Flyboys : At Bottom Line

Bloody Cadets: Flyboys

After being late for morning flag raising, Cadets Alex and David have been assigned the task of chopping wood. Lt. Jackson Ng isn’t amused when the duo continue to goof off: betting money on frisbee and even comparing muscles…


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Bloody Cadets: Flyboys


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9 months ago

For Lieutenant Jackson, whose tedious HQ job (while he dreamed of a ‘field’ posting) is mainly routine paper-pushing and communications through the chain of command, this turn of taking interim command (his first) at this remote station was a dream coming true: finally the buck stopped with him and he could nip problems in the brat-bud, meaning currish cadets’ clothless cones being bared and beaten black, blue, blistered and brightly-burning bountifully at his bossy behest, finally feeling the finest finesses of fatherly flailer-firmness and frankly flogger-fun from the fiery fanny-fating side, which he silently cursed and envied all his Asian youth as youngest son, enabling endless elders-enjoyed eerily-exposed-endurances ever-again as every ancestor, uncle, elder brother, male guest or host … was warmly welcomed to witness often and generally administer the baring and brutal beating of his boyish brat-bottom, a big bubble-butt beloved by bunches of betters to behold bare-balls and batter blistered beyond black and blue, getting traditional doses by punishment-stick and fanciful fantasy-flailings more often than most miserable minor mutts’ meekly-mounted-male-mounds, and followed far-more by longer OTK-rides as he’s passed-over as a favourite toy to take-part in time-honoured teen-taming by tanning the trouserless tail to true tears time and time again. His bigger buddy-brother assured him spanking a submissively stripped squirt is as superbly satisfying a sense of sovereign superiority as stripping and submitting slavishly to savagely severe spanking-sufferance is subduing, still stirring a similarly-sensual seminal-swelling-sensation.
Actually the outpost CO doesn’t do things by the book here, well only on paper in Alex’s reports, and was called to HQ too hastily to explain the candidly-concealed ‘code of conduct’, so barely-briefed Jackson has had, from arrival, ample opportunity to blame, bare and beat boys for doing what they were always ordered -actually informally- to do, but(t) usually ignored (except Alex) not being by the book, greatly enjoying spanking sessions with Alec, David (see previous post in series) and/or fellow Asians Aiden and Eric, which he prefers, as sort of Confucian karma for the countless clothless-cur-cones-crimson-chastising sessions he -like them- endured under paternalistic privilege at home and by delegation everywhere else, finally rewarded for his academy graduation and commission by reaching the ‘other end of the punishment stick’, albeit wielding a military, Western-type arsenal of arse-agony-attributes.
Most cadets envied Aiden grimly for being (s)elected -hastily, without duly-diligent justification, it being a precedent without pre-existent procedure- for a rare emergency test program to see if cadet pilots in any given stage of training can at least help evacuate a plane by fully programmed automatic pilot. He swears it was mal-programmed heading into open sea, as the flight started, so he had to override it and judged coordinates closest to base his safest bet, but(t) has no proof and a rotten rascal-rebel record, so is deemed guilty of reckless flight and endangering priceless government property, yet if nothing gets out -everyone being sworn to secrecy at pain of dishonourable discharge- the admiral agreed to just ban him from any future program or privilege and have him spanked on the station as a small sample of the wholesale hell on his humblehound hole bare-balls all day, every day and every night (well, three savagely ‘sound’ seven hour shifts) for the rest of summer as staff and fellow pilot cadets will take turns practicing every known form of CP on him, encouraged to include any original twist from their own experience (or actually SM fantasy), to be recorded by the admiral personally in a secret red book on ‘ultimate home punishment’.
It starts here, barely a foretaste as the admiral comes to collect the culprit, but Jackson wouldn’t for his life miss out on first spanking-service, and since Aiden’s roommate was dumb enough to timidly try to support the knave’s dismissed defence, which makes him guilty by association, earning the same sound spanking session, at least here, starting lined-up in between pre-spanked Alex and David, whose obediently-orbs-offering-ordeal is actually shortened as strict Sirs shall sooner send them to bed and take this derriere-doomed dorm duo to their rooms in turns for a ‘never-ending’ nocturnal session of nasty naked-naughty-knaves-nates-nurture.
Yet Eric counts himself lucky still, as his abysmal asinine-adolescent-arse-agony ends tomorrow, when Aiden is sent-off to start his ‘flogged through the fleet’-like spankee-summer, and it all goes away completely next week, when the post CO returns, unlike Confucian paternalistic puerile-posterior-punishment-prone pitiless perpetuation of paining, which is why even Aiden feels blessed with a silver lining as the sworn secrecy means his home clan won’t know nor corroborate by countless crueller criss-cross-clotheless-cur-cones-crossing-crimson-cane-cuts-castigations, something this monumental could have lasted his lifetime and shame his sons and theirs to the ninth degree.
For Jackson, his expectations of experiencing the ‘other end of the punishment stick’ are more then met, he doesn’t mind how soundly his strict superiors will still scold, strip and spank him sternly, that always was his place as a kid, now he can take it as a promise of matching majestic might-joy next time he’ll get a command: he ‘can’t wait,’ yet this is how he can stay patient and even enjoys the exciting expectation, as his rising seniority shall support stirring spanker-status slowly substituting stern-suffered spankability, supplying the supreme satisfaction sighing-sought since scarlet-swatted childhood. For now, he savours a splendid foretaste of future ‘full-time’ fannies-flailer-fun.