Petty Officer Pettifer: the Gay Disciplinarian

This is the second of two stories about the early naval career of one, Kevin Pettifer, who aged eighteen, by dint of his own efforts, pulled himself out of a working-class dead-end existence in a northern English city and became a Petty Officer in the Royal Navy. Before reading this story, you should first read its precursor: The Making of a Gay Disciplinarian. Kevin tells the story in his own words. Now read on.

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Together with Connor Black, my best friend, to whom I shall be eternally grateful for helping me to find my true sexuality, we were on our way to Dartmouth where we both had had the good fortune to be selected for a senior Navel Cadet Training Programme. Connor, whom I had met, some months earlier, on a two-day selection programme for this same cadet course, on which we were now about to embark, had quickly divined that I was a hesitant gay virgin and had taken me in hand. As a result of his ministrations, I had, in the course of a few short months, found, recognised and accepted my true sexuality; so much so that I was now completely at ease as an sexually active, gay young man.

Connor was my sex mentor and chief lover, but as he pointed out to me, we did not own each other and so we both enjoyed the company of, and having sex with, a variety of other like minded guys. In fact, since I had met Connor, my life had been what I suppose someone of poetic disposition might have qualified as "idyllic". Certainly those few months since I had met Connor had been the happiest in my life and as we sat together in the train going towards Exeter, I had a huge feeling of relief that I was leaving behind forever the last vestiges of what had been my miserable working class life in a slummy area of Bradford in the north of England.

It really was by the greatest stroke of good luck that we two had been thrown together on those two selection days; for some reason we had been give a bedroom together, whilst the others bunked in dormitories of six or so guys. Without that hand of fate I might well have been bunking with several other guys and could still have been wondering about myself and sex. I had long realised that girls were not for me; but I had taken no steps to explore a relationship with another man; in fact, I had had no idea how to set about it. And it was just this chance privacy which had allowed a very perceptive Connor to take me in hand and make me recognise my true sexuality. I owe everything to him, for which I shall be ever grateful; he was a brilliant and understanding teacher and ultimately we two became very happy and active sex partners. I have not used the word lover, as I am not sure that I knew what it felt like to be in love; but I enjoyed sex with Connor tremendously; he changed my life.

We finally arrived at the barracks in Dartmouth, where we learned that the Naval Cadet Course on which we were embarking was truly exceptional. The Dartmouth facility was usually reserved exclusively for cadets who were aiming to become commissioned officers in the Royal Navy and not for the likes of us, who were, at best, ultimately destined to become non-commissioned officers. The British Royal Navy, you will all understand, was, and still is, very class conscious, even in the twenty-first century; so the two levels of ranking were still rigidly adhered to. The lowest were the ratings, the regular sailors and the non-commissioned officers who were beneath the commissioned ranks. All this I learned over the first few weeks of training.

On arrival we were assigned to our quarters and here something which neither Connor nor I had thought of occurred. I suppose we had somehow imagined, if we had imagined anything at all, that we two would once again bunk together in a snug room for two. But this was not to be, for we found ourselves allocated to two separate six-man dormitories along with other lads whom we did not know. Of course, apart from Connor and me, none of us knew anyone else; we were all just young lads from all over the country who had been thrown together on the cadet course. Initially this posed a problem for Connor and me as we both wanted to be able to continue with what had become our very active sex life together and here we were faced with a totally unexpected and undesirable separation. But where there's a will there's a way and after a bit of juggling Connor and I managed to finish up in the same dormitory; not ideal of course, as we really wanted to be on our own together, but certainly better than being totally separated.

