Preamble
During the period known to History as 'the Cold War', NATO (the North Atlantic Treaty Organization) and the Warsaw Pact countries under the leadership of the Soviet Union, confronted each other, challenging the 'enemy' to be the first to launch World War Three, thereby increasing the danger of ending human existence by means of all-out nuclear warfare. After World War II, Germany had been partitioned into two separate nations: East Germany, under the total political and military subjugation of the Soviet bloc, whilst West Germany was nominally independent but under the domination of the Western powers - the USA and her European allies. To be brief, such a situation could only make for circumstances where spies spied upon spies spying on other spies - a nasty, dangerously explosive brew.
National Governments and NATO security services both employed nefarious tactics to root out radical or seditious elements as well as agents of hostile foreign powers. The Allied military intelligence services were frantic in their efforts to protect their secrets, to prevent unfriendly foreign powers - for which read the Soviet Union and her satellites - gaining access to them. Amongst these efforts was a persistent, relentless drive to weed out perverts, homosexuals and other 'undesirables' under the guise of protecting them from being blackmailed - or worse. The methods used to achieve these dubious ends were many, but none was worse than the practice that came to be known in the Intelligence community as 'queer baiting'. Corporal Lance Dulac found himself a victim of these vicious practices and was forced into an unacceptable position, compelling him to contribute to the Intelligence effort. At a high personal cost.
Chapter 1
In The Beginning
The mid-1950s saw young Shane Dawson enter his teenage years with a rapidly lengthening and thickening dick, falling balls and a sore arse. One lazy summer afternoon, just after his fourteenth birthday, he willingly lost his virginity to a young guy doing his conscription service in the Army and subsequently met him almost every day on the quiet for more. Shane was also developing into a rebellious, randy fifteen year old. He was a big lad for his age and most of the kids he had grown up with thought twice - or even thrice - before attempting to mix it with him. He enjoyed life as an average young man of his generation in a small town somewhere in rural England, where he had been brought up and lived with his Mum, Dad and an older brother. Shane was never a star student at college and the low grades he achieved in his exams meant university was out of the question but they were sufficient for him to get a job "with prospects." When he left college, with the help of the local town council he found himself a job in a local timber yard. It was noisy, messy and bloody hard work hauling baulks of timber around all day, five and a half days a week, but he rapidly put on muscle which, combined with his dark saturnine looks, made him a formidable young guy to throw down a challenge to. His co-workers in the yard grew to respect him for his hard work and willingness to try anything; the girls in the admin office all took a shine to the hunky youngster with the big bulge in the front of his tight jeans who was cheeky but never disrespectful. The other lads quickly sussed that 'SD' knew how to look after himself all right.
He experienced certain feelings, certain fantasies, but his life was no different from that of any of the other boys growing up around him. He had been chasing girls since he turned thirteen and went through the agony and the ecstasy of puberty in a parochial narrow-minded environment. He had his fair share of naughty fun with his mates, particularly making fun of the grammar school 'cissies'. He had his first piece of pussy, his first ejaculation, his first oral sex, all before his fourteenth birthday. He had more than he expected but probably no more than he needed. He and a particular friend from college named Matt Muldoon were inebriated one Saturday after an unsatisfactory double date left them both horny as fuck and feeling emasculated. They later experienced the ultimate in adolescent 'sexperimentation' when they went down on each other. At the time, Matt was sleeping over at Shane's place and a blending of bewilderment over the lack of response from their dates and the enervating effect of the alcohol they had drunk worked their collective magic on their raging hormones. Later that night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, the lads lay feet to head, their eager mouths searching for and finding each other's willing cocks, which they worked to a feverish pinnacle of combustible lust.
Being novices, they did not dare to take things to the point of ejaculating, content that they had done enough to justify a private pact between them. They did not talk about it next morning, or the following week, but as sure as eggs is eggs, they found an opportunity to do it again the very next weekend. While they both thought of themselves as straight, they agreed that what they were doing was different - and it was fun; consequently, they found every opportunity they could to do it regularly. It struck Shane as strange: he knew what he was doing and he enjoyed it. He thought about it often, convincing himself as Matt had convinced himself - or so he said - that it was just a natural thing for two horny teenagers to do. They did not know the meaning of bisexuality nor, indeed, did they have any inkling of the existence of such a word! Teenage boys of that generation only thought of two men sucking each other's dicks as being 'queer' but since neither Shane nor Matt was 'queer' - they both screwed girls, right? - they shrugged off any thought that what they were doing was anything other than normal. They did know enough, however, to keep quiet about it, aware that if that got out . . . well, let's just say they did not want it to. If anyone had told Shane he was about to embark on a life-changing visit to his local cinema, he would have told them they were "fucking crazy . . . piss off."
