Hard Corps (8 page)

She continued. ‘Allow me to introduce you, Remy. I am Dr Wellington and these are my friends, Mr Jordan and Sergeant Sinclair.’

I looked at the two men with her. Mr Jordan had wavy, blond hair, ruddy skin and blue eyes. He might have been in his mid-thirties. I had never seen him before, as far as I knew. But, of course, I recognised Sergeant Sinclair at once. I wasn’t quite sure which of us should be more embarrassed by this meeting in such strange circumstances.

Sergeant Sinclair was dark-skinned with tightly curled hair and a cruel-looking mouth that curved up slightly with a natural look of disdain. He stared at me, his dark eyes flashing with amusement and something else. ‘Cadet Harris. Who would have expected to find you here? Tough girl cadet that runs rings around half those pussy wimp freshmen during PT? But maybe you are a leader, a would-be mistress? Though at the moment you look quite submissive, I must say.’

I looked down, confused and very embarrassed. If I could have gone back in time to the minute before I entered that tower, I would never have come here, never have put myself in this awkward confusing position.

‘Ah, you know her, I see?’ Dr Wellington smiled at Sergeant Sinclair.

‘Oh yes, she is one of our more promising toads, er, cadets,’ he amended unconvincingly. In spite of my embarrassment, I felt a hot flush of pride course through me at his remark. He had never given any indication that he even knew who I was, much less that he approved of me. ‘But I wonder what she is really made of?’ he mused.

‘Well, sir,’ I felt I had to say, ‘I am only visiting, sir.’

‘We’ll see about that, won’t we?’ He seemed to leer toward me.

‘Don’t press her, George,’ Dr Wellington interjected. ‘She is here to visit, as she says. Let’s just watch the show. It should be starting soon. We’ll show Ms Harris how PT is done around here, right George?’ Mr Jordan, the other man at the table, laughed nervously, perhaps a little too loudly for the small space. Sergeant Sinclair was silent, but he kept staring at me, so that I was forced to look away, pretending his eyes weren’t boring holes through me.

The lights dimmed and the stage lights brightened. Their attention diverted, the three turned their faces toward the stage, which was a little raised dais on one side of the room. With relief I also looked over, glad their scrutiny was no longer focused on me. The stage lights were blue, casting an eerie light across the room. The stage was empty, save for a chin-up bar supported by two poles. In the back corner I also noticed a small table that had some things on it, but I couldn’t see what. The audience grew quiet as music began to filter through small speakers that I now noticed on the walls. The music was unusual. At first it seemed repetitive but became soothing, almost hypnotic. I learned later that it was Brian Eno’s
Music for Airports
.

After a minute, a young woman dressed in all black glided out on to the stage. She wore the same gauzy, soft fabric that the girl who had let us into the room had been wearing. It covered her arms, her body, her legs, like a dancer’s leotard and tights. She was barefoot, her white, slim ankles and feet in striking contrast to the black of her outfit. She curtseyed deeply to the audience, and remained in that bowed position as two more people came on to the stage. One was Sam, stripped of his army-issue fatigues. He was now dressed only in black leather shorts that seemed moulded to his body. Hanging from his chest was a long chain, which I saw was held in place by clamps, one on each nipple. I stared in fascination at the chain. God, that must hurt! But he looked so calm, like it was nothing. I wondered how he could tolerate those pinching teeth, feeling my own nipples stiffen perversely at the thought.

Following Sam was another young woman, dressed as the first, in sheer black to the ankle. Her feet were also bare. She was built similarly to the other girl, with smallish breasts and slim hips. They both had their hair pulled back, reminding me again of ballet dancers. The second girl curtseyed deeply, as the first had. Sam, in the centre, dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground, as I had seen him do that night by the tower. They all stayed very still until, at some silent signal, both women rose up gracefully and each faced the still-kneeling Sam. Leaning forward, both women took Sam’s arms and then pulled him up. Silently the young women led Sam to the chin-up bar. He took hold of the bar, his body now an X below it.

