Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2020 17:44:54 +0000 From: JordanProject Subject: Military School Training & Management - 9 This story is fiction. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. It's copyrighted 2020 by The Jordan Project, all rights reserved outside of Nifty. The reader comes first, so I welcome feedback. Please take some time to provide it to JordanProject@protonmail.com. What works? What doesn't work? * * * * Keep this great site going and donate to http://donate.nifty.org/ * * * * "Kind of scary, isn't it, sergeant?" Thomas said, jolting Yarrow's shaky equillibrium. But the sergeant forced himself to recover, and quickly donned his mask of cocky nonchalance, figuring it was expected. "No big deal, sir," he said, with a forced chuckle. "I'm not sure I'd want to be a Trainee down here, but that ain't our problem." "Ya got that right, sergeant," Tinley said, leading the way over to the round wooden post. It looked to be at least a couple feet in diameter, smooth and shellacked, anchored in the concrete on the floor. It ran all the way up to a housing in the ceiling surrounding by equally sturdy beams, where it was securely joined by metal clamps. The captain patted the post, then bumped it hard with his shoulder. Nothing moved. "That's the whipping tree," he said. "Came from the forest out there." Tinley pointed to a series of bolt anchors embedded in the "tree," spaced at intervals of six inches or so, starting about five feet up and going as high as eight feet or so. There were other anchors near the floor. "Those hold the bolts that attach to a few different kinds of shackles we got," the captain explained. "There's rows of these on the back, so the trainer can have the Trainee hug the tree. That's what usually happens. Good for usin' a bullwhip." Tinley moved on to the "X." It was also wooden, and anchored floor to ceiling, tilted at about a 20-degree angle toward the wall. Tinley arranged his arms and legs to match the "X" pattern, and showed how the Trainee was to stand. "You'll see that the bottoms of the beams are built for him to tuck his feet under the ends. His waist rests against the middle, and his arms are stretched up top," Tinley said. "Ankles are secured, and wrists, and waist. Another way to deliver a whipping. And he gets to read the wall." On the wall, three lines, one after the other. I AM NOT A MAN I WAS NEVER A MAN I WILL NEVER BE A MAN The next stop was the bench. Tinley knelt down and extended his arms forward. "He kneels like this," he said. "Ass whippin' place. The one crank is forward and backward angle, and the other is up and down. The front can be adjusted so he's straight up instead of bent over so his back can be whipped." The captain pointed toward a rail on the floor, and slid it out. "Each leg is secured separately, so they can be spread out," Tinley said, pointing toward a third crank on the floor. The rail was doubled over, and the captain extended the second rail vertically and bolted it into place. It held a long, thin, threaded chrome bar. A long lever swung up from the floor. When the captain stepped on a pedal, the thin bar moved in and out in relation to the lever. "There are attachments up in that cabinet," Tinley said, pointing toward the wall. "They screw onto that rammer. The Greeks thought that the asshole is the doorway to the soul." "What the hell ..." the sergeant began to ask, incredulously, before Thomas interrupted him. "You heard right, Mr. Yarrow," he replied, evenly. "So Captain Tinley wasn't jokin' before about getting' his dick sucked on the deck, sir?" the sergeant said, turning to Tinley. "Were y'all serious, sir?" "Conquerors got lots of obligations but they also got privileges," Tinley replied. "It ain't like ya gotta stick yer dick in 'em if ya don't want to. But there's somethin' to be said for it. Trainee learns right quick who's boss, and most of the Tops wind up liking the authority of it. I know I do." "Sir, is that what the enemas are about, a way of screwing the Trainee?" Yarrow asked. "It's a cleanin' thing first, but it's also what you just said," Tinley replied. "But the Trainee eventually winds up doin' the cleanin'. Makes it harder to call himself a victim of anything when he did it to himself." * * * * The tour continued, and Yarrow followed along in a daze. At the end of the room, corresponding to where the kitchen stove sat on the first floor, there was a chair bolted to the floor, with a crank wheel on each side. "One's for vertical, so ya get get his head at the right height," Tinley