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As they made their way into the back of the cabin, Tinley halted prior to the hallway entrance.
"Strip!" he barked. "Get out of those filthy clothes! Throw 'em in the washer."
Yarrow complied, and soon stood naked.
"You will shower first," he ordered. "Then it will be breakfast, as usual."
While he was showering, he heard Tinley's voice talking on the phone. The words "sir" and "Commandant" indicated who he was talking to. He could only pick up fragments of the conversation, but when he heard "two weeks" he was scared. Yarrow finished drying himself, and appeared out in the hallway. Tinley motioned him over to the phone, and handed it to him. He took the receiver with a sense of dread. He knew what was coming.
"Mr. Yarrow?" he heard the Commandant say, noting that he was not being called by his rank.
"Yes sir!" he replied.
"Effective immediately, you are removed from the Corps of Cadets," the Commandant said. Even though he had expected the words, the impact was devastating. He felt his breath leave his body, and his legs weaken.
"Yes sir," Yarrow replied, weakly.
"Your preliminary status will be that of Trainee," the Commandant said coldly. "Your final status will be determined after you return to the main campus. The date of return will be determined at a later time. Is that understood?"
"But sir ..."
"Is that understood?" the Commandant repeated coldly, interrupting.
"Yes sir," he replied.
"In the meantime, you will obey Cadet Captains Tinley and Thomas in all matters. Their authority is absolute," the Commandant said. "Is that understood?"
"Y-y-yes sir," he replied. His voice quivering. He noticed that one of his knees was shaking. Then the line went dead, and he offered the receiver to Tinley.
"The Commandant hung up, sir," Yarrow said.
Tinley took the receiver from the newest Trainee, and as he hung it up Yarrow heard the thud of the door to the basement close, and steps approaching. Were they going to torture him, he wondered. But it was only Thomas, holding a stack of dark blue cloth in his hands.
"This is what you'll wear now," he said. "Plus socks and those shoes that gave ya away. No underwear. Suit up, then go make us breakfast. Fried eggs and toast and sausage and coffee for us. Scrambled eggs and oatmeal for you. Milk all around. Your food on the low table."
The captains headed to their room. While they took turns in the head, Yarrow donned one of the two "suits" he'd been given. It was a thick, loose fitting, dark blue jumpsuit with a zipper running from crotch to neck, and a large white "T" on the back. As he emerged from his bedroom, he almost ran into Tinley in the hallway. His naked, hairy body now seemed menacing.
"Sir, where should I put the other jumpsuit?" Yarrow asked.
Tinley scowled and grabbed the front of his suit at the neckline, lifting him off the ground while choking his his airway.
"Sir, where should the Trainee put the other jumpsuit, sir?" he growled, before releasing Yarrow, who stumbled before regaining his footing. His legs ached from the run.
"Sir, where should the Trainee put the other jumpsuit, sir?" Yarrow asked, recalling how Candidates were required to begin and end their sentences with "sir" and refer to themselves by rank – "Candidate" – rather than using a personal pronoun.
"In the dresser. There's an empty drawer," Tinley replied. "And don't waste time. I want that breakfast out there pronto."
"Sir, yes, sir," Yarrow replied.
In addition to the Candidates, the general corps, the sergeants, and the captains, there was another group of cadets. It was the most secretive; their identities were known only to each other, the Commandant, and the captains. At most times, they blended in with the other cadets, sworn never to reveal that they were Cadet Military Police.
Their existence was discussed only once with the general population of cadets, near the end of the first year, when the Candidate ranks had been greatly thinned. The Commandant held an assembly of those first-years who had been admitted to the general corps, and those who had been made sergeants. Not much was said. The MPs were appointed to provide perimeter security, and as a backstop to the normal disciplinary process. Cadets were shown a drawing that indicated what uniform they wore, and told that they could expect to never see an MP during their years at the academy.