The town boasted a medium sized cinema, The Regal. It was nothing pretentious, but was certainly not a flea pit. The seats were reasonably comfortable and had not long been installed after the spartan discomforts of wartime. There was even a thick carpet on the floor. As far as cinemas went in those far off days, it was not too bad. If you wanted something grander to impress the latest wench hanging on to your arm, you had to endure an hour's bus ride there and back. For something really exceptional you had to slog up to London and back - and that was expensive, usually well beyond the means of an over-sexed, hard working teenager! Shane always sat in one of the three back rows, as far from the central aisle as he could get. If his luck was in, he would soon feel his teenage dick and balls being fondled by a randy 'mature' male sitting in the seat next to him. He made it a strict rule never to allow himself to fill his underwear with goo, just in case Jo-Jo - the woman at the laundry who did a the weekly wash for the men at the timber yard - noticed it next washday! He had no hang-ups about wanking the bloke sitting next to him and making the guy shoot his load, usually down the inside leg of his trousers, then the guy would get up and go to the Gents, take off his trousers and attempt to clean himself. If he happened to be a real good looker, Shane would go along too and offer to help - he really had developed into being a randy little bugger! Programmes at The Regal usually changed twice weekly but if there was a very popular or critically acclaimed film being shown, then it would run for the whole week. Shane could never have been mistaken for a dedicated film buff, but he did develop a rudimentary critical sense and found allegedly 'French' films interested him most, mainly because there was always a massive hint of something spicy going on in them - not necessarily confined to goings on between male and female!
He generally went to the first house on a Saturday as it ended around eight o'clock and he could get home well before his Dad's injunction about staying out any later - a restriction Shane increasingly rebelled against as he got closer to his fifteenth birthday. As he came out of the cinema, the queue for the second house was already waiting and one or two of the cheekier youths, escorting gum-chewing maidens, who were mates of Shane and Matt, would call out remarks such as, "Any flashes of tit, mate?" or "Did 'e (the hero) get 'is leg over?" Their partners would always dissolve into salacious giggles and cries of, "Ooh, you are terrible, Lennie . . . or Johnny . . . or Tommy . . . or whoever." Although none of us of that generation realised it at the time, these more relaxed attitudes signalled an unbuttoned approach to life which would culminate in the so-called "Swinging Sixties", life rejoicing in more dash and vigour we had experienced hitherto. I was reminded of those Saturday nights when I was serving abroad doing my bit for Queen and Country. I saw lines of horny American, British and allied servicemen waiting patiently outside brothels or other dens of iniquity. On more than one occasion, the waiting was too much for some of them and I witnessed sexual activity between young males in the alleyway up against the walls of run-down tenement buildings the state of which would have made Old Nick himself blush to the roots of his hair! It was not too long before I was taking part in these activities - but enough of that.
Shane was becoming bored with his mundane, hackneyed, humdrum everyday life. There was a shortage of good looking and intelligent girls around, as most of the ones he and Matt had dated had found well paid jobs, permanent boyfriends who seemed to mature into fiancés and then husbands far too soon. Even Matt had landed a well paid job with the local bus company. Then there was the new supermarket on the edge of town, always advertising for staff. But none of these choices seemed to be what Shane was looking for. Matt gave him the nod one day about the bus company looking for more staff as they were increasing their activities with the burgeoning of greater leisure time and a subsequent increase in the demand for leisure travel. At first, Shane thought this might be an answer to his problem, but on reflection he realised it would soon become as routine and monotonous as anything else in the area. He began looking around for something more challenging, more interesting, even if it meant he would have to leave the town and home. He was becoming impatient for some chance to leave that small town and see the world. He was in this frame of mind one afternoon and contemplating the window of the local Job Centre when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a poster he had not seen before. He perused it carefully, reading it three times. Eureka! Enter the Royal Air Force, with a promise of travelling the world, getting a good education and, above all, learning a decent trade. At last, it seemed to be the solution to all his problems. He decided, there and then, to join the Air Training Corps as becoming an Air Cadet seemed to be the most logical step to take. He made a quick note of the address and phone number of the nearest Recruiting Office and, for the first time in days, his saucy grin returned. His papers accepting him as an Air Cadet came through shortly afterwards.
Shane was surprised to discover there were twenty five young lads in his local ATC squadron, most of whom he knew from college, a youth club he had joined very recently and from elsewhere in the area. Every Friday night the Air Cadets paraded in the local Community Hall and were drilled by the Cadet Sergeant. Following that, there was either a rigorous keep fit session, or learning how to maintain firearms to keep them fit for use without endangering themselves or their mates. They learnt how to strip them down and reassemble them in the quickest possible time. This was a highly competitive business and after some initial hesitation on Shane's part, he soon began scoring high points. The Commanding Officer of the squadron would occasionally bore the pants off the lads by taking them endlessly through the rank structures of the RAF, the Royal Navy and the Army: in the latter case, British regiments as well as that of all our NATO allies and some of the "other lot" (the Red Army, for example!) Much more interesting to Shane were the technical lectures concerning the theory of flight, aircraft recognition, aero engineering, and the like. Best of all, though, were the nights when all that was abandoned for the great outdoors: in the summer months these activities culminated in a Summer Camp and trips to a nearby airfield for the older cadets to gain some elementary flying experience in gliders and light aircraft. This may sound deadly dull to the hyper-active youngsters of today, but these lads were no different and managed to have a lot of fun. Not all of it was entirely innocent, though!