said. "The other will tilt the seat of the chair forward. You'll notice there are places to attach shackles." Off on the other wall, opposite the "X" and the kneeler, past a wide door, sat a high chair. A rail extended forward from the base. "Captain sits up there, and the Trainee sits on that stool," Tinley said. "Shoe shine gear is in the box at the base." A few feet from the chair was a large table, covered in leather, with a crank at each end. "One crank for the height, the other for the tilt," the captain said. "Mostly used for shaving, but lots of things can be done here." By then, Yarrow had grown more relaxed, and his swagger returned. "I bet, sir!" the sergeant said, with the smirk attached. * * * * Tinley had led his cohort to the back rooms, located underneath the upstairs head and bedrooms. The area was separated by a door that led to a cubicle with a toilet perched against the back wall – with no scaffolding – and a small sink and mirror off to one side. There were doors on the right and left. The captain opened the right door first, and flipped a switch that turned on dim lights. Rubber mats covered the floors and the walls, with some gaps on the walls. On the far wall, another door. "This is where a Trainee can get a one-to-one beating," Tinley said. Then he strode to one of the walls, and pulled a strap. A Murphy bed came down, its legs unfolding as it went. The bed was made up with military corners, an olive-drab blanket on top. In back, there were pillows. The captain flipped the bed back up into the wall, then pointed back to the door, indicating that the group should exit. Out in the hallway, he jerked a thumb toward the toilet but said nothing, the purpose being obvious. Then he opened the other door, walked in and flipped a switch. The same light illuminated the room, but Tinley adjusted the control, showing that the degree of light could be adjusted. Against the wall, to the right, was a chair. Leather straps seemed to hang everywhere. "There's a second kneeler bench in here," Tinley said. "Then there's the chair. Trainee can be secured into that thing in all kinds of ways. One wheel for height, and another for tilt. Same plunger on each of 'em for the bone up the butt." On the wall opposite the door, there was a window. There was also a heavy metal door, and the captain opened it. It was completely dark. On the wall inside the main room, there was an adjustable light switch, and a thermostat. Tinley turned up the light about half way and walked inside. The ceiling was low, barely seven feet. The floor was concrete and sloped toward a drain in the middle of the floor. Rubber mats covered the walls to about six feet. Mirrored glass tilted inward. "Solitary confinement," the captain said. He closed the door, and came back out into the room. A two-step bench below the window allowed the viewer to gain access to the high observation window. There was enough room for all three cadets to have a look at the cell's interior. When they had seen it, Tinley motioned them back down toward the door. In addition to the light and thermostat, there was a faucet and a hose curled up below, along with a bucket containing cleaner. "That's to wash it out," the captain said. "Down at the bottom of the door, there's a slot for a tray of food." Tinley closed the cell door, and turned off the light. Then he moved back to the chair. It faced the same wall where the entrance door was located. On the wall, four slogans: "I AM NOT A MAN" "I AM INFERIOR TO ALL MEN" "I WILL OBEY MEN" "I WILL NEVER LIE AGAIN" "A lot of teachin' happens right here," Tinley said. Yarrow, who had been silent throughout the tour of the back rooms, chortled loudly. "Looks like a lot of buttfucking and dick sucking happens down here, sir!" he said, laughingly. "This place looks like a secret fuck palace for horny captains to get their rocks off until the next time they see their girl!" "I suppose you could see it that way, sergeant," Thomas said, quietly. "But you'd be wrong." "But ain't it what happens, sir?" Yarrow replied, assertively. "Sergeant, if it was just about screwing a Trainee, there's plenty of places back on campus where it could be done," Thomas replied. "Out here it goes a lot further. The reason to come out here is to confront a Trainee with his nature, and to correct him with punishment, and to educate him and prepare him for his future ..." Tinley interrupted. "I dunno, Tom," he said, angrily. "Seems like the sergeant here thinks all this is some joke, which I've got to say is kinda interestin' seein' as how what