The Commandant briefly explained that attempts to defy authority, or to leave the campus perimeter without authorization, would bring a cadet into contact with the MP force. This would be very much to a cadet's disadvantage, and even more so if they were to find themselves confined to the brig that they ran. MP membership was not disclosed, nor would it be. At the same time, the MP force was not a group of informers, nor did they have independent power to inflict punishment. They operated under the Commandant's direct authority, and would act only in the most serious circumstances.
All of this made the MP a mysterious figure. Rumors circulated that MPs had killed cadets who tried to escape, and that they were chosen for their sadistic streak. Some cadets believed they could spot an MP by his "thousand yard stare," a placid set of eyes hiding darkness within. Those rumors were true, and so were some other undisclosed facts. While MPs were drawn from all ranks, all captains were first MPs before being elevated to the Corps of Conquest. Since Yarrow had never been made an MP, he had never had any chance of becoming a Cadet Captain.
After breakfast, as Yarrow did his chores of cleaning the cabin kitchen, scrubbing the head, making beds, and washing, drying, and ironing uniforms, the captains retreated to the deck to study. At some point – Yarrow didn't notice when – they ran the course again, and returned for lunch. Yarrow fixed their food, and some mush for himself, while the Tops showered once more. Again, the new Trainee was instructed to thoroughly clean the head, and while he did so the Tops changed uniforms.
When Yarrow emerged from the bathroom, he was confronted by a sight that made him gasp. He barely recognized the Men standing in front of him. They were clad in khaki uniforms, their creases pressed to a knife edge sharpness. The bottoms of the trousers were "bloused" into the tops of black combat boots, which were shined to a mirror-like gloss. Even though the pants fit more loosely than the standard captain's dress uniform to allow for more freedom of movement, the Tops' bulges were plainly outlined against the thick fabric. The long-sleeved shirts, their collars open and showing white, crew-neck t-shirts worn underneath, also fit more loosely, yet still accentuated their muscularity.
The pants were cinched tightly at the waist with khaki web belts. A separate tool belt, made of white webbing with a gleaming brass clasp in front, held a white patent-leather holster, filled with a pistol, and on the other side a gleaming, lacquered mahogany billyclub in a white patent-leather holster of its own. The belts were completed by key rings and handcuffs. Each Man held a helmet, olive drab with a wide white stripe containing a thinner red stripe inside. The letters "MP" were printed in black on each side of the helmets, and on each arm they wore black armbands with "MP" sewn in white nylon.
The captains stared at Yarrow with stone faces and calm, far-away eyes.
"When you are able to certify that you have cleaned the head to milspec Candidate standard, come to the deck and tell us," Tinley said, coldly. "Put your toothbrush on the sink before you come out. Is that understood?"
"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow replied, breathless with fear.
A half-hour later, the Trainee emerged from the cabin to make his certification, and the captains walked inside to the head. Tinley instructed Yarrow to stand against a wall, picked the toothbrush off the sink and ran it across the surfaces of the toilet. As he probed under the rim, inside the top of the water tank, and where the toilet joined the tile floor, Yarrow breathed a sigh of relief. This was a drill he had mastered, both as a Candidate and as a sergeant, when he had gone through the same exercise, both as recipient and perpetrator. When Tinley handed him the toothbrush, he put it in his mouth without hesitation, knowing it was clean.
Tinley then ordered the Trainee to stand in front of the toilet while Thomas used the toothbrush on all surfaces of the urinal, inside and out. He lifted the porcelain filter and ran the brush inside. Yarrow smiled to himself; it was a trick he knew. But he was not prepared for what came next. Thomas put the brush in his shirt pocket and unzipped his fly in front of urinal. He withdrew his flaccid yet swollen and outsized penis, and began urinating. As he did so, he withdrew the toothbrush and held it in the stream until he was finished. He rested the toothbrush against the filter while he zipped up, then picked up the toothbrush, soaked and dripping.
"Open your mouth," he said, turning to Yarrow.
