Hard Corps (12 page)

‘Oh my, my, my.’ His voice was low and husky and he licked his lips several times, looking as if he were about to bite into a big piece of cake. ‘Very nice, very nice. Too bad I don’t have heels for you. That would definitely complete the look. What size shoe are you anyway?’

A direct question. ‘Size nine, sir.’

‘You’re a big girl, huh? How tall are you?’

‘Five-ten, sir.’

‘Hmm, a bit tall for a girl. Ever been a pony?’

‘Excuse me, sir?’ I was completely puzzled by the question.

‘A pony girl. You know, horse tail, carry your master on all fours, a bit in your mouth.’ He stopped talking suddenly and slapped me, hard, on my right cheek. Stunned, I fell back against a wall. Tears involuntarily welled up in my eyes.

‘You need to get control of your face, novice. You are too open. I could read your disgust as I described a pony girl to you. If you want to make it as a slave, you keep your goddamned feelings to yourself. If your master asks you something, you answer, without editorialising with your expression. I don’t give a fuck if you like being a pony girl. I don’t give a fuck about you, period. I just wanted to know if you ever did it.’

As he spoke, he pushed my shoulder down so I was kneeling, and he pressed my head so I was forced to look at the floor. I was humiliated and afraid. Why was everything so difficult? This was nothing like the dream master I had foolishly fantasised about this morning in the safety of my bunk.

‘No, I haven’t, sir,’ I managed to say.

‘Well, you would make a good pony, slut. Bend over like a horse and let’s see.’

I was blushing fiercely, the heat in my face palpable, but I bent over just the same, until I was on all fours.

‘First we’ll let your reins down.’ I didn’t understand what he meant at first, as he pulled out the few bobby pins holding my French braid in place. He pulled my hair free and grasped it firmly in his two hands. As he jerked slightly, I understood. The ‘reins’ were my hair: I was to be his pony girl.

Captain Rather jerked my hair, forcing my head up and back. I couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath at the unexpected pressure. Thankfully, he ignored me as he came around behind me and put his pudgy hands on my ass. ‘Ah. Yes. This is more like it. Imagine a tail right here.’ As he spoke, he pressed a finger against my asshole, causing me to flinch.

Then he seemed to lose his temper again. In a harsh voice, he barked, ‘You are pathetic. You have absolutely no discipline whatsoever. How did you even get into this academy, cadet?’

As he spoke, his hands continued to caress my ass and thighs. Occasionally his fingers would stray precariously close to my exposed sex. I felt at once aroused by his touch and insulted by his words. It was confusing, to say the least. I wasn’t sure if I was expected to answer. When he began to speak again I realised it was probably just a rhetorical question.

‘I have decided on your training. First I am going to spank your ass just like the bratty little girl you are, to teach you manners. Would you like that, pony girl?’ When I didn’t answer he jerked my head back again by the hair. ‘Answer me when I speak to you, girl, or suffer the consequences.’

I didn’t know what to say. I blurted out the truth. ‘I — I don’t know, sir. I’ve never been spanked.’

He began to smack my bared cheeks, little smacks at first, then progressively harder. As he spanked me, he punctuated each blow with a stinging comment. ‘This smack is for letting your bratty little feelings show on your face. This one is for being a novice and not knowing your place. And this one — ’ here he hit me so hard I fell forward and gasped with pain ‘ — this one is for being so fucking beautiful, whore girl.’

I scrambled back into position, my bottom burning and my ridiculous little pussy throbbing. That last remark threw me for a loop. Until that time, he hadn’t seemed to be terribly pleased with my appearance. I stopped analysing the situation when he resumed the spanking, focused entirely on his task of turning my poor ass crimson red. I started to whimper, despite my best intentions to stay quiet.

‘Yes,’ he hissed in my ear. ‘Yes, baby. Cry. Cry, little slut girl. Daddy will make you cry, because you are a bad little girl, and you deserve to suffer.’

My tears were flowing freely now, and I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to. My flesh was on fire and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

Suddenly he stopped and appeared in front of me. I tried to hide my face, wet with tears. But he pulled it up by the chin and forced me to look at him. ‘Look at you, slut. Crying but still flushed like a whore. Stand up. I want to feel your pussy.’

