More Red & White Stripes - At Bottom Line

Being an officers family legacy is a mixed blessing, as Diego and Alex are experiencing intensely all their young lives. Their strict sires being captain viz. XO aboard Navy vessels based in the same port base, both were raised with firmly-filial-fanny-flailing fatherly hand, intensely and intimidatingly imposing merciless military discipline at home and elsewhere by bountiful bare-balls belt-beatings, blazingly butt-blistered beyond bearable black and blue, whenever any better (=elder male) complained about them, anything resembling puerile protest (even when innocent) incurring doubled dose for backtalk, so the steadily-spankable squirts adopted as submissive ‘second nature’ early to simply shout-back ‘Sir, yes, Sir!’ and during all-on-ankles spankings ‘Ayay, Sir, ayiiii!’ sailor-style, submitting slavishly-sweetly to any CP like chores and other orders without hesitation, so their teachers, tutors, hosts, troop leaders etc. generally learned soon to pick them as easy victims to set an example, some celebrating their sadist streaks on the shivering squirts’ slavishly-stripped seats, ‘soundly’ swatting savagely.
Their schooling was an obvious part of family tradition-dictated careers, making them ‘semper fi’ classmates from primary and exclusive buddies, basically forbidden to fraternize with non-/lesser-officer-sons, let alone civilians (corps-commonly considered a contagious, parasitic alien bug species, basically existing to fiscally finance the defence budget). The fathers calling markers and promising counter-favours, school staff guaranteed they would graduate with honours, and selected suitably-strict teacher-tutors to liberally lay on the lash ‘loco parentis’ as lavishly as ‘likely’ to let them learn A-level, never less, usually more, marking meekly-mounted male-mounds miserably-manifold, manhoods-mounting-around, Mondays starting all-on-ankles for meanly-merciless maintenance-mounds-misery to ‘end the weekend-decadence on their bare backhands’.
So their abject, abundantly-agonized adolescent arses always ache-almighty already at-academy-arrival, about all week assuring AAs and A-attitude aiming at ace-agendas, plus top-grade-scorers weekend passes, so their harshly-hard-handled humble-hound-heinie-hides heal just enough to somewhat enjoy going out together as usually both fathers are at sea or other obligations, but(t) if one father is home he keeps his kid (and his mate, unless its sire is home too) on a tight leash, lash at hand.
After a few drinks, the alcohol dulls their doleful derrieres during date-hunt, Diego’s gift, he mostly scores a date with a friend for grateful wingman Alex, actually as angelic-attractive, only shyer and outclassed by his buddy, but(t) on occasion more romantic Alex can’t resist dreaming of a relationship with Diego’s foxier date and rival for it, which the Latin loverboy’s pride can’t suffer without fist-fighting, causing the pair to be booted from the bar and brought before their betters, bound to be berated, balls-bared, butt-beaten bountifully and boyhood-bridled.
Fucking frustration over foppishly fucking-up their finest fun-time for foolishness forces them to fight on, well bicker, while duly berated, barking-bid to bare, bend-over and be butt-battered, then ordered to shake hands and confront crimson-coned what they stupidly did to themselves, but(t) instinctively mate-ship kicks in again, regretting the buddy’s bottom-burn as much as one’s own and the wasted time-off. While wickedly-well-wielded whips work wonders to wake welling-welts-wailing whippersnappers’ worshipfulness, with them it works the worthier-still wonder of waking again their friendship, lovingly applying soothing-cream and cute comrade-consolation by caresses and closer cock-comforting no date can compare to: their own families may have abandoned them to the far-from-tender care of a cold corps, they can depend on each-other as always, better bloody-bottom-bleeding brothers in arms than the brothers-by-blood they never had.