he's done." "Sir?" Yarrow asked, his eyebrows raised. "Do ya think we don't know all there is to know about ya?" Tinley shot back. "Do ya really think we don't know about Carruthers and Lincoln, and about how ya keep the Candidates in line?" The chastened sergeant fell silent. "Listen, Yarrow, no one's getting' on yer case about any of it," Tinley said. "But don't stand there and act all innocent about a Man usin' his dick and enjoyin' it when he can make someone grovel. Ya hear?" "Sir, you've got a point," the sergeant replied, cautiously. Ben Carruthers was a slightly-built, nervous Candidate who just about everyone agreed didn't belong at the Academy. It was Yarrow who weeded him out, starting by loading on punishments to the breaking point. When Carruthers finally broke one day, collapsing into a weeping mess, Yarrow had offered him a choice: Exceed the maximum number of demerits permitted in one term and be required to leave the academy, or start sucking dick. The stunned Candidate begged not to made either choice, but Yarrow held firm. He made the offer in the presence of another sergeant who was equally contemptuous of the Candidate, and wanted him gone. "Please sir," the Candidate had said. "Sir, please don't make the Candidate do this, sir!" "If you want to stay here, get on your knees," Yarrow had replied, with his trademark smirk, his hands resting on his hips. Slowly, Carruthers knelt in front of the two sergeants. "Undo my buckle and unzip my fly," Yarrow said coldly. His hands shaking, the Candidate did it. "Now reach in there and find my pecker and rub on it," Yarrow continued. The Candidate did so, weeping softly. When Yarrow felt the Candidate's hand on his stiffening dick, he called a halt. "That'll be enough, Carruthers," he had said. Two days later, the Candidate left the Academy, a washout. "You used yer dick on Carruthers, didn't ya?" Tinley asked, aggressively. "And there was Lincoln, who you were all ready to fuck until the Commandant ordered ya not to." "I never would've done either thing, sir," Yarrow protested. "It was to smoke out the weaklings, sir." "Yeah, smoke 'em out with yer dick," Tinley replied. "And yer pretty famous for findin' other ways of reducin' Candidates to boneless chickens, always with a smile on yer face." Yarrow breathed an internal sigh of relief. They didn't know about Matthews, thank God. "Look, sergeant, every captain here is a conqueror and finds something to like in it," Thomas said, interrupting Tinley. "Usually more than one thing, as a matter of fact. All we're telling you is to quit being so high and mighty with us about how this is just some fuck party down here. Yeah, we use our dicks on the Trainees, but we do it because it's effective. Just like you did." Tinley reentered the conversation. "It's our job to get into a Trainee's head, and I'm telling ya, it's true what the Greeks said. Both them and the Romans never allowed their Men to be screwed. Slaves got screwed, male or female. Men did the screwin' and that was part of the deal. It is here too. It ain't required that a captain do the screwin' with his own dick. But I don't know of a captain who don't do his own screwin' eventually. Me, I use both kinds. Helps to get 'em loosened up. If I stuck what I got up there right away, we'd have to call the coroner." The sergeant laughed at the remark. "Sir, y'all are right about that!" Yarrow said, his mood lightening. "There's technique in it, for sure," Tinley replied, smiling. "But seriously, when a male gets screwed he changes. As much as anything, I reckon it's why they take that oath of lifetime service. They wind up knowin' that they were never meant to be a Man. The Greeks got famous for it, but every conqueror has used it. No harm in enjoyin' ourselves. But it's still teaching." * * * * Later that afternoon, after a couple of hours spent studying – the captains out on the deck together, Yarrow inside the cabin at the kitchen table – Captain Thomas popped inside and interrupted the sergeant. "Hey, we're gonna take off down the course," he said. When Yarrow's face dropped he added, "Don't worry, we're just walkin' this time. Why don't ya join us. Nice day out there." "You bet, sir!" Yarrow called out cheerfully. He was dismayed that they'd noticed his fatigue from the running, but did his best to disguise it. "Good that we won't have to change into other gear." Tinley had selected the standard campus uniform for the day: Gray pants with black stripe, gray shirt, a cap for the sergeant and hats for the captains. Tinley had taken to wearing a