Not long after he joined the squadron, Shane became friendly with Tom Mackenzie, the senior Cadet Corporal. He was somewhat older than Shane, about the same age as Cadet Warrant Officer Rob Latimer, who ran things whenever the officer was not there - which seemed to be most of the time. Both Tom and Rob were expecting their call-up papers any time. Tom and Shane got on well right from the start and Tom introduced Shane to the other lads and kept a friendly eye on his early progress. If Shane was struggling to reassemble a dismantled rifle, Tom would come over and guide him through the tricky bits. At his first Summer Camp, Tom showed Shane how to put up a two-man tent in record breaking time. During the outdoor keep fit sessions, Tom was always putting his hand on the seat of Shane's shorts to boost him clear of the vaulting horse or show him the best ways of negotiating an obstacle course. He continually found a good reason to touch Shane's arm, put his hand on Shane's thigh (not too high up, though!) and, on one occasion, his fingers "accidentally" brushed against the bulge in the crotch of Shane's tight fitting shorts. Shane simply ignored all this and was intent on enjoying Tom's friendship and his own growing confidence.
At the end of their Friday nights in the Community Hall it was customary for two of the lads to stay behind to tidy up and lock the place up, returning the keys to the caretaker who lived nearby. This had been organised on a roster system and in due course it happened that Tom and Shane pulled the "locking up duty", as it was known. On this occasion Rob Latimer was staying a bit later than usual to catch up on some official paperwork in the small annex which was used as an office. Tom and Shane had tidied the main hall and were going to check the toilets. As they were about to go in Shane said, "Hang on, Tom. I need a leak."
"OK, think I'll join you," replied Tom. Standing side by side at the urinal, Shane could not resist sneaking a glance next door. Tom was standing there, stroking and gently pulling on his meat. Shane got an instant hard-on. "You want this?" Tom said, softly. Shane nodded and reached out a trembling hand to take hold of Tom's dick. Tom moved in closer, his hand grasping Shane's cock and gently pulling on it. He put his other hand behind Shane's head, pushing downwards. "Go on, give it a suck," Tom said in his 'that is an order' voice. Shane needed no second invitation but squatted down, taking Tom's hard, thick manhood into his slavering mouth. It took all of Shane's rapidly expanding experience to get it down his throat. Tom's hands clutched the sides of Shane's head, moving it in a slow, back and forth motion. His pelvis began a thrusting movement and the tempo rapidly quickened. Shane felt Tom's helmet sliding further and further down his throat. He was close to puking but managed to control himself. Suddenly, the toilet door crashed open and Cadet Warrant Officer Latimer stood there, a looming, threatening figure silhouetted against the light from the main hall. He stood with his legs astride, his hands clenched. "What the fuck are you two up to?" he bellowed. The two young men sprang apart, their rampant cocks bouncing and throbbing, frantically scrabbling at their clothing.
"Just coming, sir!" Tom shouted.
"I bet you are, Corporal Mackenzie. Outside, both of you. NOW!" Shane was shaking, his mouth had gone dry, he was terrified. This was the first time he had ever been caught 'at it' with another guy. What was going to happen now?
Back in the main hall, Tom and Shane stood to attention, wishing the floor would open up and swallow them. Somehow, they had managed to stuff their cocks back into their uniform trousers, but Shane's nervously shaking fingers made it difficult for him and he fumbled with the fly buttons. CWO Latimer walked slowly round the two of them, not saying a word - but looking daggers. He eventually stopped in front of them, his eyes glittering. Shane was horrified to discover that his dick was refusing to go down. It was still as hard as it had been in the toilet. He knew Rob Latimer could see the bulge in his trousers but the more he tried to make it go down, the harder it seemed to get.
"So! I've got me a couple of nancy boys here, have I?" Silence. He glared at the quaking Shane. "You! Go over there, by the door, and stand to attention, facing the wall!"
"Yes, sir!" Shane somehow managed to croak out. He marched the length of that interminable room and took up his position. He could not see what was happening but he could hear Latimer's grating voice as he turned his wrath on Tom.
"Right, Cadet Corporal Mackenzie, you have got some explaining to do. Follow me!" Shane heard Tom leave the hall and go through the door into the small annex. The door slammed shut.
