Date: Tue, 28 Feb 2017 18:13:00 +0000 (GMT)
From: "rampage938@btinternet.com" <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: THE JUDAS EFFECT - Preamble & Ch.1

Preamble

During the period known to History as 'the Cold War', NATO (the North
Atlantic Treaty Organization) and the Warsaw Pact countries under the
leadership of the Soviet Union, confronted each other, challenging the
'enemy' to be the first to launch World War Three, thereby increasing the
danger of ending human existence by means of all-out nuclear warfare. After
World War II, Germany had been partitioned into two separate nations: East
Germany, under the total political and military subjugation of the Soviet
bloc, whilst West Germany was nominally independent but under the
domination of the Western powers - the USA and her European allies. To be
brief, such a situation could only make for circumstances where spies spied
upon spies spying on other spies - a nasty, dangerously explosive brew.

National Governments and NATO security services both employed nefarious
tactics to root out radical or seditious elements as well as agents of
hostile foreign powers. The Allied military intelligence services were
frantic in their efforts to protect their secrets, to prevent unfriendly
foreign powers - for which read the Soviet Union and her satellites -
gaining access to them. Amongst these efforts was a persistent, relentless
drive to weed out perverts, homosexuals and other 'undesirables' under the
guise of protecting them from being blackmailed - or worse. The methods
used to achieve these dubious ends were many, but none was worse than the
practice that came to be known in the Intelligence community as 'queer
baiting'. Corporal Lance Dulac found himself a victim of these vicious
practices and was forced into an unacceptable position, compelling him to
contribute to the Intelligence effort. At a high personal cost.

*   *   *   *   *

Chapter 1

In The Beginning

The mid-1950s saw young Shane Dawson enter his teenage years with a rapidly
lengthening and thickening dick, falling balls and a sore arse. One lazy
summer afternoon, just after his fourteenth birthday, he willingly lost his
virginity to a young guy doing his conscription service in the Army and
subsequently met him almost every day on the quiet for more. Shane was also
developing into a rebellious, randy fifteen year old. He was a big lad for
his age and most of the kids he had grown up with thought twice - or even
thrice - before attempting to mix it with him. He enjoyed life as an
average young man of his generation in a small town somewhere in rural
England, where he had been brought up and lived with his Mum, Dad and an
older brother. Shane was never a star student at college and the low grades
he achieved in his exams meant university was out of the question but they
were sufficient for him to get a job "with prospects." When he left
college, with the help of the local town council he found himself a job in
a local timber yard. It was noisy, messy and bloody hard work hauling
baulks of timber around all day, five and a half days a week, but he
rapidly put on muscle which, combined with his dark saturnine looks, made
him a formidable young guy to throw down a challenge to. His co-workers in
the yard grew to respect him for his hard work and willingness to try
anything; the girls in the admin office all took a shine to the hunky
youngster with the big bulge in the front of his tight jeans who was cheeky
but never disrespectful. The other lads quickly sussed that 'SD' knew how
to look after himself all right.

He experienced certain feelings, certain fantasies, but his life was no
different from that of any of the other boys growing up around him. He had
been chasing girls since he turned thirteen and went through the agony and
the ecstasy of puberty in a parochial narrow-minded environment. He had his
fair share of naughty fun with his mates, particularly making fun of the
grammar school 'cissies'. He had his first piece of pussy, his first
ejaculation, his first oral sex, all before his fourteenth birthday. He had
more than he expected but probably no more than he needed. He and a
particular friend from college named Matt Muldoon were inebriated one
Saturday after an unsatisfactory double date left them both horny as fuck
and feeling emasculated. They later experienced the ultimate in adolescent
'sexperimentation' when they went down on each other. At the time, Matt was
sleeping over at Shane's place and a blending of bewilderment over the lack
of response from their dates and the enervating effect of the alcohol they
had drunk worked their collective magic on their raging hormones. Later
that night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, the lads lay feet to
head, their eager mouths searching for and finding each other's willing
cocks, which they worked to a feverish pinnacle of combustible lust.

