish and met its target with a resounding smack. Joe let out a yell and jumped up, though whether this was because he had been knocked off balance by the blow was not clear. Kurt was not one to put up with such antics and promptly told the boy that since he had stood up, and not counted out his swipe, he would start again, and warned him that if he stood up again or failed to count out each stroke he would start at the beginning once again.
Joe stood there, his arse pushed back, desperately hanging on to his ankles to hold himself down as Kurt remorselessly paddled his butt. The shame and embarrassment of being naked was quickly driven from his mind by the hard wooden paddle as it set fire to his arse once more. By the time Kurt had delivered the punishment Joe was sobbing and his voice was faltering and chocking as he counted out the strokes – never had I seen such a well spanked arse; the whole of his cute teenage butt glowed a bright red. Having completed the punishment Kurt told the boy to stand up and face the wall; then he told the other boys they could now talk. Instantly there was a babble, as the sixty or so boys started to talk to one another, and it was easy to guess the subject of the conversation.
Although none of the boys liked to receive severe corporal punishment, they all enjoyed the spectacle of seeing another boy get his arse well tanned, and I had noticed many of the lads had slipped a hand under the table during the course of the paddling to ease a straining jockstrap. I was well familiar with the erotic element of witnessing corporal punishment from my own school days, and also the strange thrill of receiving it, and I had already guessed that it was the same for the cadets. During kit locker inspections I had noticed that every cadet in Franklin had a calendar taped to the inside of the door, some were even home made, and each had numbers written in the square for each day; when I had asked Kurt about it he told me it was a tally of how many licks they had received that day, and that most cadets kept one – a kind of Camp tradition. It looked like Joe was off to a good start.
Right now Joe was standing naked facing the wall, showing us all his bright red rear-end. After a few minutes Kurt told him to turn round and face us. Joe turned and covered his groin with his hands, but not before I had seen that he was more than semi-erect; his hands were keeping his cock down as well as covering himself.
"Stand at ease; hands behind your back," Kurt called out, and Joe reluctantly placed his hands behind his back.
For a few moments Joes cock retained its downward inclination before slowly starting to elevate. Nothing Joe could do could prevent the process and, just as his cock passed the horizontal on its assent upwards, his foreskin started to slip back revealing the end of his knob. Soon, even though having been thoroughly de-spunked barely half an hour earlier, Joe was rock hard; his penis flat against his belly and his purple knob virtually touching his belly button.
Joe's face was now as red as his arse and probably as hot. He was so ashamed and embarrassed by having to stand naked in front of the whole Camp displaying his shaved pubes and the fact that he had got an erection from being spanked.
Kurt threw Joe his shirt and the boy put it on, which only seemed to serve to draw attention to his erect penis even more, before Kurt threw him his shorts and the lad quickly pulled them on. At least he had covered himself up, but without the jockstrap that Kurt had significantly failed to throw him, the outline of his hard young cock was clearly visible through his cotton shorts and it looked ready to burst out of a trouser leg any second.
"A jockstrap is a privilege; you can have it back when I think you've earned it. Now join the others," Kurt told Joe.
After lunch was Activities, and Kurt had told me that all the cadets were going on a cross country run. Kurt and two other instructors were accompanying the kids on horseback, but he had told me that it was my rota afternoon off, so I would not be required until the evening – though I still had to deal with the cadets from my troop who were due punishment. So it was that half an hour after lunch I watched the cadets head off at a run escorted by Kurt and two other instructors.
I was heading back to my room with the idea of maybe writing home when, putting my hand in my pocket, I realised I still had the key to the Dispensary; I had better give it back to him immediately he gets back, I thought. As I entered my room I kept thinking of the Medical Examination Record Book in the top drawer of the desk, and all the intimate measurements it contained; swiftly taking one of the lists of names of cadets in my bunkhouse I set off back to the main building.
