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A Fictional Establishment
Treville Correctional Training Camp,Tennessee
PART FOUR
Lined up with their backs to the wall, wearing only their yellow shorts, were the five cadets from my bunkhouse awaiting punishment. I had summoned them from the showers when Kurt had told me to get them over to the gym at the double, and hadn't given them time to dress properly -- not even dry themselves; "just grab your shorts and put them on," I had instructed them, before leading them at a run to join the other boys.
The other boys had been sent for punishment for being stragglers in the cross-country run, and for failing to keep up with the others, and each cadet had received five hard licks with the paddle on his bare arse. The sight of these teenage butts being so soundly spanked was hugely erotic and, as they lowered their shorts, there was not one lad who did not have a bulging jockstrap straining to contain a hard young cock.
One lad, Nat, had even come under the spanking, and for Joe, the boy who had arrived only this morning, it was his third spanking of the day and his butt was getting one hell of a pounding. Kurt, the Camp's senior instructor, had explained how it was part of the Camp's strategy for gaining complete compliance to administer corporal punishment frequently during the first three days induction period; break the boy to make the man, was Kurt's philosophy, and Joe was pretty much broken. He lay sobbing quietly stretched across the bench used to hold the boys whilst they were being spanked; still restrained by the straps; forced to lean right over the bench, his bollocks trapped under him. He had just been given six licks with the paddle to add to the eighteen he had already tasted; ten swats from the Rev Jackson for his impertinence on his arrival and eight licks from Kurt for his behaviour in the Mess Hall. In the space of a few hours, Joe had received two dozen swats with these large High School style paddles that the Camp used to discipline its charges; and I still had to punish him for the drugs I had found on him soon after his arrival; it warranted at least "six of the best" with the cane, maybe a full dozen.
Though many States had abolished corporal punishment it was still common in the South and parents who sent their sons to Treville for "behavioural adjustment", as the brochure described it, gave their consent for corporal punishment to be used to correct wayward behaviour. Although the parents had signed the consent form, and that spanking is far more common and acceptable in America, I doubt that many parents would have anticipated its prevalence at the Camp. It was the standard punishment for even the most trivial of misdemeanours and for breaking any Camp rule; and, confined to Camp, unable to communicate with the outside world, with even their letters home heavily censored, there was no way the boys could escape it. They soon learnt to accept it, and it broached a light hearted rivalry to see who got the most licks each week; their individual tallies being recorded on calendars stuck on the inside of their lockers.
Well, this afternoon the five boys I had caught wanking the previous night would have some extra points to add to their scores but, rather than paddle them, I was keen to try out the cane that the previous Canadian instructor had left behind. There was still the question of how many strokes to give Joe; he was due to be punished for the drugs I had found on him, but he had already been paddled hard -- should I go easy on him? I considered the question as I went to the store cupboard and removed the cane.
Holding the cane in my hand gave me a tremendous feeling of power and authority, and I immediately knew I would not relent over Joe's punishment -- still, I would leave him to last -- "let him enjoy the sight of the other cadets being punished first," I thought.
I would cane them as we had been caned at my school I decided and calling the first cadet, a boy called Craige Goldman, to attention told him to walk forward and stand in front of the bench, on which Joe still lay. He stepped forward and I could see from his tenting shorts that he had a hard --on; he would soon lose that I thought. I motioned with my cane for him to stand sideways-on, about six foot in front of Joe, and taking my place to his side told him to bend down and touch his toes. Joe had the best view of the proceedings as he was held stretched over the bench; his head at the level of Craige's backside, and only a few feet from it. I called to the other cadets and told them to line up against the wall facing Joe. The air was thick with anticipation and all eyes were on Craige as I drew the cane back and delivered the first stroke with as much force and accuracy as I could. The cane whistled through the air and landed with a gratifying "Crack," on Craig's backside.