Being novices, they did not dare to take things to the point of
ejaculating, content that they had done enough to justify a private pact
between them. They did not talk about it next morning, or the following
week, but as sure as eggs is eggs, they found an opportunity to do it again
the very next weekend. While they both thought of themselves as straight,
they agreed that what they were doing was different - and it was fun;
consequently, they found every opportunity they could to do it
regularly. It struck Shane as strange: he knew what he was doing and he
enjoyed it. He thought about it often, convincing himself as Matt had
convinced himself - or so he said - that it was just a natural thing for
two horny teenagers to do. They did not know the meaning of bisexuality
nor, indeed, did they have any inkling of the existence of such a word!
Teenage boys of that generation only thought of two men sucking each
other's dicks as being 'queer' but since neither Shane nor Matt was 'queer'
- they both screwed girls, right? - they shrugged off any thought that what
they were doing was anything other than normal. They did know enough,
however, to keep quiet about it, aware that if that got out . . . well,
let's just say they did not want it to. If anyone had told Shane he was
about to embark on a life-changing visit to his local cinema, he would have
told them they were "fucking crazy . . . piss off."

The town boasted a medium sized cinema, The Regal. It was nothing
pretentious, but was certainly not a flea pit. The seats were reasonably
comfortable and had not long been installed after the spartan discomforts
of wartime. There was even a thick carpet on the floor. As far as cinemas
went in those far off days, it was not too bad. If you wanted something
grander to impress the latest wench hanging on to your arm, you had to
endure an hour's bus ride there and back. For something really exceptional
you had to slog up to London and back - and that was expensive, usually
well beyond the means of an over-sexed, hard working teenager! Shane always
sat in one of the three back rows, as far from the central aisle as he
could get. If his luck was in, he would soon feel his teenage dick and
balls being fondled by a randy 'mature' male sitting in the seat next to
him. He made it a strict rule never to allow himself to fill his underwear
with goo, just in case Jo-Jo - the woman at the laundry who did a the
weekly wash for the men at the timber yard - noticed it next washday! He
had no hang-ups about wanking the bloke sitting next to him and making the
guy shoot his load, usually down the inside leg of his trousers, then the
guy would get up and go to the Gents, take off his trousers and attempt to
clean himself. If he happened to be a real good looker, Shane would go
along too and offer to help - he really had developed into being a randy
little bugger! Programmes at The Regal usually changed twice weekly but if
there was a very popular or critically acclaimed film being shown, then it
would run for the whole week. Shane could never have been mistaken for a
dedicated film buff, but he did develop a rudimentary critical sense and
found allegedly 'French' films interested him most, mainly because there
was always a massive hint of something spicy going on in them - not
necessarily confined to goings on between male and female!

He generally went to the first house on a Saturday as it ended around eight
o'clock and he could get home well before his Dad's injunction about
staying out any later - a restriction Shane increasingly rebelled against
as he got closer to his fifteenth birthday. As he came out of the cinema,
the queue for the second house was already waiting and one or two of the
cheekier youths, escorting gum-chewing maidens, who were mates of Shane and
Matt, would call out remarks such as, "Any flashes of tit, mate?" or "Did
'e (the hero) get 'is leg over?" Their partners would always dissolve into
salacious giggles and cries of, "Ooh, you are terrible, Lennie . . . or
Johnny . . . or Tommy . . . or whoever." Although none of us of that
generation realised it at the time, these more relaxed attitudes signalled
an unbuttoned approach to life which would culminate in the so-called
"Swinging Sixties", life rejoicing in more dash and vigour we had
experienced hitherto. I was reminded of those Saturday nights when I was
serving abroad doing my bit for Queen and Country. I saw lines of horny
American, British and allied servicemen waiting patiently outside brothels
or other dens of iniquity. On more than one occasion, the waiting was too
much for some of them and I witnessed sexual activity between young males
in the alleyway up against the walls of run-down tenement buildings the
state of which would have made Old Nick himself blush to the roots of his
hair! It was not too long before I was taking part in these activities -
but enough of that.