Nobody was about so I unlocked the Dispensary door and entered, locking it behind me, and sat at the desk. Taking the list of cadets in my bunkhouse from my pocket I started to look through the Record Book for my boys. Sure enough, each boy had had a similar induction to Joe, and had suffered the indignity of having his cock and balls measured and of being made to ejaculate during the prostate examination. Quickly I transcribed the figures into four columns: cock length, circumference, ball size and volume of spunk. Whilst I was mainly interested in those lads in my troop, I noted those cadets in other troops who had particularly high scores and made a note of their names and measurements at the bottom of my sheet. In fifteen minutes it was done, and I put the paper in my pocket and returned the book to the drawer, and let myself out into the deserted corridor. Back in my own room once more I looked down the list, trying to put faces to the names. The boy with the biggest balls in my troop was a lad called Craige Goldman, perhaps not surprisingly he had also spunked a lot too, though the champion was another lad called Nat Reed. Of the twenty plus lads in my troop, I had no difficulty recalling these lads, though I had only been in the Camp for little more than a day. Craige was tall and looked gym fit and had blond hair in regulation crew-cut and sexy green eyes, and spoke with what sounded like a South African accent. Nat by contrast was a bit shorter, with black hair that looked suspiciously longer than regulation, and a cheeky grin, that made him look as if he was up to mischief. I would definitely remember these two lads, and I wished I had been present at their medicals. Reading the stats was fascinating and I discovered that about ¾ of the boys had "cut" cocks, and few lads were under 7inches – a good many were 8 and a three bordered on 9inches, like Reagan; maybe it was all the peanut butter American kids ate.
I still had time to kill before the cadets would be back from their run, so I strolled over to the gym. I thought I would check out the punishment bench again, and that cane the Canadian instructor had left. Kurt had told me that the Canadian instructor, from the previous term, had preferred the cane and a leather strap to the regulation paddle, and Kurt had said I was welcome to it. Luckily, when I got in the gym, I found that the cupboard was not locked, and I took out the bench. It assembled real easy; the legs just locking in place, though the angle of the front and rear slopes was adjustable. The bench top was about four inches thick and roughly a foot square, though the front was curved and sloped at an angle of about 45 degrees. It was covered in a black leather looking material and rested on a thick round steel bar that tilted, and I realised that leaning right over it your weight would push the top down at one end and lift the other, along with your arse – very ingenious. Connected to the top was the support for the chest which then split into two arms along which ran a cross bar with the wrist restraints. The cross bar had hand grips below the wrist cuffs and was constructed in such a way that the wrists could be secured before moving a long lever through 180 degrees which caused the hand-bar to lower about two feet.
I could imagine that in this position, the hapless offender would not only have his legs stretched wide apart displaying his dangling balls, but he would be looking through the gap between the arms, staring straight at his own cock, while his arse was lifted high for the punishment. I wondered who had come up with this design. Leaning over it to see how it felt, I became aware of how soft the padding was under my legs; they just moulded in, but the curved front served to push the tops of my legs apart, and I was conscious of the bench top hard under my genitals; it felt as if it had some ridges in it under the padding. Sure enough, as I explored with my fingers, I realised that the deep padding was confined to the sides where the legs rested, and the middle felt like solid wood under the leather, and just below the surface it was ridged, like a row of pencils. I wondered how it would feel lying on those hard ridges if you had a hard on; or even worse if you had your balls trapped under you – that would be agony.
Picking up the cane I gave it a few trial swishes. Only as thick as my little finger, it was certainly very springy and could easily bend so the ends touched; a deep, almost brown, yellow colour, I could see that, although smooth, it had growth rings about every five inches down its length. Resting it against my leg, it came to my waist. I wondered how easy it was to control and, imagining a boy's arse on the bench delivered a trial swish. Stopping short to avoid striking the bench, I was surprised to see that the cane had a mind of its own and had carried forward under its own momentum to deliver a resounding smack to the empty bench – it was certainly a whippy cane!
