As several fans of the Venugopal's Ordeal stories have pointed out to me, I inadvertently failed to post Vengopal's Ordeal Part Three. So, here it is:
Sachdev's shin was throbbing from Jayachandra's vicious kick, and so he carelessly allowed his foot to drop again.
"Fall out," screamed Guruswamy.
"Ha, sahib" (yes sir)yelled Sachdev and jogged out of ranks. The other boys continued with their drill, and though he knew it was unwise, Venugopal could not resist trying to watch what was going on with his peripheral vision.
Guruswamy felt excitement stir in his groin. He himself was from South India, and most of the recruits in the Pioneer Training Ground (located in Bangalore in South India) were from South India. Sachdev was a rare Punjabi (the author misspoke earlier and called him a Sikh; he was not a Sikh, but he was from Punjab). When Guruswamy had been undergoing basic training, one of his NCOs had been a North Indian, and that sadistic and racist individual had continually poked fun at Guruswamy for the color of his skin (while smooth black skin powerfully turns on the author, dark skinned individuals are despised in relation to fairer skinned individuals, so it always cracks me up to hear my fellow Indians get into a high moral dudgeon about racism in other parts of the world)and for his South Indian pronunciation of Hindi. Now, apart from having the excitement of a pretty recruit to torment, Guruswamy was going to be able to vent his resentment against North Indians on Sachdev.
"Kneel down," screamed Guruswamy.
Sachdev dropped to his knees, the pebbles on the ground painfully chafing his knees. His face was still flushed from Jayachandra's slap, and his shin continued to throb. Guruswamy walked behind him and stood there looking down on Sachdev. He was aware that the anticipation added to Sachdev's torture. Then, Guruswamy caught both of Sachdev's ears, and he began moving the boy's head from left to right. Sachdev's fair ears flushed red, and his eyes filled with tears.
"Do not drop your foot," said Guruswamy loudly and slowly as though he were talking to a retard. "Do," then lifting his foot back and giving Sachdev a none too gentle kick in the arse. "Not," another kick. "Drop," kick. "Your," kick. "Foot," kick.
"Ha, sahib," cried out Sachdev, his eyes filling with further tears, more at the humiliation than the pain.
Guruswamy leaned down and with exagerrated politeness murmured in one of Sachdev's ears that were still being twisted by his dark, hairy hands, "What's that? I didn't hear you."
"HA SAHIB" shrieked the cowed recruit.
By this time, Venugopal could feel a distinct bulge in his shorts. The image of the dark hairy hand against Sachdev's white flushed skin and those regular kicks were turning him on. He was so disturbed at his unexpected excitement that his eyes moved too obviously in Guruswamy and Sachdev's direction.
"Number 56," screamed Jayachandra (the boys had numbered labels on their shirts, and since Venugopal hadn't screwed up yet, Jayachandra hadn't gotten to know him by name). "Pay attention," and he swung back his swagger stick and hit Venugopal twice smartly on his smooth thighs. Not only did the blow hurt more than one to the arse where Venugopal was partially protected by his shorts and undershorts, it also allowed Jayachandra and the other recruits to see welts appearing on that smooth chocolatey velveet black dingy skin. Dinge faggotry for ever!
[One of my MMSA Stories correspondents said that he had a thing for having his ears twisted. Hope he enjoys this installment. It's a big turn on for me to twist my sweet nig boy Jack's ears as well as make him stand with his palms against the wall, lovely dark hands against gleaming white wall, waiting in tortured anticipation for me to kick his thighs heavily from behind, wearing my oldest, black shoes, soles covered with mud, dust, and debris. DINGE FAGGOTRY FOR EVER!]