Shane was becoming bored with his mundane, hackneyed, humdrum everyday
life. There was a shortage of good looking and intelligent girls around, as
most of the ones he and Matt had dated had found well paid jobs, permanent
boyfriends who seemed to mature into fiancés and then husbands far too
soon. Even Matt had landed a well paid job with the local bus company. Then
there was the new supermarket on the edge of town, always advertising for
staff. But none of these choices seemed to be what Shane was looking
for. Matt gave him the nod one day about the bus company looking for more
staff as they were increasing their activities with the burgeoning of
greater leisure time and a subsequent increase in the demand for leisure
travel. At first, Shane thought this might be an answer to his problem, but
on reflection he realised it would soon become as routine and monotonous as
anything else in the area. He began looking around for something more
challenging, more interesting, even if it meant he would have to leave the
town and home. He was becoming impatient for some chance to leave that
small town and see the world. He was in this frame of mind one afternoon
and contemplating the window of the local Job Centre when, out of the
corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a poster he had not seen
before. He perused it carefully, reading it three times. Eureka! Enter the
Royal Air Force, with a promise of travelling the world, getting a good
education and, above all, learning a decent trade. At last, it seemed to be
the solution to all his problems. He decided, there and then, to join the
Air Training Corps as becoming an Air Cadet seemed to be the most logical
step to take. He made a quick note of the address and phone number of the
nearest Recruiting Office and, for the first time in days, his saucy grin
returned. His papers accepting him as an Air Cadet came through shortly
afterwards.

Shane was surprised to discover there were twenty five young lads in his
local ATC squadron, most of whom he knew from college, a youth club he had
joined very recently and from elsewhere in the area. Every Friday night the
Air Cadets paraded in the local Community Hall and were drilled by the
Cadet Sergeant. Following that, there was either a rigorous keep fit
session, or learning how to maintain firearms to keep them fit for use
without endangering themselves or their mates. They learnt how to strip
them down and reassemble them in the quickest possible time. This was a
highly competitive business and after some initial hesitation on Shane's
part, he soon began scoring high points. The Commanding Officer of the
squadron would occasionally bore the pants off the lads by taking them
endlessly through the rank structures of the RAF, the Royal Navy and the
Army: in the latter case, British regiments as well as that of all our NATO
allies and some of the "other lot" (the Red Army, for example!) Much more
interesting to Shane were the technical lectures concerning the theory of
flight, aircraft recognition, aero engineering, and the like. Best of all,
though, were the nights when all that was abandoned for the great outdoors:
in the summer months these activities culminated in a Summer Camp and trips
to a nearby airfield for the older cadets to gain some elementary flying
experience in gliders and light aircraft. This may sound deadly dull to the
hyper-active youngsters of today, but these lads were no different and
managed to have a lot of fun. Not all of it was entirely innocent, though!

Not long after he joined the squadron, Shane became friendly with Tom
Mackenzie, the senior Cadet Corporal. He was somewhat older than Shane,
about the same age as Cadet Warrant Officer Rob Latimer, who ran things
whenever the officer was not there - which seemed to be most of the
time. Both Tom and Rob were expecting their call-up papers any time. Tom
and Shane got on well right from the start and Tom introduced Shane to the
other lads and kept a friendly eye on his early progress. If Shane was
struggling to reassemble a dismantled rifle, Tom would come over and guide
him through the tricky bits. At his first Summer Camp, Tom showed Shane how
to put up a two-man tent in record breaking time. During the outdoor keep
fit sessions, Tom was always putting his hand on the seat of Shane's shorts
to boost him clear of the vaulting horse or show him the best ways of
negotiating an obstacle course. He continually found a good reason to touch
Shane's arm, put his hand on Shane's thigh (not too high up, though!) and,
on one occasion, his fingers "accidentally" brushed against the bulge in
the crotch of Shane's tight fitting shorts. Shane simply ignored all this
and was intent on enjoying Tom's friendship and his own growing confidence.

