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Disabled Cadet
Part 3 – Drill Instructor

by Navy Cadet

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 25 Mar 2018

Downton sat surrounded by the smell of leather and sweat. His face was a mask of concentration as he worked on his superior’s boots. He knew they had to be perfect, the Keeper would accept nothing less.

If he had been asked a few weeks ago, the last thing Downton would not have imagined that his future would be spent polishing a pile of boots, much less that he would actually like it. Back then, he had never even polished his own shoes. He had not even known how to. But back then, becoming a Cadet had been nothing but a dream because of his crippled foot.

He reached out for the next boot. Just by the touch of it, he knew that it had to belong to Able Cadet Clay. Like the lad himself, it had been subject to the Cadet life for so long that imperfections would not even dare to show itself on the mirror smooth surface.

It was the ever-present threat of the cane that was responsible for that perfection. From the moment the Lighthouse Keeper had chosen him there had been no allowances for his foot. He had to keep up or bend over, and it had pushed him further than he had thought possible. He though about how much had changed in such a short time. A few weeks ago he would have never imagined he could become a Cadet. But back in his old life, there were many things he had been told he could not do, like sailing.

He could still remember the way the sea glittered in the sunlight on the day the Keeper had told him to take the helm for the first time. He could feel the tiller vibrating in his hand as they cut through the waves. It took all four Cadets to crew the boat under sail, but it was like he was alone with the sea. When he gave an order the other Cadets reacted as nimbly as the body that he had always wished that he had. Finally, for the first time in his life, he was the one in charge of his destiny, and he revealed in it.

Physical training, however, was more of a struggle.

Every single day they stripped down to nothing but a pair of thin nylon shorts for an hour of exercise. The first day he had thought that he was going to throw up, it had hurt so bad. But with each day that passed, it became a little easier. He had arrived with a body had been as soft as putty, but he could already feel it hardening to muscle. He might still have to bend over at the end of most of these sessions, but he no longer had a sore backside after every session, such as the day that the Keeper decided to send them for a swim.

They waited on the quay for their commander with nothing but their blue PT shorts to keep out the cold. He knew the Keeper was planning something special for them. All it had taken was one look at Cadet West. By the time they lined up on the quay West was already shaking, and not from the cold.

Clang! The lighthouse door slamming shut was their signal that the Keeper had arrived. His shoes crunch against the concrete quay as he approached, and the Cadets snapped to attention. He prowled around them, examining their nearly naked bodies, before explaining that they would be going for a swim. The man’s cane swished as he used it to explain the route they would take, and then he gave the order to turn and face the sea.

Downton glanced to his side. West’s face was as grey as the sky. He stared out across the expanse of the sea with his eyes focused on something beyond the horizon.

The Keeper gave the order to jump. The cold burned Downton’s skin as he plunged into the blue. His ears filled with silence. He kicked for the surface. Breaking back into daylight he looked around for the other cadets. One, two, but where was the third?

Cadet West had frozen in mid-jump. The Keeper lashed into the boy with his cane. His thin nylon shorts would have done nothing to protect him from the vicious strokes, but even that could not break him out of his trance. It was only when the Keeper physically threw him off the quay that he finally came back to life spluttering amongst the waves.

After he had finished his swim the Keeper dragged Cadet West aside and marched him off to the punishment room. The sound of the beating echoed through the lighthouse as they changed back into uniform. The boy had arrived a few minutes later carrying his shorts. His eyes were red from crying, but nowhere near as red as his backside.

The man had been so furious that the stripes he had laid down had lost their usual precision. Normally when a cadet returned from a flogging he would be sporting a set of stripes that lined up like ranks of cadets on the parade ground. But this time, the boy’s backside was covered in a tangle of angry red welts.

West looked like he just wanted to crawl into his hammock and cry himself to sleep, but that was not an option. The Keeper kept his boys going from dawn till dusk, and next on the timetable was drill.