Panic flashed in the Trainee's eyes, and he balked. In a flash, Tinley grabbed Yarrow's arms while Thomas buried his fist in the Trainee's solar plexus, causing him to drop to his knees in agony. He felt his arms stretch backward as Tinley continued to hold them tight, while Thomas shoved his head into the toilet bowl, under the water line. Thomas held him there, and soon Yarrow was struggling to keep his lungs from filling with water. Still he was held there, and his struggle intensified until he felt as if he was going to be drowned.
Suddenly, the toilet flushed, and the water receded. Yarrow retched into the bowl, gasping for air. Thomas let his head stay above the water line as the bowl re-filled, and flushed again to get rid of the Trainee's vomit.
"Pick up the toothbrush and brush your teeth," Thomas said.
When he was finished, Thomas returned the brush to the sink.
"Clean the floor and the urinal," Thomas ordered.
Yarrow reached toward the shelf beneath the sink that held cleaning rags, but Thomas stopped him.
"With your mouth," Thomas ordered.
As Yarrow licked the floor next to the toilet, he heard Thomas speak.
"You will do what a Man tells you to do," Thomas said, coldly. "Is that understood?"
"Sir, yes, sir," Yarrow replied, his voice shaky and wavering.
"At all times," Thomas added, more aggressively.
"Sir, yes sir!" Yarrow said, as he licked the urine from the floor. Tinley had been pissing into the urinal while Yarrow was taking care of the floor, and when Yarrow rose and moved toward the urinal he saw that the captain was zipping his fly.
"Don't flush it," Tinley ordered. "Clean the urinal the same way you cleaned the floor."
"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow replied, submissively. The captain's urine streaked the porcelain at the back of the urinal and pooled near the drain, and Yarrow moved diligently with his tongue to get it all.
Out on the deck now, the Tops had donned their helmets while hanging their tool belts on hooks that protruded from the railing that surrounded the deck. They sat together on one side of a table on two chairs that they had pulled up. Yarrow stood, as directed, in front of a chair on the other side of the table, opposite them. It was a formal interrogation, and folders sat open in front of the captains.
"These are your applications to enter Jackson Military Academy," Tinley said, pointing to one folder, and then to two others. "Those are the results of the investigation ordered by the Commandant, and the other one is your academic and performance records while you've been here."
Yarrow said nothing.
"Mr. Yarrow, you have been dismissed from the Corps of Cadets, and are here as a Trainee," Tinley said, in a tone that was cool and remote. "Those decisions are permanent, and irrevocable. The purpose this afternoon is to more fully acquaint you with how you have reached this point. You will have the opportunity to ask questions, and to give explanations. As you do so, you may speak freely, but you may not dispute, argue with, or attempt to evade the information we present. Do you understand?"
"Sir, yes sir," the defeated cadet replied, softly.
"This afternoon, you may refer to yourself as 'I' and you can leave off the 'sir' at the beginning," Thomas said. His tone was sympathetic, and his blue eyes beckoned. "We want to know why, so now's your chance to be heard."
The captain's words had a narcotic effect, especially in contrast to Tinley's harshness, and Yarrow felt himself relax.
"Sit down, Clifton," Thomas said. "Let's get through this."
"Thank you, sir," Yarrow said, with a sigh, as he sat.
Once more, Tinley led the way to the basement door. This time, Yarrow was told to walk first, and recite the slogans along the way, declaring himself to be weak, cowardly, "a lie," and at the bottom, not a Man. It was already warm; the heat had been turned on.
"Turn right, and strip," Thomas ordered, and Yarrow complied. He felt embarrassed by the wide physical gap between himself and the Tops. Tinley had more than six inches and at least 60 pounds on him, and Thomas, almost as much. He lacked their body hair, and his genital equipment wasn't even remotely comparable. It was as if he had barely entered puberty, compared to the full-grown Men in the room.