I gave it a few more practice shots, this time adding a twist of the wrist and a whole body swing to the arm movement. I had seen Kurt use the body swing when he paddled the cadets and had copied him, but you needed a firm grip on the paddle and could not add a flick of the wrist. However, I recalled from my schooldays that it was rumoured that our Housemaster's caning skill was not just due to his strong right arm, but also that he used an added flick of the wrist to deliver the real stingers. Testing the theory myself, even holding my arm still, I found that just with a fast turn of the wrist I could send the end of the cane whistling through the air a good two feet and have it smack the bench with a satisfying whack. Combined with a full swing of the arm, the cane cut through the air in a blur and hit its target with a sound like a pistol shot. When I felt satisfied that I would be able to hit the targets accurately I put the cane and bench away and closed the cupboard. Looking at my watch I judged I had about half an hour to go before the cadets would be back from their run.
Sitting on a grass bank, enjoying the warm Tennessee sun, I watched the road, waiting for the cadets to return. Just as in the movies, the approach of the lads and the accompanying instructors on horseback was indicated by a small cloud of dust that rose above the trees that bordered the Camp. Twenty minutes later the cadets came jogging into view and finally came to a halt, panting, on the parade ground. Joe Regan, the new boy, was the last in; not surprisingly he could not keep pace with the other cadets who had managed to stay in their squad groups as they had put on a burst of speed on Kurt's orders. Joe and a few other stragglers who had fallen by the wayside were told to remain after the rest were dismissed. Kurt gave them a few minutes to recover then brought the four cadets to attention and told them he was determined to get them fit and that the Camp's fitness programme required all cadets to be capable of doing the run. As punishment they would do twenty press-ups followed by twenty sit-ups, twenty star-jumps and another twenty press-ups. Any cadet who failed to complete this routine would "get his ass licked," Kurt told them.
A sorry looking bunch of exhausted youths manfully attempted the sequence of exercises, but even those who had successfully managed the first set of press-ups were struggling to manage the star-jumps and none managed to complete the final round of press-ups. Kurt told them to line up outside the gym; then walked over to me.
"Go get your cadets that are due for punishment from the bunkhouse and bring them over to the gym," he said.
I rushed back to Franklin and burst threw the doors. The boys were in the showers, so I called out the names of those to be punished and they ran out. They stood before me, dripping wet, and I reminded them that they had requested that I punish them for masturbating the night before, rather than being sent to report to the Rev Jackson. Without giving them the chance to say anything, I told them to get a pair of shorts on, at the double, and wait outside. They ran into the dorm and I followed, shouting to them to just put on shorts and get outside, the last boy out would get extra strokes. Without bothering to dry, or with putting on jockstraps, the lads pulled on their shorts and ran outside. I ran with them to the gym and they lined up behind the cadets Kurt had hauled out after the run.
Kurt led the cadets into the gym, and I followed behind them, my gazed fixed on the row of yellow shorts in front of me that covered the young arses about to be spanked. Kurt had them line up with their backs to the wall facing the cupboard; then, opening the doors, pulled out the punishment bench. He reached inside a box in the cupboard and pulled out a paddle – just like the one in my bunkhouse; probably standard issue, I thought.
Kurt called the first boy over and had him stand legs apart so that his ankles touched the supporting feet of the bench and buckled the ankle straps securely. Then, he told the boy to lean over and grasp the hand bar. The boy did as he was told and bent over but, with the hand bar in the raised position, he was not yet lying stretched over the bench. Kurt walked behind him and pulled his yellow shorts down, exposing a firm jockstrap clad young arse. Grabbing the jockstrap waist band he pulled that down too, so that it rested below the boy's knees above his shorts. I could see the lad's cock and bollocks dangling down, and watched fascinated as Kurt walked to the front of the bench once more and fixed the cadet's wrists to the hand-bar. That done, Kurt moved the leaver connected to the hand-bar down. The effect of this was to pull the hand-bar right down, and it must have travelled a good two feet. As the lad's arms were pulled down he was pulled across the pivoted bench top, which tilted, lifting his arse higher, forcing him to stand on his toes, and push his arse right back. Not only that, but the lad's legs were being forced apart by the curved top, and his genitals were being pushed back by its thick sloping edge. This was made worse by his legs sinking into the deep padding as he leant forward, his own weight was pushing his legs deep into the thickly padded sides, which only served to increase the way the centre of the bench was lifting his balls and pushing them back.