Drill was always the hardest activity for Downton. When he was helming a boat the others became his body. In the water he was weightless, he was flying, and his disability did not matter any more. But on the drill square, he came back to earth, and it was hard. The other cadet’s movements were regulated like a Swiss watch, while his foot meant he was always half a beat behind.

As hard as it was he refused to allow his body to get in his way. He did foot drill. He did rifle drill. He marched and counter marched. He bent over to take his punishment, and then afterwards he came out on the drill square to practice everything he had been taught.

Having finally transformed his fellow cadet’s boots from a dirty pile into a neat row of shining black leather Downton pulled on is own. He swung open the lighthouse door and stepped out into a cool sea breeze to start that that evening’s drill practice. He could feel the breeze tugging at his shorts as he silently ran through the commands.

He was determined that one day he would be giving them to a squad of his own. Once he was finished with them even the Keeper would have to admit that they were perfect, even if he had to drill them into the ground to do it. But first, he had to deal with his own imperfections.

Cadet Downton drew himself up to attention and started his practice. To begin with he concentrated on his legs alone. For all of his life, he had been told he needed to be gentle with his damaged foot. He had been doing it for so long he barely even realised that he was limping now, but the drill square was no place to be gentleness. He forced himself to step out without hesitation. His limp had also lead him into the habit of increasing the length of his stride on the other side, but that would not do any more. The Corps demanded that both legs travel precisely 30 inches, no more an no less. He had chalked markers the length of the square at that distance, and once he was hitting them he slowly increased his pace to the 116 paces per minutes laid down in the drill manual.

He was concentrating so hard on his feet that he never noticed the lighthouse door opening behind him, or the crunch of an extra pair of boots against the concrete. The footsteps stopped and gave a small cough.

Downton whirled around to confront the intruder. Cadet West was standing with his body at attention, but his head hanging down unable to meet Downton’s stare.

What do you want? Downton asked.

The Keeper’s compliments, Mr Downton. He has ordered me to report to you for extra drill practice.

West spoke quietly, as if hoping that Downton might not hear, but these were the words that the boy dreamed of hearing. His heart leapt at the chance of finally being the drill instructor, and it was all he could do to keep the smile from his face. But as eager as he was to take the boy under his command, there was something about the boy’s demeanor hinting that that he had more to say.

He did, but the boy needed a great effort even to force them out of his mouth.

Mr Downton, I ... I have been ordered to treat your orders as if they came from the Keeper himself during these sessions.

This time Downton could not stop himself. It was even better than he had first thought. An order like that could only come from one man. It meant the Keeper himself, the god of their little island, was pleased with him. Praise was rare enough, but to have it come in the form of a cadet to command was more than he had thought possible.

Downton marched over to West, coming to a halt in front of him so precisely that he could have marched straight out of the pages of the drill manual. He placed one finger under West’s chin and lifted his head so that they were staring eye to eye. The boy had the unmistakable expression of a boy that had just been caned.

I can see why you have been given to me. You have even forgotten how to stand at attention properly. But don’t worry, Cadet, I am going to drill you until you are perfect.

He took another pace forward, putting himself right into the face of his subordinate so that he could savour every nuance of the boy’s fear.

Cadet! Cadet, Ho!

West stiffened to attention, and they started to drill.

At first they marched together up and down the concrete quay they used as a drill square, but Downton had already been marching for half an hour and could feel the pain building in his foot. So he took up the Keeper’s normal position on the edge of the square, and barked his orders from there.

It did not take him long to notice the first problem with West’s marching. The Cadet’s pace was too long, as if he was hoping that a longer stride would hurry him off the drill square and back up to the safety of his hammock. Well, that would not do at all, Downton thought, and he remembered the cure for that problem that Able Cadet Clay had a used on him. He could feel his cheeks flushing just from the memory of it. Now it was West’s turn.

He started unbuttoning the boy’s shorts. He took his time. He wanted the boy to know what was being done to him, and why, and that there was nothing that he could do to stop it. But most of all, he wanted the boy to know that he was in charge.

