Guruswamy strode back to his platoon. "We will have our first dress inspection after breakfast, " he barked. "Ha sahib, " the soldiers yelled obediently. "Devaya will march you to breakfast, " said Guruswamy. He and Jayachandra left the platoon to go and smoke cigarettes, and Devaya called out the orders. Devaya had just been appointed by Guruswamy, and his authority was new enough to be still respected, so the soldiers went quietly to breakfast.
After breakfast, they rushed to their barracks to get ready. When Guruwamy's shrill whistle blew, they rushed out onto the parade ground, looking very smart. Guruswamy's _c_o_c_k_ stirred in his groin. Even though he had put a dozen groups of soldiers through basic training, he never failed to get a rush from his first dress inspection. Jayachandra and his philosophy were to be completely, insanely brutally irrational during this first dress inspection. Ostensibly, the reason for this was to cow the recruits into total obedience and make them super attentive to their uniforms. But if he were frank with himself, Guruswamy would have to admit that he found it fiercely arousing also to torture the soldiers and to be authorized to touch and pull and tug them in the most intimate places supposedly to get their uniforms straight.
Before the dress inspection began, Guruswamy yelled out, "Akhtar."
"Ha sahib," yelled Akhtar jogging out of ranks.
"You will make notes as to which soldiers have punishment drill, " cried out Guruswamy.
"Ha sahib, " yelled Akhtar smartly, making an effort to conceal his smirk. Apart from being pleasurable, allowing himself to be _f_u_c_k_ed by Guruswamy was paying off. He was going to be exempt from the pain and humiliation that the other soldiers were going to undergo. Logically, as the promoted recruit, Devaya should have this role, but Guruswamy was protecting his own bumboy and making a quasi-public announcement of his status as the senior NCO's slut, off limits to mere recruits.
Guruswamy strode up to the recruit in the first row. Montu Sharma was a thin delicate, brown skinned boy. Sweet babyish features, even if a little coarse and peasant like, thin knobbly boy legs, hairless and brown. Odd little uptilted nose. Big brownish eyes with a slight furrow of puzzlement hovering around his eyebrows. Not the brightest of peasant boys, but adorably vulnerable. Vulnerability turned on Guruswamy and his _c_o_c_k_ began to rub against the front of his trousers.
The recruit stood ramrod straight, looking straight ahead. Guruswamy abruptly jerked his hand out, grabbed the boy by the belt which held up his big, baggy khaki shorts, and with immense force pulled the boy toward him and then pushed the boy back away from him. Ostensibly this forceful shaking was to check that the recruit had tied his belt tight enough and securely enough. The terrified recruit gasped as he was pulled forward and backward, and suddenly his belt snapped.
The recruit's hands flew to his snapped belt to try and prevent his shorts from slipping down.
"Baanchooth, " shrieked Guruwamy, "Did I tell you to move?"
"No sahib, " cried out Sharma, his big brown eyes filled with panic.
"Put your hands down, " screamed Guruwamy in Sharma's ear, emphasizing his order by reaching out and violently twisting the same delicate brown ear.
"But sahib, " protested Sharma, who was a modest boy.
"How dare you disobey an order, " screamed Guruswamy. "Put him down for punishment drill, Akhtar."
"Ha sahib, " yelled Akhtar.
"He disobeyed an order?" cried out Jayachandra in feigned astonishment. Then he rushed up behind hapless Sharma.
"You do not disobey an order, " screamed Guruswamy swinging his fist back and punching Sharma hard in the stomach.
Gasping for air, Sharma doubled over, and his hands left his broken belt. His big baggy shorts slipped to his ankles revealing his big dark blue boxer undershorts. The other recruits heartlessly laughed out loud, compounding his shame.
"Did you answer the senior NCO? I didn't hear you," screamed Jayachandra from behind the recruit. "What do you say?"
"Ha sahib, " yelled Sharma miserably.
"Ha," THWACK, vicious cut with the swagger stick to Sharma's boyish thighs, "Sahib," CRACK, another vicious swipe, leaving two clear welts on the boy's upper thighs.
"And, " crack, "don't," crack, "forget," "it" KERACK!
"Ha sahib."
"Go and get a new belt, " screamed Guruswamy.
"Ha sahib," cried out Sharma.
"Do not dare pick up your shorts."
"Ha sahib."
So, poor Sharma hobbled toward the direction of the barracks, big baggy khaki shorts entangled with his boots, his big dark blue boxers in display. His fellow soldiers laughed openly at him, and the other squads drilling alongside and the NCOs giggled too. Sharma's face flushed with embarrassment that hurt him even more than the fierce stinging pain on the back of his upper thighs and the pain from the ear that Guruswamy had almost wrenched off.