Tinley reached into one of the cabinets and removed a small bottle and a drinking glass. He poured a bit of the liquid into it, and filled the rest with water from the sink. He offered the mixture to Yarrow.
"Drink it," Tinley said. This time, Yarrow knew better than to hesitate, and swiftly followed the order. He winced and struggled to hold the bitter mixture down. Thomas disappeared, and Yarrow could hear him opening the doors in the back of the large room on the other side of the stairs.
"Jumping jacks, right now!" Tinley barked. Yarrow obeyed, and soon he was sweating, and noticed that grit had been mixed into the grey paint on the concrete floor to prevent slipping. He became aware of a queasy feeling in his stomach, and more rapid sweating. It replaced his self-consciousness at being naked in front of the captains.
"Sir, the Trainee is going to be sick, sir!" he moaned.
"You can stop exercising now," Tinley said. Thomas had re-entered the shower room, holding a bedroll and a large towel..
"You'll be sick for the next couple hours," Tinley said. "Everything inside you is comin' out. Sweat, piss, shit, puke, it's all comin' out. You'll have to lay down, and you can do it on the bedroll there. Use the towel for your sweat, and if ya get cold ya can cover yourself with the jumpsuit. Make sure all yer puke and piss and shit goes into the bowl."
Yarrow didn't have time to answer. His head was in the toilet bowl as he vomited. He did notice that the scaffolding that had surrounded the toilet when he had gotten his earlier tour was missing.
"It's nicotine," Tinley said. "You just drank a pack of cigarettes."
The dizzy Trainee staggered from the toilet toward the bedroll, and then realized that his bowels were loose. He returned and began emptying them. For the next half hour, he moaned in agony, and heaved up his breakfast, and even bits of the previous night's dinner. He soaked the towel with his sweat, returning to the bedroll when he could, only to return to the bowl. He gasped for pure air throughout, barely even seeing the captains. At last, when the poison seemed to have left his system, covered himself with his jumpsuit and lay on the bedroll, panting.
Yarrow didn't know how long he had been sleeping when he felt himself being shaken awake.
"Get up," he heard Thomas say gently. "It's over with."
And it was. He rose on shaky legs, but quickly found his footing. He glanced at the clock on the wall, which was denominated in civilian and military time. Just as Tinley said, his ordeal had lasted for two hours. They had started at 1300, and now it was 1500. He looked over at the toilet bowl that he had hugged and sat on for the better part of his first hour, and saw that the scaffolding once more surrounded it, with leather straps hanging from several places.
Tinley was standing next to the apparatus, and called to Yarrow.
"Time to clean your insides," he said. "Come over here and sit on the toilet seat."
"Sir, yes sir," the Trainee said, moving to comply with the order. Tinley directed him where to place his arms and legs, and tightened straps. Yarrow found himself immobilized, leaning forward, with his rear end extended over the bowl. He felt some cool cream applied to his rectum, which was sore from the forced diarrhea.
"This will soothe things while I flush your backside out," Tinley said. He held a large rubber tip in front of the Trainee's face, and applied cream to it. "In the future, you will do this yourself every morning, upstairs."
Yarrow felt the tip enter his anus. It was uncomfortable, but more than that it was humiliating.
He felt his bowel filling up and stretching.
"I'm going to take the nozzle out, and you will hold the water in until I tell you to expel it," he said. "Close it up good and tight, Trainee."
"Sir, yes sir," he answered.
He felt the tip move out, and he squeezed his rectum shut.
"I require that your insides be clean, so you will make them clean," Tinley said. "Expel the water. Now."
Yarrow let go and pushed the liquid out, hearing it splash into the bowl.
Tinley applied more lotion to Yarrow's anus, and then to the nozzle. He reinserted it, then handed the enema bag to Yarrow.
"Squeeze it slow until I tell ya to stop," the captain ordered. Yarrow did as he was told, and felt himself filling up. Tinley told him to stop.