Criage had not moved, nor uttered a sound and momentarily surprised, I wondered if he was wearing paddling underneath his shorts; but no sooner had the idea crossed my mind than I realised the impossibility. I could see the shape of his taught bottom through the thin cotton shorts, and right across the middle was the imprint that the cane had made. The next stroke would be harder I thought, a lot harder; but at that moment Craige let out a gasp and flexed his tight buttocks. Reassured, I raised the cane again. "Whack!" There was no mistaking that this stroke was hard and with force, and right on target, but still Craige didn't murmur and remained touching his toes, his bottom pushed back as if begging for another stroke, the only indication of his pain his heavy breathing. I paused and silently counted to ten, waiting for the fiery after-burn of that stroke to kick in, then, raised the cane again.
I gave a fast twist of my wrist just before the moment of impact, causing the cane to sweep low, and I felt the added tension in it before it struck Craige; the cane bending back upon itself before exploding across both arse cheeks. Craige uttered a stifled yelp and I thrilled that I had mastered this technique that I recalled from my own schooldays. I felt my cock harden in my jockstrap and savoured the moment, knowing that at that instant Craige would feel as if his arse had been branded with a hot iron, and counted slowly. When I had reached ten, I gave him another of the same; the cane whistling through the air with the characteristic sound so dreaded by generations of schoolboys. Caning Craige, I had made every effort to keep the strokes as near horizontal as I could, to achieve the parallel row of stripes that graced so many well thrashed arses at my school, but with this final stroke I decided to have it bi-sect my earlier efforts. Bringing the cane down hard, it struck diagonally across Craige's tightly stretched shorts. Even though he was trying to control himself, Craige couldn't prevent himself from uttering a loud gasp. I had given him six hard strokes and I was feeling proud of my accomplishment in having so quickly mastered the use of the cane. It was a most satisfying implement and, with another four lads to be dealt with, plus Joe, I would be proficient with its use before this punishment session was over.
His punishment complete, I told Craige to stand up, and to my surprise saw that he was still hard. The other cadets looked on with mixed expressions on their faces, no doubt they were wondering how the cane compared to their more usual paddle; in comparison it looked very light and insubstantial, and Craige had taken his punishment with scarcely more than a murmur, but it travelled through the air like an express train and sounded like a pistol shot. The boys stood there in silent trepidation.
I decided to cane the remaining boys all together, so summoning them to stand in a row where Craige had stood. Williams stood next to Peterson, and next to him Jes Watkins, with Brat Sinclair at the end. I told them to reach forward and touch their toes. I spent a few seconds adjusting their positions, pulling their shorts up higher so that they were stretched tight, and having them push their bottoms right back, until I was happy with the row of backsides presented to me. Sometimes we had been caned like this at my school, the whole dormitory bent over the ends of their beds to receive four strokes of the cane for talking after lights-out; the duty master passing rapidly down the row to deliver one stroke to each upturned bottom in turn, on each circuit. I warned the cadets that if any were to stand up before being told, or to make a fuss, that I would give them extra strokes and with that I moved down the line, caning each boy in turn. I moved quickly, but took time to aim properly, and was rewarded by a series of yelps and cries as I made my way down the line; it was rather like playing a musical instrument, and it was interesting to note the differences in tone that different types of strokes could bring to the boys. The inclusion of a sharp twist of the wrist on delivery certainly made for a louder and more desperate sounding yelp. These lads were far more vocal than Craige and, though none stood up, I had to remind them to stay down.
It did seem quicker to cane the cadets in this way, and within three minutes it was all over. Each of the American lads in my charge had received a traditional British six of the best. I looked at the row of recently caned cadets still bent over, and told the boys to stand up. Several hands started to rub sore bottoms and I called a halt to that, telling all the boys to stand facing the wall with their shorts down at their ankles, hands on their heads, for inspection. I walked down the line looking at the boys arses, and the red wields and stripes caused by the cane. Craige's arse looked particularly well caned with vivid tram lines running across both cheeks; the diagonal stroke turning the tram lines purple where they crossed. It was clear he had not escaped lightly; it was also clear from the massive erection he was sporting that he had been well turned on, either by his own caning or watching the other boys being punished.
After watching Craige's arse getting caned from only a few feet away, Joe had watched as the other four cadets had lined up in front of him and presented their arses for a blistering too, as I had walked down the line fairly distributing the two dozen strokes.