Kurt pressed down hard on the leaver, forcing the boy still further on his toes as the ratchet locked into position, then Kurt came to stand to one side of the boy. He lifted the paddle high and told the offender to count the swats out - cadets at the Camp soon learnt the routine of singing out each swat and thanking the instructor. Kurt gave the boy a hard whack with the paddle on his bare arse and the sound echoed round the gym. "One; thank you Sir"; the boy sang out. I could see his white arse had turned a deep shade of pink after the first swat, except for where the inch round holes drilled in the paddle had not made contact; here his arse remained white, so that it resembled some kind of pink and white polka-dot design. But, by the time he had sang out his third swat there was no trace of the white spots and his arse had taken on a deep red colour. Despite being secured, the lad was squirming under each blow, and it looked as if he was humping the bench. Each lick from the paddle made him grind his hips into the bench, as he drew in a sharp intake of breath through his gritted teeth, before calling out the stroke and thanking Kurt in a faltering voice; but the lad survived his ordeal and after the allotted five strokes he lay across the bench panting. Kurt unfastened the ankle straps then raised the hand bar and, after releasing the cadet's wrists, told him to pull his shorts up and stand against the far wall.
Kurt called out the name of the next boy who, looking scared, walked awkwardly forward to stand where Kurt was pointing. It was clear from the way he walked, and his tenting shorts, that the lad had a hard-on, which was not surprising in the circumstances. Seeing the previous cadet being stripped and spanked in front of us was both scary and erotic. After having secured the boy's ankles and wrists, Kurt knelt down and pulled the lad's shorts down to his ankles. The lad stood there, his jockstrap bulging obscenely as his cock struggled to escape the tight restraining pouch. Just as Kurt took hold of the hand-bar leaver, and before he could be pulled over, the cadet pushed himself over the bench and shifted his weight. Between his legs hung the amply filled jock pouch; at least he had managed to avoid lying on his nuts I mused. But, as the boy was stretched over the bench, and his thighs forced further apart, the front edge of the top of the bench pressed harder into his groin. Just as the lad was pulled on to the tips of his toes, the side of his jock gave way and his erect penis achieved freedom, closely followed by one testicle.
He lay stretched over the bench, his hard young penis pushed back between his legs as if seeking entry to his own arsehole; the purple end of his thick cut cock glistening with moisture; one bollock was pushed back high by the lad's cock, the other was still trapped in the jock pouch.
Kurt fixed the hand-bar into the down position and locked it in place and stepped back. The sight that greeted him was probably as much of a surprise to him as it had been to us, but he said nothing. Kurt put down the paddle and stepping behind the boy adjusted his jockstrap. I could not see exactly what he did first, but I did see him push the butt straps aside then grabbing the jock waist-band, tugged it up high. As he stepped back I could see that the boy's cock and balls had been pulled out from the bottom of the jock rather than the side, and that both bollocks were now free. His balls sat just below his arse, lifted up high by the elastic of the jock back-straps; his cock pointing straight back as if begging to be sucked.
Kurt admired his handiwork; then administered a real stinger of a whack with the paddle. I could see from the red mark across his arse that it was a low swat – just an inch above the lad's tight round nuts. It must have put the fear of God into him and I could see his cock start to wilt. There was no doubt he realised how vulnerable his tender young balls were, positioned as he was. "One Sir; thank you Sir," the lad cried out, with desperation in his voice.
Kurt walked round to the other side, admiring the way the swat had caused the cadet's ass to blush, as before our eyes the shape of the paddle developed like a photograph, complete with white spots like the previous lad's. From the other side, Kurt now administered a blistering swat with the paddle to the lad's far buttock, which immediately turned red. The ringing sound of the swat was followed by a stifled scream of pain, before the cadet regained his composure and called out "Two Sir; thank you Sir."
The lad's erection had now subsided some, though projected back and with his cock and balls pulled out from under the jock pouch, and lifted by the thick, tight elastic back-straps, his cock remained full and firm and his balls nestled below his arsehole like a miniature version of his arse cheeks.