The burning question for both of us was to determine whether any of our dormitory mates were of the same sexual persuasion as us. The total intake of cadets for the course was about sixty and it seemed to me very unlikely that Connor and I were the only gay guys among them, for the navy is a notorious haven for men of our orientation; in fact, after a couple of weeks, by which time we had worked out what was what among the cadets, by a bit of shuffling around with some of the other dormitories, Connor and I had managed to put together a six-man gay dormitory. We also had a good idea as to which of our other "straight" co-cadets were not averse to a little male-male sex, even though they were not like the six of us, died-in-the-wool gays. Years later, it never ceases to amaze me how many so called "straight" men, quite enjoy a little "anal stimulation" and are not averse, given half a chance, to exercising their own cocks on a receptive arse.

So although there was no total privacy for any of us, we were among like-minded guys who wanted much the same as we did - to have sex with each other - and so the six of us soon came to an understanding of how to behave towards each other and regular sex was not a problem. I have to say that I was relieved that the sex question had been so easily settled as it had become such an important part of my existence that I could no longer go for long without it. As Connor had said before we were in Dartmouth, we two did not own each other and although we were very close, we both enjoyed the occasional sexual adventure with others. So the six of us in our dormitory soon came to an understanding and sex was mutually available for all of us.

By the end of the first month, the six of us had become a well-defined gay fraternity on the course; we had all fucked the others and been fucked by them in turn. I was relieved that my sex life had been so easy to arrange, for gay sex had become, in a very short time, and important and indispensable part of my life. And I am happy to say that many of the so-called straight cadets, cut off from female company, were happy to satisfy their own sexual appetites by indulging themselves with the likes of us. So all in all living in a totally male environment was just about as good as it could have been for me.

I have dwelt on the sexual aspects of my life, as these were, an still are, very important to me; But the cadet training course was not about sex, but about turning a set of inexperienced youths into disciplined men who would eventually be worthy of the rank of non-commissioned officer: the go-betweens between the commands issued by the commissioned officers and the ratings who had to carry out the orders. To say we were on a naval training course, we never even glimpsed the sea; we were in barracks on the edge of town the whole time. And it was the proximity of the town and the allure of what it might hold in store for us, which led to the first clash with naval authority and a dose of naval discipline for Connor and me. And allow me tell you that it was not a very pleasant experience at all.

Connor had a very finely tuned antenna and picked up information like a sponge picks up water. He had somehow learned (ask me not how) that here was a gay-club down town and he dearly wanted to escape for the camp to explore its hidden delights, if such there really were. Anyway, he and I sneaked out of the barracks one Saturday evening, went into town, found the club and I suppose that it is true to say that we had a ball. There was lots of sex going on and we were able to join in a six man-group sex effort, which in spite of ample sex in barracks, was quite exhilarating. However, what turned out less than exhilarating, was the sequel.

At about three in the morning, we crept back into the barracks only to be pulled up by the guard on gate duty. How had we sneaked out in the first place without him seeing us? I don't actually know; but he put us on a report for the following morning, Sunday, to appear in front of the commanding officer. Now we had, along with most others, been subjected to all sorts of disciplinary actions during training. You know the sort of thing; the instructor of whatever it is you are doing at the moment, decides you are underperforming and makes you do thirty push-ups in front of your mates or makes you repeat an assault course when you are already tired out or whatever. It turned out that real naval life, at least where we were, was, in fact,much as depicted in films: unpleasant but not particularly painful. But this time it was different.

We were marched by the adjutant before the commanding office, one Commander Scott-Brady. "Cadet Black, Cadet Pettifer, you were both absent from the barracks without leave on Saturday evening. You will both report to the changing rooms adjacent to the showers for the punishment parade on Monday evening at eight o'clock. The penalty for being absent without leave is fifteen strokes of the cane. That is all. Dismissed." So that was it. No questions about what we had been doing; no request for an explanation or for an excuse. This was my first encounter with the cut and dried rules of the navy and how rigidly they were enforced; a rule was a rule; break it and you were punished. It was as simple as that!