With tears still staining my reddened face, awkwardly I stood in the cramped space. I was keenly aware of my ridiculous outfit, of my breasts spilling out, and my crotch exposed by the split in the fabric. Captain Rather leaned in close and brought one hand to my pussy. I felt his fingers, fat and sweaty, against my lips. Roughly, he spread them and pressed a finger up inside of me. It took all my control not to pull back and away from this repugnant little man.

He grinned and said, ‘Oh my, aren’t you the little slut girl? You are sopping wet!’ He was right. Despite finding this ‘master’ repelling, my perverse little pussy was on fire. As he spread the juices from my own sex across my breast, I blushed in a confusion of anger and desire. Captain Rather’s eyes were hooded with lust as he held the leather whip-handle between his fingers.

‘Bend over, slut. I want to see that ass again. It would look so pretty with this whip-handle sticking out of it, just like a pony’s tail. Bend over, I say.’

I was almost in a panic. I didn’t want to disobey and yet I just didn’t feel I could handle having a whip-handle shoved up my ass at that moment. It was too much, too fast. The panic began to rise as I realised I might end up decking the bastard and being thrown out of the Corps before I even made slave status. Trembling, I bent over as ordered.

Just then a little bell dinged from the office outside the bathroom. I was startled by the sound. For a moment he looked confused too. Then recognition, coupled with disappointment, lit his face.

‘Time’s up,’ he said simply. ‘Saved by the bell, eh, little missy? Well, don’t you worry. I’ll get you again. And when I do, be prepared for some fun! You will be my little filly and I will break you once and for all, wild thing.’ There was a slight scuffling noise in the outer office. Captain Rather snapped his mouth shut and stepped away from me. As he backed away, his features seemed to melt and soften before my eyes. It was curious to watch him change in just a few seconds from stern taskmaster back to the doting, kindly professor. I found the effect chilling.

‘Pull on your things. You’re dismissed. I’ll send my write-up through the appropriate channels.’ Abruptly he turned and walked out of the little bathroom. Audibly sighing with relief, I pulled on my underclothing and uniform, and was lacing up my boots when Captain Rather stuck his head in the bathroom.

‘Hurry it up, cadet. I have more important things to do this afternoon.’ I jumped up, ass still hot from his spanking. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say anything. I wanted to ask what the write-up he was going to send was all about. I decided to wait and ask Amelia.

‘Uh, thank you, sir. For your time, sir.’

‘You’re welcome, Cadet Harris. I do hope we will meet again. Good luck on your project.’ His voice was smooth now, and impersonal. His eyes were pleasant, but indifferent. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had just been about to ram a whip-handle up my ass. My eyes followed his to his office door and I saw Ms Martin waiting politely, folders piled in her arms.

It wasn’t until after I had scooted out past her that I realised the lingerie was still in a little pile on the bathroom floor.

M
y next assignment didn’t come for several days, though I diligently checked my mailbox each night. I’d had a few days to process my experience with Captain Rather. I was confused by my own mixed responses. I had to admit that I had thrilled to what had happened to me. I thought about it a lot and decided that it really didn’t matter if I didn’t particularly like who was doing it. This wasn’t a love affair, after all. It was slave training! I was looking forward to the next assignment. Hopefully the next master wouldn’t be such a jerk.

As I opened the little envelope, I felt the thrill of anticipation. It said, ‘Colonel Ronald Hewitt, 0900 hours, office.’

I stared at it a while longer, not believing the words. The colonel! Colonel Hewitt was famous on campus. Along with being a military tactics professor at Stewart Academy, he held some high position in the Pentagon and was known to receive phone calls from the President of the United States. He was highly respected and not a little feared on campus. I was instantly terrified at the prospect of having to present myself to him. Still, duty was duty, and there was nothing to do but put an army face on it and be a good soldier.

The next morning found me outside Colonel Hewitt’s office at precisely 0900 hours. Eloise Hawkins, the colonel’s secretary, smiled at me pleasantly. I was sitting on a wooden chair set across from her desk. The telephone on her desk buzzed and she picked it up. ‘Sir? Yes, sir, she’s here. Yes, sir.’ The pretty young woman nodded toward the door. ‘You are expected, Cadet Harris. You may go in.’ She smiled at me and her eyes seemed to twinkle with some secret mirth. I felt a faint flush, sure from her attitude that she knew why I was there.