Now Joe was staring at the row of recently caned backsides; a suitable warning of what he could expect. His arse was already a deep shade of red from his earlier paddling and he was fidgeting about despite the restraints. I stood to one side of Joe and raised my arm. The cane whistled down delivering its stinging cut right across the middle of both his butt cheeks leaving a vivid red stripe. "Jezz!" Joe cried out as the liquid fire burnt into his flesh, it felt like he was being branded.
Joe uttered a stifled scream as the second stroke landed just below the first and bucked so hard that I called Craige over and told him to hold Joe's shoulders. Craige was still sporting an erection but, yanking his shorts up, rushed over. The other cadets still faced the wall showing us their stripes young bums. Craige moved in front of Joe and placing his hands on the lad, pushed Joe's shoulders down. I could feel the tension as Craige pushed Joe's face down till it was practically touching his rock-hard cock. I told him to move closer and hold Joe tight.
The next two strokes caused Joe to bury his head into Craige's shorts which muffled his cries as the cane bit into his tender arse. He was sobbing freely now and lay totally broken; no longer the arrogant and cocky teenager, just a tearful child.
I decided that Joe had been punished enough and told him that future misbehaviour would earn him more of the same, and then called all the cadets to attention. I told Williams and Peterson to help Joe back to the bunkhouse, and for Craige to remain, and then dismissed them. When their footsteps had died away, I asked Craige bluntly to explain himself, and reprimanded him for having an erection during the punishment.
Craige's face turned as red as his backside, as he gabbled out that he just could not help it; saying that at home he used to masturbate constantly often five or six times a day, even at boarding school in South Africa he had managed to wank several times a day; now here, at the Camp, the regime was driving him crazy. I had some sympathy for his position; we too had wanked like fury at my boarding school and I couldn't really understand the Rev Jackson's position; to him masturbation was a sin against God and demonstrated weakness and lack of self control. To me, however, it was natural and normal, but I could see how it would undermine discipline in the bunkhouse, and besides I had my position to consider. As an instructor, it was my role to enforce the Camp rules, not question them; but perhaps there was a middle way. I told Craige to wait outside my room at the bunkhouse and dismissed him.
Putting away the bench and hanging the cane in the cupboard gave me time to consider the options and; when I entered the bunkhouse and saw Craige waiting by my door, I knew what I was going to say to him. No sooner had the door closed behind us than I asked Craige if he still had an erection. He stammered that it had gone away, but the bulge in the front of his shorts was still quite prominent, and so I said I thought he still had a hard, and to show me. At my mention that I thought he was still hard, I had seen his cock twitch under his shorts and now as I told him to pull them down, I could see his cock start to lift.
The elastic waist band intercepted Craige's cock on its upward path, pulling it down before releasing it, causing it to fly up again and slap his stomach. There was no denying Craige's erection now. It jutted out at a steep angle; the knob of his rock-hard cock glistening with drops of pre-cum, up tight below it was a pair of bollocks the size of two chicken's eggs. I could not resist reaching my hand out and taking hold of them, as I closed my hand I appreciated just how big they were, they felt huge; no wonder Craige needed to wank constantly.
I looked at his thick cut cock then up into his green eyes; "start wanking Craige and the longer you take, the harder I'm gonna squeeze," I said and tightened my grip round those big nuts. "I'll tell you what," I said, "as you are so dedicated to masturbating, I'm going to put you in charge of enforcing the rule."
Then, I explained my plan; in return for him enforcing the anti-wanking rule in the bunkhouse, I would permit Craige to masturbate occasionally in the privacy of my room. If he caught a cadet beating-off after lights out, he was to send him to me, and watch me discipline the lad, after which he would be allowed to have a quick wank before returning to the dormitory; if I caught a boy masturbating in the dorm both the boy in question and Craige would get six of the best. Moreover, Craige was to keep a list of boys who were petitioning for permission to jack-off and, provided nobody had been caught masturbating without my permission, I might pick a few names from this list and allow them to wank off as a reward, but if anyone had been caught masturbating without permission then no names would be chosen for three days.