At the end of their Friday nights in the Community Hall it was customary
for two of the lads to stay behind to tidy up and lock the place up,
returning the keys to the caretaker who lived nearby. This had been
organised on a roster system and in due course it happened that Tom and
Shane pulled the "locking up duty", as it was known. On this occasion Rob
Latimer was staying a bit later than usual to catch up on some official
paperwork in the small annex which was used as an office. Tom and Shane had
tidied the main hall and were going to check the toilets. As they were
about to go in Shane said, "Hang on, Tom. I need a leak."

"OK, think I'll join you," replied Tom. Standing side by side at the
urinal, Shane could not resist sneaking a glance next door. Tom was
standing there, stroking and gently pulling on his meat. Shane got an
instant hard-on. "You want this?" Tom said, softly. Shane nodded and
reached out a trembling hand to take hold of Tom's dick. Tom moved in
closer, his hand grasping Shane's cock and gently pulling on it. He put his
other hand behind Shane's head, pushing downwards. "Go on, give it a suck,"
Tom said in his 'that is an order' voice. Shane needed no second invitation
but squatted down, taking Tom's hard, thick manhood into his slavering
mouth. It took all of Shane's rapidly expanding experience to get it down
his throat. Tom's hands clutched the sides of Shane's head, moving it in a
slow, back and forth motion. His pelvis began a thrusting movement and the
tempo rapidly quickened. Shane felt Tom's helmet sliding further and
further down his throat. He was close to puking but managed to control
himself. Suddenly, the toilet door crashed open and Cadet Warrant Officer
Latimer stood there, a looming, threatening figure silhouetted against the
light from the main hall. He stood with his legs astride, his hands
clenched. "What the fuck are you two up to?" he bellowed. The two young men
sprang apart, their rampant cocks bouncing and throbbing, frantically
scrabbling at their clothing.

"Just coming, sir!" Tom shouted.

"I bet you are, Corporal Mackenzie. Outside, both of you. NOW!" Shane was
shaking, his mouth had gone dry, he was terrified. This was the first time
he had ever been caught 'at it' with another guy. What was going to happen
now?

Back in the main hall, Tom and Shane stood to attention, wishing the floor
would open up and swallow them. Somehow, they had managed to stuff their
cocks back into their uniform trousers, but Shane's nervously shaking
fingers made it difficult for him and he fumbled with the fly buttons. CWO
Latimer walked slowly round the two of them, not saying a word - but
looking daggers. He eventually stopped in front of them, his eyes
glittering. Shane was horrified to discover that his dick was refusing to
go down. It was still as hard as it had been in the toilet. He knew Rob
Latimer could see the bulge in his trousers but the more he tried to make
it go down, the harder it seemed to get.

"So! I've got me a couple of nancy boys here, have I?" Silence. He glared
at the quaking Shane. "You! Go over there, by the door, and stand to
attention, facing the wall!"

"Yes, sir!" Shane somehow managed to croak out. He marched the length of
that interminable room and took up his position. He could not see what was
happening but he could hear Latimer's grating voice as he turned his wrath
on Tom.

"Right, Cadet Corporal Mackenzie, you have got some explaining to
do. Follow me!" Shane heard Tom leave the hall and go through the door into
the small annex. The door slammed shut.

After some minutes, Shane dared to glance over his shoulder. The door
opened and Tom emerged, his face flushed crimson. He avoided Shane's gaze
as he hurried past him, gathered up his greatcoat, went through the main
door out into the cold, wet night. Nothing happened for a moment or two,
then Rob Latimer re-appeared. He walked slowly into the centre of the room
and stood behind Shane, at some distance from him. "About turn!" he
commanded. Shane spun round on his heel, slamming his raised foot into the
floor, facing Rob. "Come here!" he ordered. Shane marched the few steps to
where the CWO stood and marked time on the spot until he was commanded to
halt. His heart was thudding, his stomach churning, but at least his dick
had gone down - not all the way but it was not quite so prominent. Rob did
not say anything at first, he simply caught and held Shane's eyes. Then he
spoke.