When I entered the room, the colonel didn’t look up. He was busy writing on some important-looking document. I stood quietly at attention, staring just past his head, as a good cadet is taught to do, but I could see him peripherally. In his late forties, the colonel had a commanding presence, even sitting down. His nose was hooked between deep-set, dark eyes, shadowed by dark, straight eyebrows on a broad forehead. He had that shipshape look of a career army man. His dark hair was cut regulation short, with a grace note of grey. His uniform was perfectly creased and starched so heavily I imagined it must stand by itself at attention by his bedside, waiting for him to step into it upon his awakening. His face was stern and impassive as he finally looked up. He looked at me for a moment, as if wondering how I happened to be there.

His eyes were dark and penetrating. I almost flushed from his direct gaze. He looked at me slowly, first my face, then my throat, my breasts, my hips, my legs, his gaze lingering at each spot. I felt embarrassed but also oddly thrilled by his attentions. He exuded control as he stared at me; it was as if he were claiming each separate part of my body.

Though clad in the dress uniform of dark-green skirt, tailored just below the knee, and paler green blouse, tucked in at the waist, I felt naked in front of him. I stood still, erect, willing myself to remain calm.

The colonel spoke at last. ‘Ms Harris, I understand that you are available for my use.’

I was surprised by the use of ‘Ms’. It had been some time since anyone had called me anything other than Harris, or cadet, or slave. Before I could respond, he continued in a voice that sounded as if it had been oiled: smooth and deep.

‘At ease, Ms Harris. Strip. Stark naked. Then present yourself to me over here by my desk.’ He looked back down at his work, shuffling papers, seemingly unaware of me again. My heart had already jumped into my throat, but I hoped my agitation didn’t show in my face or manner. I dared to speak; I had to.

‘Excuse me, sir. The door?’ It was open. His secretary was in full sight outside his office, bent over her own work at her desk.

‘What about it, Ms Harris? Did I tell you to close it? Do you have a problem with an open door? Shy, are you?’ He spoke in clipped tones, like someone not used to wasting his breath. I was taken aback, but realised his secretary must obviously be in on all this.

‘Do you have trouble obeying an order, cadet? Not good. Not good at all. We will have to work on that. Whip you into shape.’ His mouth curved slightly, just the hint of a smile, the thin lips like the edge of a knife.

Nonplussed and a little unnerved, I started to disrobe. Ms Hawkins gave no indication that she was aware of what was happening but I felt fairly certain she was very aware. When I was completely naked, I walked over to his desk, my nipples already perversely hard. Something in me thrilled, as usual, to the commanding tone, the casual assuredness that I would obey him, that I was a slave to his dominance and to my own lust.

He looked up at me and his eyes seemed to smoulder as they travelled slowly over my naked flesh. I realised I felt proud at last, proud of my naked, firm body, my large, round breasts, my well-muscled legs. Maybe that was it — the pride in my face, in my carriage — that made him see me as a challenge. Whatever it was, he stood slowly and came very close to me. He was a tall man, and, leaning down, suddenly he slapped me, hard, across the face.

I cried out as the sting spread along my cheek. I had been unprepared for the assault, and had no idea why he had hit me. As usual, when someone slapped my face, I felt a rush of panic, offset by a heat in my blood that set me afire.

‘Pride,’ is all he said, as he sat calmly back down. ‘It’s all over your face. You are too proud. You think you’re something special, Ms Harris. And that’s OK. Maybe you are something special, for all I know. But — ’ he paused for effect ‘ — but, if you have any chance at succeeding in the Corps, wipe that pride off your face. Stand at attention, but don’t flaunt your body like that. Offer yourself, but don’t be so brazen.’ He looked away from me, toward the open door.

‘Eloise. Come in. Bring the crop.’

I felt a moment’s panic. There I was, stark naked as the colonel had put it. And he was calling the secretary to bring in the crop! I wanted to bolt out of there. Somehow I managed to maintain my composure. Eloise entered quickly, closing the door softly behind her, and I saw she was carrying a long, thin riding crop of black leather. I looked down, too embarrassed to meet her gaze.