Bringing his hands together on the bar, Sam executed several chin-ups in very good form. This was something one saw and did everyday on the campus. But suddenly, one of the women was behind Sam, standing just to the side. I saw that she had something in her hand that she had gotten from the table. It looked like a whip! The whip had long, unbraided tresses, too many to count. As Sam continued to pull himself up, the woman began to whip his ass and back with long, heavy strokes. The room was silent, save for the cracking sound of the whip and Sam’s grunts. It wasn’t clear if he was grunting from effort or pain.

The second woman approached him now with an identical whip in her hand. They beat him, alternating the lashes as he pulled himself up and let himself down, keeping a steady rhythm.

I was riveted to the scene. It seemed surreal as the music pulsed around us. I realised I had forgotten the people I was sitting with, and I had forgotten myself as I watched the choreographed little torture scene take place. Just when it seemed Sam would collapse, the two women stopped whipping him. They each presented their whip to the sweating Sam, who kissed each leather offering, his eyes closed as if in worship.

Then the women kneeled, one on either side of Sam. They were each faced away from him, so that their heads faced offstage, their backsides toward the audience. He left them there, walking back to the table to get his designated instruments of torture. It was their turn to suffer, it seemed.

Taking a small knife, Sam then drew the blade down the back of the first girl. I leaned forward, actually making a little sound as I strained to see what he was doing. I soon saw that he wasn’t actually touching her skin. Instead, the gauzy, black fabric fell away from her body, leaving her white back, bent like a swan’s. With a prod of his foot, she raised her ass high in the air so we could all see her naked globes. With his other hand, Sam brought down a large, black object that I saw was a phallus.

We were sitting at a table slightly at an angle from the stage, which afforded us a view of a side of her face. I watched in horrified fascination as he held the dildo in front of the girl’s mouth. Though her eyes remained shut, her little pink tongue darted out to lick and suckle the rubber cock. Once Sam was satisfied that it was slick enough, he pulled it from her eager lips, and walked around to her bottom, which was still appealingly raised up. Slowly Sam inserted the dildo into her little asshole, and the girl moaned and pushed back against the huge phallus now impaling her. In and out Sam drew the cock, while I blushed for the naked girl on the stage.

I looked down, feeling my own heart pound as if it were me up there. How could that girl possibly allow such a thing to happen to her? And, forget the public humiliation, didn’t it hurt? I was again confused by my own rising desire. My clit was pulsing with need, even as I felt ashamed at what I was witnessing. I had been affected watching Sam that night by the tower, but this was even more intense, perhaps because now there were witnesses to my own voyeurism. I was no longer hiding in a bush, my panties getting damp. I was sitting in a room full of people who were turned on by this show, who had maybe done all the things we had seen and were about to see. I was here with them! I was guilty by association. I looked down, embarrassed, my face burning, my panties perversely wet.

After just a moment, I looked up again, not able to resist. Sam had stopped fucking the first girl with the play-cock and was now using his knife on the second girl’s outfit. She had remained perfectly still, waiting her turn to be raped by the dildo. As I looked back at the first girl, I saw that Sam had left the dildo sticking lewdly out of her ass.

From where we were sitting, I couldn’t see this one’s face. After she had made oral love to another rubber dildo, Sam came around to her firm little ass. He spread the cheeks for a moment, so that we could all see the puckered little asshole waiting to be violated. She shivered slightly, and seemed to tense up somewhat. There was a slight murmuring in the audience. Sam paused a moment, as if giving her time to collect herself. Then he began to press the second dildo into her ass. As the tip penetrated and he began to push harder, the girl suddenly flinched and fell forward with a little cry. Sam jerked her back by the hair and she struggled to get back into position. I realised I wasn’t breathing as I waited to see what would happen. She seemed desperate in her efforts to control herself, to resume her still and submissive position, so he could fuck her for all of us to see.

Again Sam used the dildo, pressing slowly but forcefully until the poor girl had the whole thing shoved up her ass. I could see her body trembling slightly but, to her credit, she remained still and in position. Mercifully for her, the lights dimmed and Sam left the girl, dildo sticking from her body, and kneeled in the centre of the stage, again in his subservient position. As the curtains fell, the lights went up in the room. The music stopped and it took me a moment to come back to myself.

I realised that all three at the table were looking at me, staring at me. I wasn’t sure what was expected. My mind was still reeling from the wild events I had witnessed. Then Dr Wellington spoke.