"Cadet Corporal Mackenzie has told me everything, so its no use lying. You
and he were on lock up tonight, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"He told me he had finished here and looked around to see if you had also
finished. You were not there but the light was still on in the bog. He
reckoned you had gone to take a leak or something and went in. He saw you
standing there with your trousers and pants around your ankles, giving
yourself a good, hard wank." Shane opened his mouth to protest. "Shut it!
When he ordered you to stop and make yourself decent, you burst into tears
and begged him not to report you. You even offered to give him a little
oral relief in exchange for his silence. In a moment of madness, he
agreed. That is when I came in. Right?"

"No, sir. It was not like that. He asked me . . ."

"Stop! You saying he lied to me? A corporal's word against yours?" Shane
was silent. CWO Latimer looked at him, his brow furrowed as if deep in
thought. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you two choices - you can
decide your own fate. You can either accept my punishment here and now and
nothing more will happen to you: I'll keep quiet. Or, we can do this the
official way and involve your parents, the police and the courts. What's it
to be, cock sucker?"

What could Shane do? He realised it was useless to try and deny Tom's lies
- he could settle that matter privately. If he let officialdom have its
way, bang would go his chance of getting away from this one horse town and
into the RAF, he might even end up with a criminal record. His Mum and Dad
would be devastated. The CWO had given him two options, but he had no real
choice - he would have to take what was coming to him from the CWO. Shane
knew him well enough to trust him to keep quiet. He made his decision. "I
will take your punishment, Sir." Latimer removed his uniform jacket,
throwing it over a stack of chairs. "Very well. Sensible decision. You will
now drop your trousers and underpants, bend over and hold on to your
ankles." Shane hesitated. "NOW!" He hastily obeyed but caught sight of
Latimer removing the heavy black leather belt supporting his uniform
trousers. Shane trembled - surely he wasn't going to . . .

CRAAACK!! Shane yelled. The leather bit into his flesh with teeth of steel
and tongues of fire. Again, and again, and again the heavy belt sang
through the air, danced across Shane's naked buttocks, leaving a trail of
molten incandescence and exquisite pain coursing through his lower
body. His balls were aching, taut against his body, seeking protection. His
cock was rampant again, jigging and pulsating as each scorching lash landed
- it had not been as rigid since the day the young soldier had given him
his first fuck. He was not just oozing pre-cum - the sticky juice was
pumping out, falling in long, glutinous tendrils to the floor of the
Community Hall. His body was demanding the release of a white-hot load of
sperm churning and boiling inside his scrotum. He was too busy keeping his
balance to do anything about it, that would have to wait. By now, Latimer
was well into his stride and rhythm. Shane's arse was red hot, getting
redder and redder. Latimer's deep, rasping voice grated in his ears. "You
little cock sucking arse bandit!" each word accompanied by a slash of the
belt. "What are you?" Shane could not find his voice. The lashes increased
in weight and number. "Answer me, you bugger!" Shane cried out with the
pain, then managed to gasp out, as loudly as he could, "Sir! I am a little
cock sucking arse bandit, Sir!" As he hoarsely shouted out that final
"Sir!" the thrashing ceased. There was a momentary silence, save for his
rasping gasps.

"Well," growled CWO Latimer, "anything to say?"

"Sir! Thank you, Sir! I deserved your punishment, Sir! I deserve more of
the same, Sir!"

"Not tonight, Cadet. Stand up - and shut up." As Shane hastened to obey
Latimer's order a raging inferno surged through him. He staggered, crying
out with the pain. "Bet you'll think twice before sucking cock again, eh?"

"Sir!" was all he could manage in reply.

"Right then. Pull your trousers up and fuck off home. I'll see you on
parade next week."

Latimer turned and walked away, threading the belt back through the loops
of his uniform trousers, seeming not to notice the raging hard-on Shane was
still sporting. As Latimer passed in front of him, Shane caught sight of
the NCO's crotch - and gasped. The material of his uniform trousers was
tightly stretched across a huge, quivering bulge. Shane knew, then, that
the CWO had got as big a thrill out of thrashing him as he had done in
taking it! Oh, yes, Shane would make sure he saw Cadet Warrant Officer
Latimer again!

Next: Chapter 2

Laurie, 28/02/17