"Now reach back there and take the nozzle out, then wait 10 seconds and expel," he ordered. Tinley was teaching the Trainee how to screw himself.
Next, he had the Yarrow grease up himself and then the nozzle, and reach back and insert it. Then Trainee squeezed the bag until it was empty, awaiting the command to expel. But Tinley didn't give the commend. Instead, he began undoing the leather restraints while Yarrow squeezed his anus as tight as he could manage.
"Get up and walk to the shower area," the captain said. "Don't let anything out of yer backside, or you'll lickin' it off the floor. Hear me?"
After being cleaned in the same manner as the day before, Yarrow was led, naked, to the flat table in the other room.
"Time to remove your body hair," Tinley said. "On the table, face up."
"Sir yes, sir," the Trainee said, and complied, while Thomas removed an electric clipper from the nearby shelf and plugged it into an outlet. He handed it to Tinley, who flipped it on, the buzz filling the room.
"Not a lot to shave off, but we'll get it all," Tinley said, with a slight smirk. He started on the prone Trainee's chest, and removed a few hairs that had grown near Yarrow's nipples before moving to the faint trail between his navel and pubic bone. Then to the sparse hair above his genitals, and then what was on his testicles and around the base of his penis.
"Arms over yer head, Trainee," he then said, and Yarrow complied.
"Not much there either, but off it comes," Tinley said, swiftly removing what little has grown in Yarrow's armpits.
"Tom, could you grab the cream, and the cloth, and the glove?" Tinley said to the other captain standing across from him next to the table.
"Sure thing, Dog," Thomas replied.
Tinley pulled on a rubber glove, opened a metal tube, and smeared some lotion onto his two middle fingers. The prone Trainee could smell medicine, and felt a growing fear.
"Grab the backs of yer knees and spread yer legs wide," Tinley said. Yarrow knew better than to hesitate, and soon felt his anus being smeared with the cream. Then he felt a slippery finger enter. It probed deeply, and twisted. The Trainee moaned slightly with discomfort, and then felt the entry of a second finger. The captain was stretching his anus; it hurt, and he moaned louder.
When he began twisting his body in reaction, Tinley used his free hand to reach down for a strap attached on one side of the table, and he tossed it to Thomas, who attached it on the other side and cinched it tight to secure Yarrow's midsection. Then he went to the shelf and retrieved two more leather restraints, fastening one behind the one of the struggling Trainee's knees, attaching to the table behind his head. Thomas repeated the process on the other side, and then attached another strap across the Trainee's shaved chest.
All of this was done without a word spoken. Pinned to the table, Yarrow couldn't move as Tinley continued and expanded his probe. He paused once to withdraw his fingers, giving the Trainee a short rest, but then he applied more of the lotion to his fingers and went back to stretching Yarrow's hole and massaging his prostate. Soon, the Trainee was hard.
"Tom, how 'bout comin' over and tying him off?" Tinley said to his partner, who indicated his assent, went to the shelf, and retrieved a narrow leather strap. He tightened it around the moaning Trainee's genitals, trapping the blood in his engorged penis. Meanwhile, Tinley removed the glove and went to work shaving Yarrow's legs and ass, removing the hair from ankles to hips. Then he worked on the area between the Trainee's balls and his anus, pressing the clippers firmly, and adjusting the tourniquet so he could remove any stray hairs.
"Ya can undo his legs now, Tom," Tinley said when he was finished. "And how 'bout gettin the measuring tape? Might as well measure what there is to measure of his dick for the Commandant's records."
"Keep yer legs flat on the table," Tinley said to Yarrow.
Thomas went to the shelf and got the tape, and handed it across Yarrow's prone body. Tinley grabbed the Trainee's engorged penis lying flat against lower abdomen and pointed it up at the ceiling. He positioned the measuring tape in his hand and jammed down at the base, and used his other hand to stretch the tape straight up against the Trainee's erection.