As I explained the new rules I could see Craige's cock swell even more and I squeezed his balls tighter; suddenly his cock exploded and he shot a great arc of spunk high into the air. I gripped his balls even tighter as he shot his second jet which if anything was harder than his first, travelling well over a metre. This was followed by seven or eight more squirts as his cock carried on pumping, and with each squirt I squeezed his balls hard as if milking every drop of spunk out of him. When he had finished I threw him some tissues and had him clean the floor.
As Craige was cleaning up the mess I asked him about school in South Africa, and he volunteered that he was regularly caned by both masters and prefects, "our uniform shorts were a bit thicker though" he added. The idea that he still wore shorts at his age for school uniform surprised me, but then I guess it is sensible in a hot climate.
"What was your uniform like?" I asked him.
"Kaki shorts and shirt; I can show you if you like," Craige replied.
A few minutes later Craige was laying the items on my bed. The short-sleeve kaki shirt looked like a boy-scouts, and was very similar to those issued to the instructors, the shorts were virtually the same length as the yellow PT shorts the cadets normally wore. I wondered how it was that he had arrived at the Camp in his old school uniform.
As the days and nights passed Craige fell into his role of "dormitory captain" with gusto. I had asked the Rev Jackson if he was agreeable to me appointing Craige as my senior cadet, and for him to wear the kaki shirt and shorts, in place of the standard blue singlet and yellow running shorts, to signify his new rank. After considering the matter he had agreed, as the regulations stated only that cadets were to wear shorts at all times. However, I had not expected them to be quite so short and tight, and when Craige appeared wearing them my eyes were continually drawn to the large and prominent bulge in the front that distinctly showed the round orbs of his big balls either side of the fly, but it was too late to consider that now.
The daytime paddlings continued to be a regular form of discipline, but I had brought the cane to my room and, after explaining the new rules, had introduced it as the punishment for inappropriate behaviour after lights-out. The first night Craige had caught a lad masturbating and sent him to me and I had given him six hard strokes across his bare butt that lad left as good a thrashed arse as ever I had seen at my school, after which I had allowed Craige to toss himself off. Ever vigilant, Craige had succeeded in catching at least one lad attempting to gain illicit relief each of the three subsequent nights. But things had been quiet after that and now as I lay on my bunk, about to put out my bedside light, I felt that the strategy must be working, it was three nights since I had last caned a cadet for masturbating.
I glanced up at the indicator board with its lights that signalled a rocking bed. It looked as if all the boys were asleep; exhausted by the strenuous regime of hard physical workouts that was a feature of the Camp's "behavioural realignment" programme. But, now a few lights began to flash, then a few more; flashing with the tell-tail rhythmic beat that denoted a stealthy wank under the sheets. More bulbs lit up and the flashing took on a new urgency. I got off my bunk and pulled on my tracksuit trousers; any minute now Craige would be knocking on my door with the culprits, but the minutes passed by. I turned the TV to Channel 12, which gave me a night vision picture of the dormitory, and watched the ghostly figures -- sure enough I could see furtive, and not so furtive, movements. Perhaps Craige was asleep, I wondered, but as I watched I saw him pull back his bed clothes and wank openly. Now, so many of the lights on the board were flashing, including Craige's, it looked as if the whole dormitory were at it -- it was time to teach these boys who was in charge.
Picking up my cane, I walked quietly to the door and opened it silently, then strode into the dorm and flicked on the lights. I shouted for the boys to place their hands on their head, instantly, and watched as they complied; then, I walked down the row of bunks pulling back the bedclothes. The evidence of their wanton breaching of the rule against masturbation was everywhere, so much so that I decided to cane the lot of them. When I announced my intention, one of the younger lads, who had so far escaped a taste of the cane, blurted out, with a scared look on his face, that Craige had given them all permission to jack-off that night, and several other boys nodded in agreement; clearly that put a different perspective on matters.
I asked Craige if it was true, and sheepishly he admitted it was.