When the Commanding Officer said: "fifteen strokes of the cane," my blood ran cold. During our selection interviews punishment parades and corporal punishment had never been mentioned and now here we were the two of us, each sentenced to fifteen strokes of the cane. This was the first time I had heard that the navy still used corporal punishment but as I later learned it had been reintroduced into the schools, the juvenile courts, the prison service, approved schools and the armed forces some few years previously as a means of combating ever increasing violence, especially among young offenders. The Royal Navy, which had long mourned the ban on the corporal punishment, had been overjoyed by the change in the law and had welcomed the return of the cane and the birch with open arms. And as Connor and I were to find out on Monday evening, the cane was alive and well at Dartmouth and would shortly have the very doubtful pleasure of feeling its effects on our backsides.

Neither Connor nor I had ever experienced any form of corporal punishment. However, my own experiences with my sex partner Jonathan Singleton, the Bradford solicitor whose naked arse I had, at his request thrashed many times with a rattan cane over the past few months, had taught me that even though I did not mind wielding the cane on someone else, I did not want to feel it landing on my own arse. In thrashing Jonathan, I had seen the damage that a well applied rattan cane could do to a guy's naked arse and I shuddered to think that I would soon be experiencing the very same thing.

I flatter myself that as a novice at caning, my efforts on Jonathan's arse had been well applied. Now Jonathan had enjoyed having is arse beaten; it was he who had persuaded me to do it and he truly relished it. But once he had persuaded me to beat him and I had got started, I have to admit that as an reluctant flagellator initially, I found I derived considerable pleasure in having acceded to his wishes. Should it have given me pleasure or not? Should I feel guilty or ashamed of my actions? I am not sure; but I did not feel either sentiment; so there it was; I finally admitted to myself that I really enjoyed roasting Jonathan's arse, which became a weekly event to which I looked forward whilst I was still living in Bradford.

I had, of course, also had the additional pleasure of fucking Jonathan straight after the caning, which certainly added spice to what was already, for me at least, a very erotic experience. Once again it was Jonathan who had insisted that I fuck him immediately each time after his beating and I cannot deny that that too gave me great pleasure. Looking back, the most erotic experience I had had with Jonathan was when I fucked him bare-back with my newly circumcised cock. You will remember that I had had problems in having bare-back sex with him due to the excessive amount of foreskin with which I was naturally endowed.

Well Jonathan was the first of my partners to experience my "remodelled" tool. He always insisted on bare-back sex and I reluctantly refrained from using a condom to please him. I can tell you that that first time when my naked cock-head penetrated his anal sphincter and the long shaft of my well lubricated cock slid smoothly inside him, was a moment of sheer, unadulterated pleasure for me; it took anal copulation to new heights; heights I had never dreamed until that moment existed. Bareback sex, I discovered, was incomparably better than fucking arse with a condom clothed cock. But Jonathan was the only person with whom I ever indulged in unprotected anal intercourse.

But now it was me who was to have my arse beaten, but beaten without the added pleasure of the sexual sequel. The prospect was just too awful to contemplate, for I knew first-hand exactly how much damage a well-wielded cane could do to a guy's backside. But there it was; that was exactly what was going to happen to me (and, of course, to Connor too) on Monday evening and there was not one damned thing we could do to avoid it. This was truly going to be one of those awful moments in life, when a guy just has to grit his teeth and grin and bear it; I really hoped that I could and would not show myself up as a wimp when the cane bit into my naked arse.

Connor and I spent a very uneasy Sunday and Monday, as the prospect of what we were about to suffer weighed heavily on both of us. I don't think Connor had any idea of the extent of the damage which was to be visited upon his arse as he had absolutely no experience of the cane. I for my part, thought it better not to tell him of my own experiences with Jonathan as there seemed little point in adding to his nervous anxiety. In due course he would find out all too well just what an awful experience the cane was. At supper on Monday I could hardly bring myself to eat anything at all as the fatidic moment approached when we would have to report for punishment. The nervous tension continued to build up and finally came to a climax when the whole mess was made aware of what was about to happen.