"Why don't ya check this, Tom? I'm gettin' 3 and seven-eighths," Tinley said to the other captain. "That look right to you?"
Thomas leaned in and confirmed the reading.
"Yeah, that's what it is," he said. "I'd say about the thickness of a thumb, maybe a bit more."
Tinley wrapped the tape around Yarrow's dick, and got the measurement.
"Two and a half inches," he said to Thomas. "Ya know, we got Trainees who are 5 foot 6 all the way up to 6 foot 1, but every last one's got half a dick it seems."
There had been nothing lascivious in any of it. Both captains treated Yarrow in a workmanlike, matter-of-fact way. The removal of his hair was done in the way that a sheep might have been sheared. The rectal probing was done as if it was some sort of standard operating procedure, and the tying off and measurement of his erection was done impersonally, in a way that completely ignored any sexual aspects. The effect was to render Yarrow separate from the Men, and not an object of their lust or even particular interest.
That changed as Tinley looked down at Yarrow, whose face had turned red from embarrassment and shame.
"What do ya think, Clifton?" the captain asked in a mocking tone. "How come all you Trainees seem to got the dick of a 10 year old boy?"
"Sir, the Trainee doesn't know, sir," Yarrow answered despondently.
"Well, time to get up and get ya back in that suit," Tinley said, again adopting a matter-of-fact tone while moving to undo the straps across the Trainee's stomach and chest. The newly shaven Trainee stood with his undersized erection pointing upward at a 45-degree angle, and Thomas handed him his blue jumpsuit.
"Do I ... sir, does this stay on, sir?" Yarrow said, pointing to the leather strap that maintained his erection.
Thomas ignored the question.
"Put your suit on," he said, "then your socks, then your shoes."
"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow replied. The jumpsuit's thick fabric stimulated him as his erection rubbed against it while he dressed.
The Trainee was leaning nearly prone on the kneeling bench. Thomas had attached him there, using a pair of leather straps to pull his thighs were wide apart and another pair to tightly secure his ankles. His arms were strapped in place, and a strap across his lower back pushed his body downward into a lightly padded leather covered board that had been wedged between his crotch and the bench, forcing his rear end upward. As he had done this, Thomas casually and without comment arranged Yarrow's erection to fit into a slight, rounded indentation in the padded board.
The Trainee's head and shoulders fit into a gap designed to fit them. Yarrow noticed that a board bearing the same slogans as those stenciled on the wall was attached to the apparatus in such a way to allow the occupant to read them. When the arrangement was accomplished, Tinley turned the cranks, increasing the Yarrow's angle slightly, and lifting him a foot or so higher from the floor. The Trainee heard him open the door to the same cabinet that Tinley had taken his whips from the day before.
This time, the captain had selected a whip consisting of a thick, brown leather belt attached to a handle at one end and cut at the top to turn what had been a loop into two separate straps, each about two feet in length. Tinley started slowly, strapping Yarrow's butt gently. The Trainee's jumpsuit remained on, and at first he barely felt the strokes through the fabric, which was thick but tightly drawn over the Trainee's protruding rear end.
"Get things warmed up first," Tinley said, slowly building the intensity and interrupting with occasional pauses. Yarrow felt his ass getting warm as the strokes stimulated the flow of his blood. Each stroke caused him to grind his crotch downward, stimulating his erection.
"Now read the top line out loud, startin' and endin' with 'sir.' And make sure I can hear you," Tinley said. "You'll be gettin' 10 hard strokes, but if you don't say your lines they won't count."
"Sir, I am not a Man, sir!" Yarrow said, loudly. The captain hit hard. The Trainee felt a sharp sting, followed by a twinge of stimulation.
"One," the captain said, evenly. He waited a bit, and then slapped a few times more softly, with intensity building.
"Read it again," the captain ordered. "Just like the first time."
"Sir, I am not a Man, sir!" Yarrow replied. The captain hit again, slightly harder, and Yarrow moaned slightly.