Downton watched Cadet West blushed as his shorts slithered down to his ankles. He could still remember the feeling of his shirt tails flapping around his thighs as the only boy in the squad being forced to march with his shorts around his ankles. His face had burned with the humiliation of it, and what had made it worse was that he could see West smirking at him from the corner of his eye. Well, the boy was not smirking any more.

A single tear welled up from the West’s eye and started to trickle down his face. Downton stroked his fingers down the boy’s cheek to follow it. The boy’s skin was so soft, so warm. His fingers quickly caught up to the tear, and obliterated it, but he did not stop there. They carried on down. They brushed his lips, plump and inviting, and then slid down the boy’s throat. They kept going down until they were finally stopped but the first button of his shirt. He released it, and the next, and the next. He kept on unbuttoning the boy’s shirt until he could lift it off his shoulders leaving him in nothing more than his beret, boots, and jockstrap.

Downton left the boy shivering and stood back to admire what he had done. He circled around to examine his subordinate’s body from every angle, and could not help himself but smile as he admired the way the white straps of his jock framed a set of fresh cane marks. The boy’s body looked delicious, and it was his to command.

The boy marched and counter marched. His arms swished through the air. His boots crunched against the concrete in time with Cadet Downton’s beat and the shorts tangled around his ankles kept his pace to the regulation 30 inches. Soon his thighs were burning, but Downton refused to let him stop. The boy marched up the drill square and back, and at each about turn he could see that the bulge in Downton’s shorts had grown a little bigger.

Finally, Downton could not take any more. He ordered the boy to halt and strode up behind him.

You like this, don’t you boy?


Downton asked, as he stroked the bulge in West’s jockstrap. West said nothing. Downton stepped in closer, and ground the bulge in his crotch into the boy’s backside.

Well, I like it even if you don’t, and I am in command.

Locked at attention West could do nothing as Downton’s hands roved across his hard young body. Trapped alone in a mess of horny young men both boys were used to the pleasures of male flesh. It was rare that a day went by with out at least one of them either on their knees or up against the wall with a rock hard cock pounding into them, but as the most junior of the Cadets neither had been able to actually cum in days. Downton could not count the number of times he had ran out to parade with balls as blue as his uniform shorts. Finally, it was his turn.

On your knees, Cadet.

But it isn’t allowed—

Get on your knees!

West remained at attention. Downton’s frustration had reached boiling point. He tore open his shorts and shouted:

I’ll teach you to try that dumb insolence with me, boy.

His cock sprang out oozing with excitement at the prospect of getting into the hot tight places provided by the Cadet’s body. The elastic of the boy’s jock framed his smooth pink buttocks, and the well trained hole that he knew lay between them.

He knew the Corps has strict rules about who you were allowed to give your body to and letting anybody below the rank of Able Cadet up your arse was a sure way for both of them to get bent over the barrel. But while he might not have been allowed to get inside his fellow Cadet’s body, after weeks of abstinence sliding his dick between the boy’s tightly clenched buttocks was almost as good.

Downton knew West could feel the moist warmth of his breath on the back of his neck. The boy would hear him panting and moaning. He would feel his arse hole becoming moist from the pre-cum oozing out of Downton’s dick. Downton let his hands creep along the waistband of the Cadet’s Jockstrap. He stroked the helpless boy’s loins, and then up to his crotch. As he expected, West getting hard. There was no way the Cadet could stop it, but he did not want it to stop. He enjoyed feeling the control he had over the boy’s body. He started to rub the boy’s dick through the fabric of his jockstrap. He enjoyed feeling the way it responded to his touch. But there was also something else, something more than the mere physical thrill of playing with a hard young body. He had tasted power, and he liked it.

Please, Downton, you need to stop now. I’m going to cum if you don’t. West begged, but Downton did not stop. He sped up. He was going to teach this Cadet who was in charge.

Please, Downton, West begged, I’m going to cum, but I can’t cum in my jock!