cowboy hat with his uniform, imitating Captain Richards. They strolled outside, and the three cadets donned their hats. They were the picture of military masculinity. Tinley was tall, swarthy, and seemingly carved out of a single block of muscle. His sharply creased uniform trousers stretched to accommodate his thighs, in turn causing the fabric to tighten over the crotch and highlight the out-sized equipment that was underneath. His shirt was similarly tight, the strained military creases serving to highlight his thick, v-shaped torso. Thomas was an inch or so shorter and thinner, but only by comparison to his massive cohort. Blond and square-jawed, with an open face, a flat-top crewcut and soft, placid blue eyes, he exuded a kind of romanticism that recalled a movie star. Other cadets were drawn to confide in him and seek his advice, perceiving him to be sympathetic. Over time, many a Candidate, and later members of the general Corps, learned the hard way that Thomas's calm demeanor wouldn't get them off the hook when it came to facing the consequences of misbehavior. It was the same quality he had used with Davis, the Trainee, drawing him into a web and then trapping him in his own deceit and contradictions. Yarrow, the shortest of the three, had a compact build, on the edge of scrawny. His compact buttocks filled out his trousers; his torso, while muscular, hadn't filled out. His countenance was open, showing an untroubled demeanor, prone to a smirk. The overall effect was to project authority and charisma in spite of his relatively slight stature, to the point of intimidation, especially when combined with his swaggering walk and confident southern accent. He seemed born to senior leadership. Yarrow was regarded by first-year cadets as unforgiving, a stickler for regulations that he could quote with devastating impact. "Say, Captain Tinley, sir, can I ask y'all where your people are from?" Yarrow said as they ambled off the deck. "I can't figure out if you're Italian or Greek or what." "Basque. Region of Spain," Tinley answered. "My family immigrated to the Owyhee country in the 1890s to raise sheep. Bunch of 'em still down there." "Where ya talking about? What's Owyhee?" Yarrow asked, in a manner that crossed an unspoken barrier between subordinate and superior, conveying a reckless assumption that he had already been admitted to the Top ranks. "Border of Idaho and Oregon," Tinley replied. "What's it like, sir?" Yarrow continued. "Not a lot of people. About a hundred rattlesnakes per person, I'd say," Tinley replied. "They kept tellin' me not to catch 'em barehanded, but I never listened. Ya can always tell a Basque, but ya can't tell a Basque anything, I guess. We don't take shit from nobody or nothin' is what they say. They're right. Cattlemen tried to run us all off, but we're still there." Yarrow chuckled. "That's what my great-granddad said after the war between the states," Yarrow said, again crossing the invisible line. "The Confederacy is gone, but the Yarrows are still here." Thomas, sensing danger, hastened to step in. "Anyway, sergeant, we figured now and tonight's a good time for you to ask us anything else you might have on your mind about Trainees," he said. "That's why we're here, and it looks like we'll have our Trainee tomorrow. So if there are things we can fill in, today's the best time." Tinley interrupted. "It's okay, Tom, he's just talkin' about stuff," the captain said. "Actually, sergeant, the Tinleys switched over to cattle about 40 years ago. Better money in it. So sheep versus cattle is in the past. We've been cattlemen a long time now. It's just that we started how we did." From there, the talk was easy, as the three exchanged personal histories and let the Trainee subject rest. Thomas talked about his upbringing in California as the son of a decorated naval commander, and his youth surfing and quarterbacking his high school football team. Tinley told stories about growing up in the country and roping calves in ranch rodeos, the contests among working cowboys. Yarrow drew the captains out while volunteering little. "You play ball in high school, sergeant?" Thomas asked at length. "I was part of the team, sir," Yarrow replied. "Captain of the squad." "So how'd you guys do, anyway? Tinley asked, interested. "Lost one game in my junior year, undefeated in senior year," the sergeant replied, his enthusiasm rising. "Went on to state championship." The captains were impressed, and asked for stories, but Yarrow demurred. "That's all over with," he said. "I'm here