‘Well, what did you think? Other than the fact that novice M. fell out of position, I think the show was nicely executed. Your Sam did very well indeed.’

‘What will — ’ I stopped, not sure I should speak.

‘What? You have a question?’ It was Sergeant Sinclair. I turned to him. I had to know.

‘What will happen to her, sir?’

‘Oh, she’ll be punished, to be sure. But not too severely. After all, she is still learning. Have you ever had a huge dildo shoved up your ass, cadet? Not so easy to take.’

I looked down, acutely embarrassed by his question.

‘Answer the master, cadet. He asked you a direct question.’

I looked up to see Mr Jordan speaking to me. His voice was high and had a slight nasal twang to it. I noticed that his eyes were too small for his face, and too closely spaced. I took an instant dislike to him. ‘Well? Even as a “visitor” you are still addressing your commanding officer, toad. Speak up. Have you ever had your ass fucked with a rubber cock?’ They were quiet, waiting for me to respond.

‘No, sir,’ I managed to say, but it came out as a squeak. They all three laughed and I felt a burning humiliation rising in me.

‘Relax, Remy. Mr Jordan has an unusual sense of humour. He is teasing you.’ Dr Wellington put her cool hand over mine and looked at me with a small smile on her lips. I looked over at Mr Jordan, who was glaring at me through squinting eyes. He didn’t seem at all amused.

Just then Sam came over to the table. He was dressed again in his fatigues. He kneeled by the table until Dr Wellington tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Then he stood and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am. I have to take Remy back. She is AWOL.’

‘Oh, is she?’ Here Sergeant Sinclair spoke up and I realised with horror that I was caught. But he was smiling as he scribbled something on a piece of paper. ‘Here,’ he said, extending his hand to me. ‘If Roster gives you trouble, just give her this. She’ll leave you alone.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, taking the folded sheet. I stood with Sam, not sure what to say. How does one thank such hosts? So I said nothing.

Again he bowed low before them. After just a moment’s hesitation, I did the same. I realised even as I was doing it that I should feel stupid, bowing like that, but somehow I didn’t. Somehow it felt natural, there in that darkened room, with Sam by my side. He stood and we waited a moment until Dr Wellington said imperiously, ‘You may go.’

As we left the tower, stepping into the cool night air, I turned toward Sam. ‘That was incredible!’ I looked at him with awe. ‘You seemed so calm, so brave.’

Sam looked down and muttered, ‘Thanks.’ Looking up, he said, ‘Not exactly the image you have of me, eh?’

It was my turn to be embarrassed. Sam’s image so far in school was of a kind of nervous, geeky guy. Nothing like the submissive but courageous man on stage.

I still clutched the piece of paper the sergeant had given me. To change the subject, I said, ‘Oh, I haven’t looked at what she gave me yet.’ I opened it up, trying to see the words under the dim lights of the streetlamps along the walkway.

‘SC Pass. Approved by G. Sinclair.’ That was all, plus the day’s date.

‘SC pass, right?’ asked Sam, as though certain of the answer.

‘Yep,’ I said, impressed. ‘What does that stand for?’

‘Slave Corps, of course. Roster will know what it means. She’s in the Corps too. She’s a slave.’

I was too stunned to respond for a minute. Roster was a slave! And she treated me so harshly, so dominantly! It confused me.

‘Weird, right? To find out your commanding officer is just another naked slave girl after hours.’

‘Wow. Man. That is so bizarre. Especially because she is so tough. I mean, she is constantly putting me through my paces. She goes around with that little leather baton like some crazed little Napoleon. If I had to pick, I would have definitely said she was a, um, a mistress.’ As I said the word it felt silly on my tongue. Mistress, master, slave. But then I looked over at Sam, a self-professed slave. And I recalled Dr Wellington looking right through me with those rich, dark-brown eyes. I bit my bottom lip, feeling a confusing jumble of unresolved conflict and desire.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised just who is in this little organisation. On this campus, I’d say well over a third of the population is involved one way or another in the Slave Corps. And others must know about it. I can’t believe it hasn’t made it outside the grounds, you know, in the media or whatever.’

‘Yeah, why hasn’t it? Something like this couldn’t remain secret forever. Just one slighted slave or rejected master — ’