Do you want me to stop, Cadet? Downton asked with a wicked grin. They both knew what the Corps rules meant the boy should say, and they both knew he would not do it, because it was not true. He did not want to Downton to stop. He wanted to cum so much, and Downton knew it. He could feel the way the cadet’s body was trusting into his fist as he stroked his rock hard cock. He could hear the way that the boy gasped as he squeezed the cadet’s shaft.

I ... I ... the boy spluttered as he tried to force himself to give the required answer, only to to trail off into moans of pleasure when Downton reached around to stroke his balls.

Call me Sir, Cadet.

Please, Sir! I can’t stop it— he gasped as cum poured out of him filling his jockstrap. Downton could feel it leaking down his thighs, and they both knew that he was going to be caned. The thought was too much for Downton. He shot his load, splattering all over the boy’s backside.

Downton stepped back, panting, and used the Cadet’s shirt to clean up his cock.

Right, Cadet, I think that is enough drill for this evening. Get dressed and get inside. he said, and enjoyed the sight of West bending over to retrieve his shorts. They were wet with his spunk, and he could see them sticking to the boy’s legs as he pulled them up. Once both cadets had dressed they marched back to lighthouse, only to find that the Keeper was waiting for them.

So, Cadet Downton, did you enjoy your first command?

Yes, Sir!

Good. Unfortunately Cadet West appears to have enjoyed it a bit too much. the man replied, gesturing at the spunk tricking down West’s thighs. You both know what happens to a Cadet that makes a mess of his uniform. You can go to your hammock, Downton, but you, West, will be staying with me.

Aye, aye, Sir! Downton said, and left West to strip naked for punishment. As he relaxed into his hammock he knew West would be bending over the barrel. He was not wrong. As he drifted off to sleep the sound of the thrashing percolated into his dreams. He knew the punishment room as well as any other cadet. But this time, he was the one holding the cane in and giving orders.

Strip, Boy.

West undressed slowly. He knew what was coming. He could see the cane in Downton’s hands and the wicked grin on its face. But in Downton’s dream, he wore the three red stars when Able Cadet on his shoulders so West had to obey.

He slipped out of his shirt and dropped his shorts to his ankles, stepping out of them and folded them away neatly. Downton pointed his cane directly at the bulge in West’s jockstrap.

That as well, boy. I ordered you to strip, and that means naked, or I shall have to double your punishment.

West hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his jockstrap and pulled it down to his ankles. The boy was now naked from his beret down to a folded his long laced socks back just below his knees.

I’ll do anything you say Mr. Downton.

Yes, boy, you will. Downton replied as he stroked his hands over the boy’s body. The cadet life had removed any hint of softness from it. The boy’s chest was smooth. His buttocks were firm, and his cock as hard as iron.

You know what I want, boy. Bend over.

West marched to the barrel and bent over it. His buttocks still bore the marks from the last time that he had been beaten. Six perfect red tram lines had been laid down across his pale flesh. But this time, he was going to get a lot more.

Swish! Crack! A perfect cane mark blossomed on the boy’s buttocks.

Swish! Crack! The second stroke curved up into that sweet spot between the boy’s buttocks and his thighs.

Swish! Crack! The third was on his thighs. The boy yelped and a beautiful red line up here across his legs. Just by the look of it Downton knew that that mark would last. That mark would still be just below the hems of the boy’s PT shorts when they went for their swim on the next morning. Everybody would see that he had been caned, and that downton was now in charge.

He gave the boy the beating that he needed, and as he did he could feel his cock getting harder and harder. Boy started whimpering. Then screaming and then begging for mercy.

Please, Sir! Please, Sir! I’ll be your boy, sir! I’ll do anything you say, Sir!

On your knees, boy. Was downtown’s reply. West sprang off the barrel.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

He dropped to his knees in front of his superior. The boy’s lips parted and Downton feed his cock hidden inside. Moist warmth and eveloped his body, and back in reality spunk flooded out of his cock sending him into an even deeper sleep.

His sleep was so deep that he never noticed when West returned, naked and crying. Nor did he hear the boy talking to the other two cadets about what had just happened to him, and why. He just slept on as they hatched their plot.

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