Kurt lifted the paddle and brought it down hard and fast on the other butt cheek, and the report echoed round the gym. The cadet jerked under the impact, his cock bobbing up and down, "Three Sir' thank you Sir," he uttered. That butt cheek had turned a matching shade of red to the first. Kurt now crossed over to the other side, patting the lad's red arse with his hand as he did so, giving each cheek a good half dozen smacks with his hand. Standing where I was, closer, and to one side of the punishment bench, I saw that Kurt was not only slapping the cadet's spanked arse with the palm of his hand, but that his fingers were slapping the boy's balls. From the sound of it, they were quite hard slaps too, but I doubted if anyone else could see what Kurt was doing. Resuming his position, Kurt waited a moment. I noticed that the cadet's balls looked red now, like his arse, and that his young cock was once more rock hard. Kurt touched the paddle against the boy's arse and held it there, rubbing it slowly; all the time the lad's cock twitched as the paddle rode over his arse skimming his balls. Then, Kurt quickly brought it up and down with a hard slap. "Four Sir; thank you Sir," the cadet sang out. The fifth and final slap came suddenly, with little warning, and caught the lad off guard. It was a low slap and bounced off before striking a second time. I had no doubt that Kurt, an expert with the paddle, was aware that it would do so. It had happened fast, and I had not seen clearly, but it looked as if he had smacked the lad's nuts on the rebound, and my suspicions were confirmed by the deep grown the boy gave.
Releasing his ankles and raising the hand-bar, Kurt pulled the cadet's jock pouch back. The whack to his nuts had been enough for the cadet to loose his hard-on and the contents fitted in the pouch without difficulty, though I could imagine how his balls must ache; but he was given no chance to indulge in his painful misfortune, however, as Kurt ordered him to pull his shorts up and go and stand next to the other spanked cadet, before summoning another lad to the punishment bench.
The lad who stepped forward was from my bunkhouse. I had no difficulty remembering his name, Nat Reed; the cheeky looking lad who, according to the medical records, was the boy in my troop who had spunked the most during his internal examination and prostate check – if it could be called that! This quasi medical examination here was far more than the "pull your shorts down; turn your head and cough," examination we had had at my school, but then internal examinations were standard practice for adult prisoners, so perhaps it was not unreasonable at a youth offenders camp. At my school the doctor had examined your cock to make sure your foreskin moved easily and that you had no infections on your knob, and felt your balls for any abnormalities, but Kurt's examination was just another way to humiliate the new cadet and, literally, strip him of any rights – and the ultimate indignity was being made to involuntarily ejaculate during the rectal examination.
Nat walked over to the bench, and I could tell that he too had a hard-on; the sight of the previous cadet's cock pointing straight back from under his jock as he was being spanked was enough to give everyone a fucking boner! Kurt buckled Nat's ankles to the frame and then secured his hands. We all watched in anticipation as Kurt pulled the lad's yellow shorts below his knees. Nat's jock was tenting, and I had visions of the same thing happening to him as he was pulled over the bench, but instead, as he was leaning over, Kurt pulled the jock waistband from the lad's taught stomach and rubbed his other hand along the pouch, so that the boy's hard cock sprang vertical within the pouch. I remembered the ridges set in the bench top and wondered if this was the penalty for having an erection during punishment – to be made to lie on that hard ridged surface.
Kurt pulled the lever that pulled the hand-bar down and Nat was pulled over the bench. Nat was a skinny lad, and shorter than most of the other cadets in my troop, and even before Kurt had pushed the lever half way, Nat was on his tip toes. As I watched Kurt push the lever down into the locked position, I saw that Nat had been lifted clear off his feet. His feet, still held to the frame by the ankle restraints, were several inches off the ground.
