Sparta College P3 - Orientation

by Dustin W
Posted: October 24, 2015, 08:50

Xiaohu had clearly been waiting outside the health room for a while.

The moment Xiaolong stepped out—still sporting a very obvious tent in his track pants—Xiaohu’s big hand shot forward and gave the bulge a firm, teasing squeeze.

“Fuck, they just put the ring on you and you’re already this hard? You’re kind of a pervert, huh?”

Xiaolong opened his mouth to protest, but before a single word came out Xiaohu had already grabbed his wrist and was half-dragging, half-jogging him down the hallway.

“Move faster. If we’re late you’re gonna be in serious shit.”

They reached the main gym at a brisk trot.

Only when they stepped inside did Xiaolong realize the place was already packed with people.

“Whoa—Jingyu?!”

Jingyu was his old high-school classmate, star of the basketball team back then, the undisputed class heartthrob.

Clearly the years since graduation had been kind to him in the gym; he was noticeably thicker and more muscular than Xiaolong remembered.

Jingyu spotted him immediately, strode over, and landed a heavy, friendly punch on Xiaolong’s shoulder.

“Damn, small world! Never knew you were into lifting too, bro.”

After a round of loud laughter and back-slapping, Xiaolong finally took a proper look around.

The room was full of serious muscle.

Jingyu might have been the pretty boy of their high-school class, but here he didn’t even stand out.

There was a stocky, dark-skinned guy who had to be pushing 85–90 kg of pure mass, and next to him a leaner, more graceful-looking guy with the classic gymnast build—small waist, wide shoulders, every muscle sharply defined.

That was when Coach Zhang appeared, flanked by two men dressed in military-style camouflage uniforms—clearly instructors of some kind.

The moment they stepped into view, every conversation in the room died instantly.

Coach Zhang grinned.

“Very good. Everyone’s on time. Perfect.
First thing—we’re going to give you newbies a proper tour of the school.”

The group followed him out of the gym and deeper into the sprawling campus.
They stopped in front of a massive red-brick building.

“This is our main fitness center. Used to be a factory—renovated.”

As soon as they stepped inside, the atmosphere changed.

Behind every heavy door was another huge space: basketball courts, gymnastics halls, training rooms.

From each direction came the rhythmic clang of weights, the thud of medicine balls, sharp shouts of effort…

…and underneath it all, unmistakable sounds: the crisp crack of paddles and canes meeting flesh, stifled yells, the occasional full-throated cry of pain.

Xiaolong felt his stomach tighten.

Coach Zhang pushed open one door labeled “CrossFit Room.”

Inside, a dozen men were already drenched in sweat, pushing through brutal circuits.

Off to the side, a coach stood holding a paddle, looming over a guy who was bent over in downward facing dog position, ass high and round, clearly waiting for correction.

“Looks like someone slacked off,” Coach Zhang commented casually. “Here, if you get punished during the day, you report to the punishment room at night for round two with the senior coaches.”

They continued down the corridor, passing a karate dojo, a boxing gym, a few other specialized rooms.

Those spaces were quieter—no obvious beatings—but every athlete inside moved with lethal focus, like they were training for war.

“We teach integrated combat and conditioning skills,” Coach Zhang explained. “Useful outside these walls one day.

Every discipline has monthly evaluations. Fail the test? Public punishment. Minimum two hundred lashes to start.”

Xiaolong swallowed hard.

He was already mentally calculating how many days it would take before his usual lazy habits got him absolutely destroyed here.

The last door they reached had three large characters carved above it: Punishment Room.

Coach Zhang stopped and turned to face the group.

“By now you should have some idea what you’re in for.

Our goal is simple: forge strong bodies and unbreakable wills. We want warriors.”

“To get there, there are three rules you will follow without exception.”

“Rule one: No jerking off. No ejaculation without explicit permission from a senior student or coach.”

“Rule two: Complete obedience to seniors and coaches.”

“Rule three: No quitting. No talking about this place to outsiders.

Break that last one and your highlight-reel porn videos go online—and straight to your friends’ social feeds.”

Xiaolong’s stomach dropped.

He suddenly remembered how he’d screamed “don’t stop” over and over that first day while Xiaohu railed him in front of the mirror.

Someone must have recorded it.

That explained why Coach Zhang had disappeared for a while afterward.

“Any questions?”

A deep voice came from the back.

“Hold up. Isn’t this a massive privacy violation? You can’t just threaten to leak our videos!”

It was the big dark-skinned guy.

The two camo-clad instructors moved like lightning.

One of them locked the man’s arm in a brutal twist, while the other quickly bound both wrists to a thick vertical pole in the center of the room.

For someone that muscular, he went down surprisingly easily.

“Motherf— what the hell are you doing?!”

The second instructor drew the baton from his belt, flicked it on, and pressed the live end straight against the guy’s crotch.

“AAAAHHH—!! Stop—!!”

The big man convulsed violently, muscles straining uselessly against the restraints.
After a few seconds he sagged, strength gone.

“Pants down.”

They yanked his shorts and underwear to his ankles in seconds.

His thick 19 cm cock sprang free, already half-hard and twitching.

“Repeat what you just said.”

Even through the pain the guy still snarled, “You only got numbers on your side. One-on-one, you’d be fucked.”

The instructor didn’t bother replying.