now, sir. Lookin' forward." "Oh come on, tell us all about it, buddy!" Thomas asked. "Sounds like you were the stud captain of the team! No wonder ya wanna be a captain here. Only natural." Yarrow couldn't resist, and spun a tale of his accomplishments as a running back. He had been instrumental in those two seasons, the team losing the one game in his junior year mainly because he'd been injured with a pulled hamstring. He'd been named to the all-state team in both years, and in his senior year had been avidly pursued with scholarship offers to several Southern universities. The most prestigious fraternity at one school told him that they'd "rush" him if he accepted that college's offer. But he passed them all by because of his family's tradition of military service. He was the fourth generation to have attended Jackson, and it outweighed football. In response to a question from Thomas, he said that football had been his only team sport in high school, but that he had also been a junior saddlebronc rodeo rider, with a championship buckle to his credit. That's why he'd asked the details about Tinley's upbringing. A fair number of Arkansans had emigrated on the Oregon Trail, including some distant relatives, but they'd wound up in the western part of the state. "I'll bet bein' team captain got ya laid good and proper, or didn't them Arkansas ladies go in for it?" Tinley joked, grabbing at the bulge between his legs to emphasize the point. The sergeant flashed a pained look in response and glanced downward. "Through my junior year it did," Yarrow said. "Then her daddy caught us, and threatened to kill me if he caught me with her or any other girl." "Oh man, that's harsh!" Thomas exclaimed. "You ain't been laid for what, goin' on three years now?" "Not 'til last month, sir," the sergeant replied, mournfully. "But I made up for lost time with a gal I met at the Cadet Ball last month. That was damn, damn nice, sir. Hope to see her again pretty soon." He flashed a crooked grin. "I got the feelin' she might want to see me, sir," Yarrow added. "Gave a her a taste or three." * * * * Sunday morning's trap sprang elegantly and effortlessly. They had risen at 0500, dressing in their starched utility uniforms. They donned light packs for the exercise, holding 10 pounds of supplies, and trotted along the course. When they reached the pond, Tinley directed Yarrow to swing first. He splashed into the muddy water as the captains watched. They reversed course, and waited for the sergeant to make his way to the edge. He was directed back up to the platform, where he was told to retrieve the rope and then to use a ladder to climb on top of the superstructure while Tinley followed. The remains of the rubber bolt were still in place. Tinley reached into his pack and withdrew a metal bolt, ordering Yarrow to fasten the rope in place. When he was finished, the captain ordered Yarrow to replace the rubber bolts holding the other two ropes with two more metal bolts that had the captain had brought along. "Back into the pond, sergeant," Tinley ordered, as Thomas looked on from the edge below. There was another muddy splash, and Yarrow once again made his way to shore. When he emerged from the muck, the captains were standing with their hands on their hips. They weren't smiling, but the sergeant tried to make a joke out of it. "Y'all sure got me, sir!" he said to Tinley. "Yep, I'd say so," the captain replied. "So what did ya do yesterday?" "Just a prank, sir," Yarrow replied with a laugh. "I spent a while up on the platform there watchin' the river go by, then came back to the cabin. Figured I'd give myself a rest. Didn't mean nothin' by it, sir." "So that's where you were, up there?" Thomas asked. "Yes sir," Yarrow replied. "Playin' hooky, sir." The captains ordered the sergeant to start doing pushups and count them off while they clambered up to the platform and swung across without effort. "We'll go back in reverse," Tinley said to the sergeant, who was straining as the pushup count approached 50. "But first we'll make sure ya get to 100 sergeant." At 80 pushups, Yarrow was groaning. He hit 90 and couldn't keep going, and collapsed. "Ten more, sergeant!" Tinley screamed. "What kind of pussies does Arkansas send us? Ten more!" Yarrow resumed, and upon reaching 99 felt Tinley's boot shove him down into the dirt. "Now get up and follow us, sergeant!" Tinley shouted. It was clear by now that the captains weren't buying the story. When they reached the cutoff for Captain's Point, the Tops stopped running. "Time for the sergeant to see the Point, I'd