The recruits began polishing their rifles, and Guruswamy stalked around swishing the green switch that Mahesh had brought him in the air. But the recruits sensed that they did not confront the fearsome punishment they had endured in the morning. This rhythm was fairly common during the day. In the morning, the NCOs would haze and torture their young charges. But by the afternoon, most of their sadistic energy was spent. (Indeed, Guruswamy expended a great deal of his drive masturbating in his little office before his enormous lunch.) By the time, the recruits began cleaning their rifles, the NCOs were in a mellower mood. What made things even easier for the soldiers was that there was only one NCO assigned to rifle cleaning, and so there were fewer chances to be punished.
But this did not mean that there was no punishment. Akhtar a young Muslim recruit was sitting cross legged beside Venugopal. Akhtar had soft golden skin, similar to Devaya's, except that he had a gentle fuzz of gold hair missing from Devaya's soft hairless skin. Akhtar also had a slender willowy almost feminine grace, and he had done more than his fair share of _s_e_x_ual experimenting before he joined the military. In high school, as he got ready to prepare for his final examinations, Akhtar realized that a year of "bunking" (Indian slang for playing hookey) could not be made up in one night of frantic "mugging" (what the British would call swotting, or is that American English too). So, Akhtar had winsomely approached da Costa, an ugly little Goan boy, who sat in the row behind him. Akhtar was aware that da Costa, a clever little nerd, had the hots for him because he could feel da Costa's eyes boring into his back, and he could palpably feel the perv shudder with excitement every time he (the pretty Muslim boy) coquettishly shifted his blue denim ass on the hard wooden benches.
"Man, can you help me? Show me your paper yaar," whined Akhtar.
"Are you crazy?" da Costa said gruffly. "I don't want to be caught cheating."
"Oh come on bayee (Hindi for brother). Be a pal yaar," this plea accompanied by a gentle stroking motion as Akhtar casually first touched da Costa's shoulder and then let his delicate golden hand fall casually stroking da Costa's palpable erection in its downward movement.
da Costa's eyes bugged out. "Can I get to put it in?" he asked gruffly.
Akhtar had pretended to be shocked, "Put what in where?" he had flirtatiously asked.
da Costa, of course, had no finesse, and so instead of flirting back merely grunted, "You know my susu part (urine part, losely translated) into your _s_h_i_t_hhole."
"Oh bayee, you will kill me, " Akhtar had said in affected horror, "But what can I do. I need your help."
da Costa, unwilling to accept how deeply excited he was by Akhtar's beauty gruffly added, "I'm not a pervert yaar. The only reason I'm doing this is I don't have a girl. You better wipe your asshole well yaar. I am not wanting any of your kaakoose (_s_h_i_t_) on my susu part."
Brave words from da Costa. But in fact the evening after the final examination, an exam on which Akhtar had merrily cheated wholesale from da Costa's paper, the ugly little perv lost control completely, as he fervently rimmed Akhtar's delicate little bunghole with its delicated dusting of golden hairs. The rimming was even more pleasurable to Akhtar than da Costa's rather clumsy _f_u_c_k_ because the perv was so excited that he had hardly shoved his slightly bent penis rather roughly into Akhtar's winking darkish brown hole (the only thing dark brown about golden Akhtar, unless you count the darkish brown turds he had shat that morning) before he came. And of course, being da Costa he had paid no attention to Akhtar's pleasure after that. Anyway, after his encounter with da Costa, Akhtar spent a great deal of energy and effort finding men to _f_u_c_k_ him. So at eighteen he was a confirmed slut.
Akhtar hadn't wanted to join the military. But after his father died, he had had to. He had no skills, and he needed a salary. But he decided that he was not going to slave like the other recruits. He had decided that he wanted to be an NCOs favorite. Shrewdly he had already picked up on Guruswamy's possible appetites. But he needed to draw the NCOs attention even if it meant earning some punishment. Akhtar winced slightly because he didn't really like pain, except for the thrust of a _c_o_c_k_ up his arse.
Anyway, to gain Guruswamy's attention Akhtar began whispering to Venugopal. "Shut up, yaar," hissed Venugopal, "You'll get us in trouble."
"Give me a clean rag, yaar, " said Akhtar in a penetrating whisper.
"Baanchooths, " yelled Guruswamy. "Come here."
The two boys scrambled to their feet. But while Venugopal did so in one fluid movement, Akhtar contrived to lose his balance and fall back, legs apart, giving Guruswamy a good look up his crotch, and then righting himself flashing the now amused and slightly aroused NCO with a good view of his pert little arse.
"Come here, " said Guruswamy gruffly. He carefully laid the switch on the ground. He could not see himself marking that delectable golden skin, not just yet. "Don't you know, you are not supposed to talk."
With that he caught Venugopal by the back of his soft black neck, and he caught Akhtar by the back of his soft golden neck and bumped their two shaved heads together twice. It was more of an erotic flirtatious move than punishment. "Now," said Guruswamy. "Hold each other's ears."
Akhtar's golden hands held Venugopal's soft black ears, and Venugopal's black hands held Akhtar's delicate golden ears with their fuzz of light gold hair. "Twenty squats" said Guruswamy. The recruits had to squat from a standing position and then stand up again. To keep their balance they had to painfully tug on each other's ears, and Akhtar's golden ears had a visible flush at the end of the punishment. Venugopal's black skin showed punishment less obviously.
"Go back, " said Guruswamy. "But Akhtar. I don't think you were taking your punishment seriously. After supper come and see me," and he pleasurably felt his _c_o_c_k_ stir in his trousers.
"Oh sir, " whined Akhtar in mock fear smiling flirtatiously, "Don't be mean to me."
"Get back to work, " said Guruswamy playfully swishing Akhtar's ass with a mock blow with his green switch that he picked up from the ground.
[By the way, I dedicate this installment of the continuing saga of Venugopal to Tom whose interesting and well written e-mails energized me to continue.]