After some minutes, Shane dared to glance over his shoulder. The door opened and Tom emerged, his face flushed crimson. He avoided Shane's gaze as he hurried past him, gathered up his greatcoat, went through the main door out into the cold, wet night. Nothing happened for a moment or two, then Rob Latimer re-appeared. He walked slowly into the centre of the room and stood behind Shane, at some distance from him. "About turn!" he commanded. Shane spun round on his heel, slamming his raised foot into the floor, facing Rob. "Come here!" he ordered. Shane marched the few steps to where the CWO stood and marked time on the spot until he was commanded to halt. His heart was thudding, his stomach churning, but at least his dick had gone down - not all the way but it was not quite so prominent. Rob did not say anything at first, he simply caught and held Shane's eyes. Then he spoke.
"Cadet Corporal Mackenzie has told me everything, so its no use lying. You and he were on lock up tonight, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"He told me he had finished here and looked around to see if you had also finished. You were not there but the light was still on in the bog. He reckoned you had gone to take a leak or something and went in. He saw you standing there with your trousers and pants around your ankles, giving yourself a good, hard wank." Shane opened his mouth to protest. "Shut it! When he ordered you to stop and make yourself decent, you burst into tears and begged him not to report you. You even offered to give him a little oral relief in exchange for his silence. In a moment of madness, he agreed. That is when I came in. Right?"
"No, sir. It was not like that. He asked me . . ."
"Stop! You saying he lied to me? A corporal's word against yours?" Shane was silent. CWO Latimer looked at him, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you two choices - you can decide your own fate. You can either accept my punishment here and now and nothing more will happen to you: I'll keep quiet. Or, we can do this the official way and involve your parents, the police and the courts. What's it to be, cock sucker?"
What could Shane do? He realised it was useless to try and deny Tom's lies - he could settle that matter privately. If he let officialdom have its way, bang would go his chance of getting away from this one horse town and into the RAF, he might even end up with a criminal record. His Mum and Dad would be devastated. The CWO had given him two options, but he had no real choice - he would have to take what was coming to him from the CWO. Shane knew him well enough to trust him to keep quiet. He made his decision. "I will take your punishment, Sir." Latimer removed his uniform jacket, throwing it over a stack of chairs. "Very well. Sensible decision. You will now drop your trousers and underpants, bend over and hold on to your ankles." Shane hesitated. "NOW!" He hastily obeyed but caught sight of Latimer removing the heavy black leather belt supporting his uniform trousers. Shane trembled - surely he wasn't going to . . .
CRAAACK!! Shane yelled. The leather bit into his flesh with teeth of steel and tongues of fire. Again, and again, and again the heavy belt sang through the air, danced across Shane's naked buttocks, leaving a trail of molten incandescence and exquisite pain coursing through his lower body. His balls were aching, taut against his body, seeking protection. His cock was rampant again, jigging and pulsating as each scorching lash landed - it had not been as rigid since the day the young soldier had given him his first fuck. He was not just oozing pre-cum - the sticky juice was pumping out, falling in long, glutinous tendrils to the floor of the Community Hall. His body was demanding the release of a white-hot load of sperm churning and boiling inside his scrotum. He was too busy keeping his balance to do anything about it, that would have to wait. By now, Latimer was well into his stride and rhythm. Shane's arse was red hot, getting redder and redder. Latimer's deep, rasping voice grated in his ears. "You little cock sucking arse bandit!" each word accompanied by a slash of the belt. "What are you?" Shane could not find his voice. The lashes increased in weight and number. "Answer me, you bugger!" Shane cried out with the pain, then managed to gasp out, as loudly as he could, "Sir! I am a little cock sucking arse bandit, Sir!" As he hoarsely shouted out that final "Sir!" the thrashing ceased. There was a momentary silence, save for his rasping gasps.
"Well," growled CWO Latimer, "anything to say?"
"Sir! Thank you, Sir! I deserved your punishment, Sir! I deserve more of the same, Sir!"
"Not tonight, Cadet. Stand up - and shut up." As Shane hastened to obey Latimer's order a raging inferno surged through him. He staggered, crying out with the pain. "Bet you'll think twice before sucking cock again, eh?"
"Sir!" was all he could manage in reply.
"Right then. Pull your trousers up and fuck off home. I'll see you on parade next week."
Latimer turned and walked away, threading the belt back through the loops of his uniform trousers, seeming not to notice the raging hard-on Shane was still sporting. As Latimer passed in front of him, Shane caught sight of the NCO's crotch - and gasped. The material of his uniform trousers was tightly stretched across a huge, quivering bulge. Shane knew, then, that the CWO had got as big a thrill out of thrashing him as he had done in taking it! Oh, yes, Shane would make sure he saw Cadet Warrant Officer Latimer again!
Next: Chapter 2
Laurie, 28/02/17