say," Tinley said. "Somethin' tells me he's been here before. Right, sergeant? Another prank, maybe?" "No sir," Yarrow answered. "I haven't been here, sir. Y'all told me I'd need to be a captain before comin' out here on my own." They walked in silence, Tinley and Thomas leading. A quarter-mile in, Tinley stopped. "Duck hunters like our sergeant ain't familiar with animal tracks," he said to Thomas. "Ain't that right, Cadet Sgt. Yarrow? Ya ever tracked a critter?" "No sir," the sergeant replied, now seeing that he was doomed. "Come here, sergeant," Tinley said, coldly. "Sir, I was ..." Yarrow said, but the captain interrupted him in cold fury. "I told you to come the fuck over here, sergeant!" Tinley said. "Yes sir," the sergeant said, as he crept toward the hulking captain. Tinley had withdrawn a shoe from his pack, and showed it to Yarrow. "See the little sergeant's chevrons?" the captain asked. "What do you see there in the dirt?" "Sir, I was here ..." Yarrow asked. Thomas cuffed the sergeant's head, hard. "Answer Capt. Tinley's question," Thomas said. "That's a track from my shoe, sir," the chastened sergeant replied. "Did you tell the truth about being here?" Tinley asked. "I can explain ..." Thomas hit Yarrow again, harder. "No one's interested in your explanations," Thomas said, coldly. "Answer the captain." "I did not tell the truth about being here, sir," Yarrow replied. "So you lied to me?" Tinley asked. "Yes sir," Yarrow replied. "Yes sir what?" Tinley asked. "Yes sir, I lied to you, sir," Yarrow replied, his voice shaking Tinley resumed walking, step by step. "What's that, sergeant?" he asked, pointing to another shoe print. "That's a track from my shoe, sir," Yarrow answered. "That a track from my shoe, sir. I lied to you, sir," Tinley replied, indicating the answer he expected. "That's a track from my shoe, sir. I lied to you, sir," Yarrow said. "And that?" Tinley asked, pointing to another track. "That's a track from my shoe, sir. I lied to you, sir," Yarrow said. For the next quarter-mile, Tinley forced Yarrow to acknowledge every shoe track, and the lie he had told. Finally, they had reached Captain's Point. "Where did you sit, sergeant?" Tinley asked. "Over there, sir," Yarrow said, pointing to one of the small benches. By now he was frightened. His confidence had collapsed, and his voice was quivering. "I sat over there, sir. I lied to you, sir," Tinley said. "I sat over there, sir. I lied to you, sir," Yarrow replied. "Now you will sit down there," Tinley said, his voice low, cold, and hard. He was pointing at a small seat, half as high as the benches. "We are going have a talk about Clifton Yarrow." * * * * "Jackson Military Academy has friends everywhere, Clifton," Tinley said to the cowering sergeant. "Do you have any idea how thoroughly investigated you've been, and long before you arrived here?" Yarrow didn't answer the question. What could he say? "Do you remember stealing the Moon Pie from Miss Grinelda's desk when you were in the third grade?" Tinley asked. The cadet wracked his brain, and drew a blank. He remained mute. "You hid it, and then shared it later with three of your friends that afternoon," Tinley said. "Two of those three were interviewed." "I ... I don't remember, sir," Yarrow replied, not fully comprehending the depth of what had been learned about his prior life. "But you remember what happened when you played football in junior high school, don't you?" Tinley asked. "Look in my eyes and tell me." The sergeant drew a deep breath. This, he remembered. He had the wind knocked out of him in a scrimmage, and stormed off the field, never to return. "I tried it once and decided not to play again, sir," Yarrow said. "Too rough, wasn't it?" Tinley asked. "Y-y-yes sir," Yarrow answered. "And you were given hell for quitting," Tinley said. "Yes sir," Yarrow said. "You never played again, did you?" Tinley said. "No sir, I didn't play again," Yarrow said. "But you told us that you were a football star," Tinley said. "I lied to you, and to Captain Thomas, sir," the sergeant said. "Who else did you lie to about that?" Tinley asked. The sergeant paused to think about all of the lies he had told about playing football. "Too many to count, sir," Yarrow said. "I lied to the academy, and to other cadets, and to a bunch of girls in high school, sir." "And to some fraternity brothers? We know, Clifton," Tinley said. "You'll tell us all about that, Clifton." * * * * Yarrow had been soaked to the bone by his two plunges into the muddy pond, and shivered in his low seat as he was