"In that case, Craige," I announced, "you will be punished for giving permission without my consent but, since you gave them permission, I will not withhold it now," and with that I told Craige to bend over the end of his bunk.
I would cane Craige and make sure it hurt. Craige had undone the drawers that the boys had to wear under their pyjama pants so it did not require much effort to pull these to the floor. As he presented his arse to me, I could still see the cane lines from the beating I had given him earlier in the week; though no longer angry looking, they remained red and would last another week before fading.
I drew back the cane and paused to tell the other boys that they could resume wanking, and that as "dorm captain" Craige had let me down, and so would be punished severely; he would receive nine strokes as punishment. Had he ever received nine before at his school in South Africa I wondered. In the bunk next to him I could see Nat Reed was rock hard and playing with his cock furiously despite my presence only feet away. From the looks on the faces of the cadets, they were relishing the prospect of seeing Craige getting a hard caning. I called over to Nat and told him to kneel on Craige's bunk and hold him down, and he skipped over, jumping on to the bed and placed his hands on Craige's shoulders. I looked into Nat's cheeky face, he was loving it. I told him to hold Craige tight and he pushed Craige's head down so that it was inches from his own hard cock. I brought the cane down hard and fast, adding a twist of the wrist at the final moment just before impact. It was a first rate stroke right across the middle of both cheeks and it sounded like a pistol shot. Craige gasped and shot forward; it looked as if he was trying to bob on Nat's cock.
"Hold him tighter," I instructed Nat, as I prepared to deliver a second stroke; Nat obligingly pulled Craige closer.
Slowly and methodically I administered Craige's punishment, by the time I had delivered the fourth cut Craige was squirming and bobbing his head about despite Nat holding him down, but I continued to six of the best and then beyond. On the eighth stroke, just as the cane cracked over Craige's arse and he bobbed forward I saw Nat tense and a jet of spunk shot from his cock to hit Craige full in the face; he was so excited he had cum without even touching his own cock. As Craige pulled back, a second jet flew up into the air to land in his hair, but Nat was under instructions to hold Craige and he did; pulling him down on to his spurting cock. Nat was still pumping spunk when the final stroke exploded across Craige's backside and he screamed out from the pain. When I told him to stand up, his face and hair was covered with spunk and a big glob was dripping from the side of his mouth.
I told Craige to lie on his bunk as he was and, though he pleaded for a tissue to wipe his face, I told him to lick his lips. I told the cadets to stop wanking and reluctantly those who had not already come stopped; then I walked down the row of bunks inspecting the boys. Those who had come I gave permission to go and clean up in the bathroom; those who were still hard I told to assemble round Craige's bed. When they were in place, I told them they had two minutes to ejaculate on to Craige or they too would be caned. Never had I seen such furious wanking. The lads stood beating their teenage meat for all they were worth. Suddenly, the first lad blew, shooting a big jet of spunk on to Craige's chest; then as if on cue, the others followed suit, several boys deliberately pointing their cocks at his face or aiming for his groin. Craige lay there utterly humiliated covered in spunk, yet despite his painful caning and the humiliation of having half the dorm wanking all over him, his young cock had a mind of its own and was rock hard. Looking at his big cut cock and massive balls, all covered in spunk, I told him to add his load of jizz to the sticky mess that covered him. He was so lubed from all the spunk on his cock that he could hardly keep a grip on himself, but it did not take much, as with a loud groan he pushed his hips up and shot a long string of spunk clean over his shoulder and kept pumping his meat sending another half dozen spurts of teen-boy juice over his chest and belly till he was drenched.
"Let that be a lesson to you Craige," I said, "now go and take a shower, and report to me when you are done." After seeing the boys releasing all their pent-up drive, I was in need of relief myself. Craige could suck me off in my room, and I was looking forward to seeing just how much more boy-juice I could squeeze from those big balls of his.
Well, that's it from Stephen. I will try to keep to his story line with future chapters and will be happy to hear your comments as I am sure Stephen will from his four chapters.
I have completed 5, 6 and 7; Stephen has written 8 so we still have plenty for you.
Stephen's email address is : silenusawoken@yahoo.com