Nat groaned and shifted his weight about, but that only seemed to serve to make him sink deeper into the padding and his thighs to be stretched further apart. Looking between his legs, there was no trace of the jock pouch. The wide elastic backstraps ran over his arse and disappeared under the bench. No wonder he was groaning I thought, he had his nuts trapped under him and was squashing them under his own weight. Kurt moved into place and pulled Nat's jock up higher at the front before moving the arse straps aside. Kurt sure had the lad in an uncomfortable position. The lad resting on his nuts, held tightly under him by the jock, while at the same time he was pressing all his weight down on his cock grinding it into the ridged top of the bench – I wondered what effect the ridges would have, as well as being painful they would probably press hard into the blood vessels running up his cock, and act like one of those cock-straps I had seen in a sex shop in Amsterdam – what was it called "Gates of Hell". Nat kept rocking forward so as to lift his weight off his balls, but with his feet off the ground he could not maintain this position and would soon drop back; it looked from behind as if he was trying to slowly fuck the bench. Kurt slapped his arse a couple of times with his hand, and the boy immediately pushed up his buttocks in a vain attempt to take the weight off his nuts.
Instead of punishing the lad straight away, Kurt began to address all the assembled cadets, telling them that their performance on the run that afternoon had been inadequate, and that's why they were being punished, and that they had better start to smarten-up or he would have them in here every afternoon to get spanked. All the time Kurt was addressing them I could see Nat on the bench, his arse pushed up, rocking back and forth, as he tried to keep his weight off his balls, but it was obvious that he couldn't. When Kurt was through haranguing the cadets, he turned his attention back to Nat and asked him why he was being punished. The lad squealed out a reply, which was obviously wrong, because Kurt kept repeating the question and smacking the cadet's rump with his hand a good dozen times until he was satisfied with the reply. Nat's bucking had become more pronounced under Kurt's spanking and, every time he lifted his arse, Kurt smacked it down again; Nat's voice was shrill and desperate by the time Kurt thought he was ready to be paddled.
Standing to the side, Kurt raised the paddle and brought it crashing down on Nat's cute arse. The paddle had caught both cheeks and the boy was pushed hard into bench; the shape of the paddle developed as a shade of red across his butt, framed by the while elastic of his jock back-straps. The stifled scream had been cut short by a deep groan that is the characteristic sound associated with a blow to the testicles. Kurt took his time re-adjusting his stance, and we watched Nat's arse resume its bobbing as he tried to seek relief from the pressure on his aching nuts. Kurt lifted the paddle and one more brought it across the lad's backside, thrusting him hard into the bench. Nat was now sweating freely and bucking like a wild animal, it looked as if he was possessed; thrusting his arse up high and tugging on his restraints as if struggling to break free; only to collapse back down on the bench again. Kurt walked round the other side, slapping Nat's bucking arse with his hand a few times as he did so, then he gave Nat two more licks in rapid succession. There was something in the way that Nat thrust himself forward under the impact, as much as from the groan he uttered, that told us all that he had just come under the spanking, but Kurt still had one final swat to administer and it was delivered extra hard to the quivering red butt, now too exhausted to lift itself from the bench. When Nat had been released from his restraints and finally stood up, we could see the front of his jock was sopping and there was a big wet patch on the bench top. Kurt told him to take his shorts right off, and when he did so, Kurt took them and used them to wipe the bench clean. We watched as damp patch spread across the jock pouch; the wet material moulding itself to the package. Whether by intent or just chance, Kurt had used the crotch of the cadet's shorts to wipe up the mess and he was now forced to stand in line with the others in a spunk soaked jockstrap and a pair of cum stained shorts.
Joe Reagan was the last of the lads to be punished for poor performance at the cross country run and he looked completely transfixed as he gazed in wide eyed amazement at what he had just witnessed; his hands locked behind his back, in the required position, his erection so obvious it threatened to burst free of his shorts. When called to take his position over the bench, he walked as if in a dream, and stood half bent over to be secured by the straps. When his shorts were pulled down his cock shot up as if spring loaded, to slap against his belly, and we were treated to the sight of his well tanned arse, already a deep red from the two spankings he had earned earlier that day.