"Two," the captain said, once again waiting afterwards and starting again with a few softer slaps.
"Again," he commanded.
"Sir, I am not a Man, sir!" Yarrow said. The captain hit again, increasing his force, causing Yarrow to moan louder.
Tinley did it again and again. By the fifth slap, Yarrow's moans had turned more urgent. This time, the captain gave the Trainee's ass a rubdown of sorts, but in a manner of checking for signs of injury. Tinley could feel the heat through the fabric.
"Good and warmed up, Tom," he said to his partner, and resumed his buildup strokes.
"Now read the second line," Tinley ordered.
"Sir, I was never a Man, sir!" Yarrow called out. Tinley hit hard, continuing the escalation of force. Yarrow's moan took on an agonized tone, and he gave an extra involuntary grind against the bench.
"Again," Tinley commanded.
"Sir, I was never a Man, sir!" the Trainee said. This time, Yarrow felt the captain put real muscle into the slap, and moaned. "Oww," he said. "Sir ..."
"Seven," the captain said, ignoring the beginnings of a plea for mercy.
The eighth hit was worse yet, and Yarrow's ground himself harder into the bench, as pain and stimulation mixed into one. As he did the day before, Tinley paused. He removed the billy club from his holster and used it like a rolling pin to massage the Trainee's buttocks. He pressed hard and rolled roughly, saying nothing to the Trainee. There was nothing erotic about it; this was a kind of sports massage intended to work out any cramping.
"I want him to be able to walk away," Tinley said to the other captain. "Say Tom, how 'bout getting' a six by three and a seven by four and a half for the plunger?"
"Sure thing, Dog," Thomas replied. Yarrow heard him open the cabinet door and rustle around, and his fear heightened.
"I'd strongly recommend that ya not let that little gun a-yours go off just yet," Tinley said to the prone figure on the bench. He resumed his work, lightly strapping the Trainee, and slowly building.
"Say it," he ordered.
"Sir, I will never be a Man, sir!" Yarrow whimpered. It was the ninth hit, and the hardest yet. The Trainee's ass undulated against the tight straps, causing them to creak.
"Again," Tinley said, showing no sign of recognizing the Trainee's pain.
"Sir, I will never be a Man, sir!" he sobbed.
The final blow, delivered with full force, was much worse. Yarrow's scream filled the room, and then he cried uncontrollably. He pressed hard into the bench, and as he did so he could feel an ejaculation starting. Through force of will, he prevented himself from following through. The captain showed no hint of recognizing any of it. The beating had been methodical and impersonal, just as the shaving and rectal probe had been. Yarrow felt non-human in a way, but also ashamed. And he was still erect, and now that felt painful as well.
He heard Tinley return to the cabinet and replace the whip, and he inwardly felt relief that the ass beating was finished. But the feeling quickly vanished as he heard the captain who had whipped him call out over his shoulder to the other captain.
"Tom, how 'bout gettin' him ready for the plunger while I go take a leak?" he heard Tinley say to Thomas.
Yarrow felt a sense of panic rising. He didn't know what they were going to do, but he knew he ordeal was far from over.
"Sir, please sir, the Trainee can't take it anymore, sir!" he called out. He heard Tinley's footsteps retreat back to the toilet and shower area. Thomas said nothing, but matter-of-factly pulled the zipper on the back of his jumpsuit upward. He felt the captain's hands part the fabric, followed by a rubber-gloved finger massaging cream onto his anus, and then inside. Thomas didn't linger.
Next, Yarrow heard the clanking of metal, and then a sound he could not identify. Thomas was screwing the probe, made of a metal rod encased in thick rubber, onto the end of the plunger, and followed by unwrapping a condom and placing it over the probe, which was six inches long and a little less than an inch in diameter. He set the angle of attack, rubbed cream on the condom, and pulled a lever that moved the tip up against the Trainee's anus. By then, Tinley had returned.