interrogated. Over the next two hours, the Tops withdrew their canteens from their packs and drank while Yarrow confessed to a wide variety of cheating, lying, scheming, and stealing, from elementary school all the way up to that morning. The most damning was his behavior as a Cadet Sergeant. He had cheated on exams, wriggled out of exercise, and told an astounding variety of lies to candidates and cadets alike. "Sir, may I have permission to urinate?" he asked in a shaky voice. "Only if you really have to," Tinley replied. "I really have to go, sir," Yarrow replied. He had been allowed to drink water from the canteen in his pack, and it had made its way to his bladder. "Permission granted," Tinley said. "You will sit there and piss." "Sir?" he replied. "You heard me," Tinley said. "You wanted to take a leak, so now sit there and do it." "But sir ..." Thomas cocked his fist and glared. "You heard him," the captain said. Tears welled in Yarrow's eyes as he complied, and a puddle spread on the concrete chair where he sat. * * * * "Look at what you just did to yourself," Tinley said, his voice dripping with contempt. He rose from his place and turned to his fellow captain. "Tom, we'd better head on back. Clifton here has a big day ahead of him." The Tops rose, and ordered the quivering sergeant up from his bench. As he stood, he revealed a large stain on the front of his utilities. As they reached the path back to the exercise course, Tinley barked an order. "On your belly," he said, cooly, "and start crawlin' back." As they made their way slowly, Yarrow was forced to stop at each of his shoe tracks and once again confess that set of lies. When they reached the course, he felt a boot on his back pin him into the dirt. Then a stream of liquid, and another. The Tops were urinating on his back, making their way to his neck, saying nothing. When they were finished, he was ordered to his hands and knees. He felt a hard kick between his legs. The pain was deep, and he curled up, moaning and groveling in agony. After a couple minutes, Tinley barked again. "Up!" he shouted. "Get movin'! Now!" Yarrow had expected they would run back to the cabin, but the Tops directed him back toward the ropes. This time they were firmly anchored, and all three of them swung across, with Yarrow being sent back to retrieve and reset them. Before they finished the course, the captains stopped for 50 more pushups. In agony, Yarrow did the exercise and returned to the run, with the Tops in hot pursuit. At the end of the course, near the cabin, the captains surprised him once more. "Doin' it again!" Tinley shouted, shoving Yarrow. Once more, they ran all the way to the ropes, swung across the pond, sent Yarrow up to re-set them, and continued. The Tops followed him closely, shoving him hard when he faltered. "Move it! Move it! Move it!" Thomas barked. Once more, they reached the end of the course. Yarrow hoped they wouldn't force a third run of it; he was too exhausted and sore to keep going. His hopes were fulfilled by an enormous kick in the ass, landing him flat on his stomach, panting in agony and humiliation. As he lay in the dirt, Tinley squatted on his haunches next to him. Yarrow heard the captain speak softly. "Look at me," Tinley said. "Look me in the eye." Yarrow turned his head and looked up, and ordered. The crotch of the captain's utility uniform was a foot from his face, his testicles pouched, and his dick extending sideways, not hard but not soft either. Together, they formed a unit in the fabric, visible and menacing. "I will confront you with your lies, and I will correct your misbehavior," Tinley said. "I will show you what you are and what you are not. And I will train you for what you will be. I will educate you." The disgraced sergeant was breathing heavily, terrified and mesmerized by the hulking officer above him. "I will own you," the captain continued, his voice low and aggressive. "I will own you from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. I own you inside and out. You are not a Man, and I will own you." Tinley rose, and ordered Yarrow to stand. They walked the short distance back to the cabin, the captains barely breathing hard while Yarrow limped and heaved. They entered through the door at the back fence, and as they made their way across the deck the exhausted, humiliated cadet noted a complete change in his relation to the surroundings. What had seemed like a place of relaxation became the entry to a prison. By now, he was both frightened and hypnotized, and entered with a dull yet eager dread.