Kurt had explained how everything the kid experienced in the first three days was designed to totally knock out any resistance or cockiness. The strip search, the loss of all personal possessions, the basic rations with only water to drink, the hair cut and shaving off of his pubes, the medical examination, and the corporal punishment; it was all designed to break a boy, and reduce him to tears. Corporal punishment, along with hard physical workouts, was the basis of the Camp's discipline regime, and Kurt had also told me that it was deliberate policy for every boy, even the apparently mild mannered ones, to get spanked hard several times a day those first few days. In fact, Kurt had said that he aimed to paddle a new boy two or three times on his first day. It was not difficult to find a reason to punish a new boy, since everything was unfamiliar, and Kurt needed little excuse but, he said, after three days of pounding his ass, even the most truculent of youths was transformed. So far, Joe had been spanked twice, on this, his first day at the Camp. Ten hard licks from the Rev Jackson on his arrival, followed by eight licks barely a couple of hours later, from Kurt at lunchtime. No wonder he had difficulty keeping up with the others on the run – even a fit lad would have difficulty running with such a sore ass; and as his shorts fell down round his ankles there was no doubt from the colour that it was a sore ass.
As Kurt pulled the lever down and his arms were pulled forward, Joe was stretched over the bench to lie on his rock hard cock, and the tilting top lifted his balls up pushing them backwards, so that they nestled under his arsehole like a pair of golf balls.
Kurt took aim at Joe's arse and gave it a good smack with the paddle but, though hard, it lacked the force of Joe's earlier beating in the Mess Hall; it looked almost sensual, but nevertheless, given the tenderising his arse had suffered, Joe gasped out loud. Since Joe had failed to call out "one, and thank you Sir," Kurt told him he would start again. The second swipe was a bit harder, and Joe gasped out the count of one and his thanks as he was bidden.
The third swipe was a bit harder than the last, and the tension in Joe's voice was obvious, as he tried desperately to keep from screaming or bursting into tears. The forth swipe was a bit harder still, and now, after calling out the count and his thanks, he began pleading for Kurt to stop, but to no avail. The fifth whack was a fair bit harder, up to Kurt's normal force, and Joe burst into tears and was sobbing as he called out the count and thanks.
Kurt paused and waited; when Joe's sobs had quietened, he delivered the sixth stroke, which was even harder than the previous and landed right across both buttocks in the same place as the earlier stoke. Joe cried out and started to sob inconsolably.
Standing watching the proceedings I felt rather embarrassed, but at the same time I realised that what I was witnessing was not very different to the situation repeated thousands of times in schools throughout the States, and in England, where boy's undergoing corporal punishment might cry and beg to be spared the ordeal; but, that all schoolmasters knew this reaction was proof of the effectiveness of the punishment, and insisted that the offender took his punishment.
Kurt left Joe collapsed over the bench and, having punished all those cadets who had failed the run, returned the paddle to the cupboard and bade his farewell, saying that since my punishment of the boys in my bunkhouse was "unofficial" he would leave me to it, and with that he walked out of the gym. As Joe lay exhausted across the bench, I mused how, last night, Kurt and I had disturbed some of the cadets masturbating after lights-out and, rather than be sent to the Rev Jackson to be dealt with, they had requested that I punish them instead. I had found out afterwards that ten licks from the Principal was the standard punishment, and that persistent offenders who were not circumcised were likely to find themselves in for the chop.
It transpired that parents signed a consent form for their son's medical treatment on enrolment, and that since the Camp doctor, a former marine surgeon, performed this minor operation on the premises under a "local", there was not the need to inform parents of their son's operation until after it had taken place, and by then it was accomplished. I had noticed from reading the medical records that a surprisingly large number of boys had been circumcised whilst at the Camp for reasons of "hygiene" or "irritation of their glans", in truth this was probably because they had been caught masturbating, and been sent to the Rev Jackson, but they could hardly tell their parents that. Now I had five boys to punish for that offence, and there was still the matter of having found drugs on Joe; six boys needing to be disciplined stood waiting.
One more part to come from Stephen before I take over the story.
His email address: silenusawoken@hotmail.com