The adjutant in charge stood up at the end of the meal and announced the names of the cadets who were to report for punishment parade at eight that evening. Connor's and my names were the first to be read out and then there was a slight pause before three other cadets whom I knew only by sight were also slated to join us. A deathly hush fell over the room as this was the first time that most of the lads learned that a formal punishment parade existed. I guess that most of the cadets were unaware of the existence of such a formal procedure, as we had been until we had been caught absent without leave.

Most of the cadets were ignorant of the fact that both the cane and birch were alive and well in the Royal Navy and that given a slip-up on their part either one of these devastatingly painful implements could well be visited on their own arses. In fact I doubt that any of my co-cadets were even aware of the fact that corporal punishment had been reintroduced into society, just a few years ago, by the British Government in effort to reintroduce a semblance of order among the uncontrollable and unanswerable youth of the day.

Promptly at eight, for this was not an occasion to be late, the five of us assembled outside the changing rooms. The adjutant, the senior gym instructor who was also the chief disciplinarian of the camp, a PO called Brian Thresher, and two very muscular looking regular sailors were already waiting for us. Not surprisingly Thresher's nick-name was, of course, The Thrasher. The adjutant gave the order: "Right you lot; into the changing rooms, get stripped and then into the showers." This was the moment when I realised that we were about to follow a protocol laid down in the regulations; it was the dawning that in the navy everything was done by the book and to the letter; no deviations were allowed or tolerated. After five or so minutes under the showers, we were ordered to dry ourselves off and each of us was handed a skimpy pair of shorts and told to put them on.

So there we all stood, naked apart from our shorts, awaiting the next order. "Cadets; forward face; right turn and and quick march." Down the corridor we went to the gymnasium, where we were ordered to stand to attention in a straight line against the wall. Preparations had already been made for what was about to be visited upon us. A wooden beating horse, the legs of which were equipped with leather restraining straps, stood awaiting its first victim in the centre of the room. Neither I nor any of the others had ever seen such a contraption before but it was quite obvious what it was used for. On a side table lay a number of long, vicious-looking rattan canes. To my horror I saw that two buckets of water, each containing two birch rod, rods stood to one side.

Thresher, whom we all knew quite well as we were in regular PE classes under his supervision, was a very muscular young man with a powerful physique of which he was inordinately proud. In the gym he never asked any of us to do anything which he himself could not do much better. But he had a real mean streak and in the gym took great delight in flicking the arse of any cadet who displeased him with a leather strap which, in common with many men of his profession, he always seem to have to hand.

This evening he was wearing a small pair of tight fitting shorts, which moulded themselves to his well rounded buttocks as if he had poured himself into them. The shorts also emphasised his considerable package. I had never ever seen the guy naked, but it was obvious that here was a man who was sexually very well-endowed indeed: a man who knew it and who was clearly not ashamed to flaunt it. His outfit this evening was completed by a figure-fitting, sleeveless vest, which emphasised his magnificent pectoral muscles and left his muscular arms in clear view. All in all, Thresher was a very sexy looking guy and on another occasion I would have been tempted to see how far I far I could go with him, for even now, just looking at him, I could feel my cock stirring in my own shorts; in a word, given the right occasion and opportunity, I would very happily fuck him and let him in turn fuck me. But this was not the occasion and such thoughts disappeared from my mind as I contemplated what he was about to do to us.

The adjutant looked at the charge sheet on his clip-board: "Cadet Thomas, step forward. You have been sentenced to nine strokes of the birch for sleeping whilst on guard duty. Take off your shorts; step forward to the horse and bend across it." As he heard these orders, Cadet Thomas blanched visibly, for I doubt that he had realised until this very moment that he was going to be birched naked. Like the rest of us, Thomas had had no experience of corporal punishment of any kind in his life to date and today was to be a baptism of fire for all of us in which he was to be the first to be "anointed".

"Sir, do I really have to take off my shorts, sir? It seems indecent to make me bend across the horse totally naked. Could I not keep my shorts on sir?"