"Want me to set a stop?" Thomas asked his partner.
"Yeah, start with four," Tinley replied. "How 'bout greasin' everything up again?"
"Okey-doke, Dog," the captain said, using the lever to pull the plug back. Once again, Yarrow could feel the cool cream on his anus, and the gloved finger inside. Tinley crouched down and talked softly, but not gently.
"When I tell ya, you'll say the third line over and over. You'll start with 'sir' but not repeat it while it's inside ya. Just the line. It'll come back out all the way, and ya will stop. And when I tell ya to start ya will start over, with 'sir' to begin but then not after that," he told Yarrow. "There'll be five counts, and ya won't let that gun a-yours go off unless I say ya can. Understood?"
The Trainee was paralyzed with fear and humiliation, and said nothing.
"I asked ya a question," Tinley repeated. "Do ya understand?"
"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow answered softly.
The captain stood, and Yarrow heard him ask Thomas if he'd set the stopping point.
"All set," he heard Thomas answer.
Then probe was up against his anus, and Tinley ordered him to start.
"Sir, I will never be a Man," he said, softly, as the probe entered him. "I will never be a Man. I will never be a Man. I will never ..."
The probe went in slowly, farther and farther. Unlike with the enemas of the past two days, or with the rubber glove on the table, this operation felt different. Now, the purpose was penetration for penetration's sake. He was being trained, and he knew it.
Tinley pumped the rod in and out, saying nothing. The only words were Yarrow's, until the captain interrupted.
"That's one," he said, finally, and withdrew the plug.
"Take the stop off, Tom," he heard Tinley say to Thomas. A bolt was withdrawn.
"Start," Tinley ordered, and Yarrow began.
"Sir, I will never be a Man," he said. "I will never be a Man, I will never be a Man ..."
The probe entered him again. Tinley slowly pushed it farther in, and he felt a deep sensation. Tinley pumped over and over, while Yarrow chanted the words.
"That's two," Tinley said, again withdrawing the plug.
"Time for the other plug, Tom," he said. Yarrow heard the one plug being unscrewed, and other one being attached. The gloved finger with more lotion.
"Start," Tinley commanded.
"Sir, I will never be a Man, I will never be a Man. I will never be a Man ..."
The new plug was much bigger, almost an inch and a half wide. It stretched his anus, and Yarrow could feel the dull pain as Tinley pumped in and out. He began to whimper.
"I will never be a Man ..."
"Three," Tinley said, withdrawing. After the assault, the captain paused longer to give the Trainee time to recover.
"Don't want to split him apart," he heard Tinley say to his partner. There was nothing lewd, like when the hillbillies back home had screwed him for the fun of it. This was serious business, almost industrial.
"Again," Tinley said, and Yarrow resumed his catechism.
The probe went in even farther, and moved faster. Yarrow could feel fluid leaking from his erection. As with the whipping, pain and stimulation blended as one, and he moaned. By the time Tinley said "four," the Trainee was weeping, but kept reciting his words.
The probe withdrew, and even though he was given another respite he was jamming himself into the pad.
"Start," Tinley said again.
The probe went in a ways, but now Yarrow had lost control, and began to arch himself toward it, moving in a rhythm. He was crying now, saying his words, and screwing himself with his movements. Slowly, the probe went all the way in. The Trainee undulated against it. Tinley bent over and cracked open an ampule under his nostrils, and Yarrow felt his heart begin to race.
"Sir, I will never be a Man. I will never be a Man ..." Yarrow said, chanting breathlessly. "I will never be a Man ..."
And then he felt it coming. His erection spurted, and he could feel the liquid collecting inside of his jumpsuit as he jammed himself up and down against the rod, over and over, while it remained firm and motionless. The leather straps were creaking, but the captains said nothing. At last, he was spent, lying motionless, and chanting softly.
"I will never be a Man ..."
"Five," Tinley said, jamming the probe a little deeper before withdrawing it.