“You have only one purpose in life, you shithead pussyboy: following orders.”
“Your muscles and ego count for nothing here, Mr. D1 Quarterback. So turn your brain and ego off and learn to obey.”
“Your instant compliance to all orders is expected and required.”
“You will be punished and degraded until you get it through your puny little jockboy brain that you’re not a man and exist only to serve real men.”
“That’s what the Citadel Correctional Boot Camp is all about. Permanent behaviour modification through pain compliance and humiliation.”
“We erase your ego and manhood and turn you into the bootlicking cocksucker you were meant to be. Understood, shithead?”
“SIR, YES SIR!” I yelled from the front leaning rest I had been forced into by powerful electroshock from the shock collar around my neck.
I was naked with feet shackled on the concrete floor outside the punishment cell. My captor had also cruelly probed my ass with two gloved fingers I’d then been forced to lick.
Then my captor let me know what he thought of me by unleashing a river of his piss on me.
“Since you passed up your last chance for early release, you are now on the strict regime program at hard labor, with limited rations, extreme discipline and daily punishment drill. Fuck-ups turn the punishment drill into torture sessions in the dungeon.”
“You’ll need to earn your shit bucket and prison uniform. Right now, both are denied. You will sleep naked and shackled by the arms and feet spread-eagled on the punishment cell floor.”
“But we are slow to get started.”
“But first you owe me 26 more minutes in the front leaning rest, then 100 push-ups, then you will crawl under the electrified barbed wire to the dungeon.”
“SIR, YES, SIR!” I replied … but not loud enough or fast enough.
So I was zapped by an excruciatingly painful jolt from the shock collar. The waves of pain started at my neck and radiated throughout my body.
I collapsed into the pool of my captor’s piss and my own pre-cum.
“Lick it up, shithead pussyboy,” he commanded.
I said nothing but did my best to comply.
“Not bad,” said my captor, “but the 30 minutes of front leaning rest you owe me has just morphed into 60 minutes in a frozen push-up. That means you get back up into a push-up position and then lower yourself into a position exactly 3 inches of the floor.”
“SIR, YES SIR!” I responded and got there.
Within five minutes, the pain pulsed through my shoulders and my entire body started trembling. My breach grew short. And I still had 55 minutes to go.
“Time for some motivational consequences, shithead. You are such a fuck-up that my buddies in the punishment squad can’t wait any longer for you in the dungeon.”
“Lift your head and meet them now, as they march down the cellblock next to the electrified barn wire you’ll crawl under. If you bleed, the treatment is saltwater rubbed into your wounds with sandpaper.”
I lifted my head and saw the most terrifying sight of my life: six giant hunks of muscled manhood marching toward me.
Each wore gleaming, highly polished combat boots.
Each was taller than my 6-foot-4 height and weighed more than my 225 pounds, but without an ounce of fat beneath their lycra short-sleeved shirts that said “Citadel Correctional Boot Camp: Punishment Unit.”
Starched fatigues and black hoods completed their uniforms.
Each was equipped with a four-foot rubber baton they slapped in open fists and they stomped their boots and marched toward me.
It was a terrifying spectacle designed to evoke fear. And it worked.
It couldn’t possibly get worse. Until it did.
The Punishment Unit Leader halted directly in front of me, removed his mask and said: “We meet again, Cory.”
I was shocked to hear my real name used.
I was even more shocked when I recognized him.
It was Mr. Simpson, my high school football coach, who said: “I always knew it was you who were stealing jocks out of the lockers and blaming the equipment manager. And I always knew you wanted to suck my cock after my ‘extra training’ for you on gassers and ‘reminders.’”
“The paddlings in my office didn’t work. But now I have you just where you belong: naked and shackled on a concrete floor, drenching in piss and sweat, and about to get the pian, punishment and humiliation you were born to need.”
“I’m going to enjoy this. But you won’t.”