He cranked the baton to maximum and pressed it directly against the swollen head.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

The man jerked and spasmed for a full fifteen seconds before his eyes rolled back and he passed out, limp against the pole.

His cock still twitched helplessly, leaking steadily onto the floor.

Dead silence filled the punishment room.

Then—

beep… beep…

Xiaolong flinched.

His own ring had just chimed twice.

Looking down, he realized he was rock-hard again, a visible wet spot spreading across the front of his pants.

The LED on the ring was now pulsing a soft orange.

“Chen Wenlong,” Coach Zhang said pleasantly, glancing at his phone. “You’d like a turn too, yes?”

Xiaolong instinctively took a step back—only for both instructors to grab his arms.

“According to the data, you came this morning.

Did we or did we not agree to one full week of abstinence?”

The coach tapped the screen.

Apparently every ring was paired to the system; everyone’s vitals were right there in real time.

“First offense. Twenty-five disciplinary lashes to set an example.”

Before Xiaolong could process the words, his clothes were stripped off.

Wrists and ankles were quickly locked into the overhead chains and floor shackles, spreading him wide in the center of the room.

One of the instructors walked to a small fridge in the corner, took out a peeled finger of fresh ginger, and without ceremony pushed it firmly into Xiaolong’s hole.

At the same time, the other fastened a vibrating bullet directly to the underside of his aching cockhead with medical tape.

“These will help you stay focused,” the instructor said. “Make sure the lesson sticks.”

At first the ginger felt only cool.

But the moment Xiaolong instinctively clenched—trying to deal with the embarrassment—the burn started.

Sharp, chemical heat bloomed inside him, forcing him to relax again… only for the ginger to settle deeper.

Meanwhile the bullet had already begun a low, maddening buzz against his glans.

“Stand straight. If you come again we add fifty more strokes.”

The first instructor stepped back, swung his arm in a wide arc, and cracked a long leather whip against the floor right beside Xiaolong’s feet.

The sound alone made everyone jump.
The bullet jolted violently against Xiaolong’s cockhead.

Then—without warning—the instructor blindfolded him and taped his mouth shut.

“Let’s see how well you feel it when you can’t see or beg.”

CRACK!

The whip sliced across both cheeks, leaving a perfect, searing red line.

“Mmmph—!!”

It felt like a red-hot iron bar.

Xiaolong clenched hard on instinct—only for the ginger to flare even hotter inside him.

He tried to relax, then clenched again—trapped in a vicious cycle.

Someone turned the bullet up higher.

Pain, burning, itching pleasure, electric buzzing—everything crashed together.
His legs started shaking.

“STAND STRAIGHT!!”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The two instructors worked in perfect tandem, alternating sides.

Five clean, perfectly spaced stripes appeared across Xiaolong’s ass—no overlapping, no broken skin, just brutal precision.

He couldn’t scream, couldn’t beg.

Muffled sobs leaked around the gag.

His body jerked with each stroke, knees buckling.

“Still calling yourself a man? Five lashes and you’re already breaking.”

One instructor stepped forward, grabbed the protruding end of the ginger, and began roughly fucking it in and out—brushing Xiaolong’s prostate with every thrust.

The cock that had started to soften sprang back to full hardness immediately.

The other instructor wrapped his rough palm around Xiaolong’s shaft and stroked in time with the ginger’s motion.

The bullet kept buzzing.

Pre-cum welled up steadily.

The ring on his cock slowly shifted from orange toward red.

“Stay upright. If you fall we start over.
We can beat you all day if we have to. Understand?”

Xiaolong nodded frantically, tears soaking the blindfold.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Every five lashes they would pause—fuck him with the ginger, edge him mercilessly with hands and bullet—stopping only when the ring flashed dangerously close to solid red.

Then the whipping would resume.

Pain and pleasure blurred together.

By the later strokes, each new lash across his burning ass somehow made his cock throb even harder.

The other new students watched in stunned silence.

Eventually Coach Zhang raised a hand.

“Xiaohu, take him down.”

Xiaohu hurried forward, gently released the restraints, and half-carried Xiaolong to a padded bench on the side.

He began spraying cooling antiseptic over the welts.

“Your dick really doesn’t know how to behave, does it?” Xiaohu muttered, half amused, half exasperated.

Xiaolong was too wrecked to argue.

He just lay there, dazed, letting Xiaohu take care of him.

Later Jingyu and the gymnast got their own “welcome” whippings.

Jingyu took it in grim silence—true to his old “real men don’t go down” attitude.

The gymnast had it worse; he kept losing his stance and earned several restarts. By the end his ass looked like raw meat.

Coach Zhang surveyed the thoroughly disciplined new batch and gave a satisfied nod.

“Alright. Lunch. Afternoon training starts after.”

Xiaolong could barely walk.

Xiaohu had to support most of his weight on the way to the cafeteria.

Thoughtfully, every table in the dining hall was standing height.

Clearly they knew no one would be sitting comfortably for a while.

Even half-dead from exhaustion and pain, Xiaolong still leaned close to Xiaohu and whispered,

“I don’t know why… but my ass feels so fucking itchy inside…”

Xiaohu shot him a knowing look.

“Yeah, ginger tends to do that. Really wakes up the libido.

Don’t worry. Tonight’s the welcome party.
I guarantee you’ll be begging to stop… and we won’t.”