" Aalt," screeched Jayachandra.
The jogging recruits halted, clouds of dust issuing into the air.
" Row number one, front and center," yelled Jayachandra.
The six recruits in the front row stepped forward smartly, trying to keep their faces expressionless, even though they were terrified, trying to keep their legs from quaking too obviously with fear.
" Push up position, first row," barked Jayachandra.
"Ha sahib," yelled the first row, slightly feebly because they had an inkling what was in store for them.
"_f_u_c_k_ers, are you girls? I didn't hear you. GET UP AND DO IT AGAIN!"
"HA SAHIB," bellowed the terrified boys dropping again to push up position.
Jayachandra surveyed them with satisfaction. It was interesting to watch the different techniques of recruits in the push up position. Some of them unwittingly stuck their well articulated arses high in the air. Ramesh's tush for instance obscenely was lifted well above his back. Others had a horizontal push up position.
Jayachandra walked up to the first recruit, Ramesh. The recruit was terrifiedly aware of the NCO standing behind him breathing heavily. Jayachandra stroked Ramesh's arse with his swagger stick. The cold hard wood caressed the Tamilian recruit's baggy khaki shorts. Jayachandra then stroked his bare leg, and the recruit had to control himself from wincing with terror at the insinuating feel of that wood.
Then, with great deliberation Jayachandra raised the swagger stick and brought it down with great force on Ramesh's raised arse. There was a sound like a pistol crack, and Ramesh had to use all his will power not to collapse to the ground as a moment later the crack was translated into fierce, burning pain.
"Down,' said Jayachandra gruffly. Ramesh lowered himself, so his face was almost resting on the filthy maidan floor.
Jayachandra moved on to the next recruit. He intended to drag out the torture as long as possible, but his intentions were undermined by his desires. He was just too turned on to punish each of the boys as slowly as he intended. With mounting excitement, he went down the row, whipping recruit arses. His intense excitement was making him raise that swagger stick higher and higher. The poor terrified recruits at the end of the row had the added torture of anticipation, as they heard the gun like cracks coming closer to them. Devaya was at the end of the first row. He got two fierce blows on the arse because as leader he bore responsibility for the entire group's screw up. The fact that he soft, babyish golden hairless legs and a sweet round arse with a deep, tempting looking cleft of course had no bearing on Jayachandra's added blow.
An old coolie who was working on some construction on the military grounds strolled by with his little daughter, no more than five or six years old. The old coolie paid no attention to the soldiers' torture. He had been at the barracks too many years to even notice such things any more. But his little girl idly stood a few feet away from the recruits, digging her nose and observing the proceedings with great interest. Small though the child was, it added to the recruit's humiliation to have someone else standing a few feet away watching that savage, unrelenting swagger stick descending on khaki recruit arses.
After each row had been punished they jogged to the back of the ranks, and the next row moved forward for its collective punishment. Some of the recruits were sweating, both with fear and from the jogging they had been doing. Big sweat stains were observable on their shorts, and as the swagger stick descended, some moisture occasionally flew into the air as well. Jayachandra's front was also moist, of course, but something far yummier than sweat was responsible for that.