Hard Corps

by Claire Thompson

  Then, at a signal from the man in charge, he and his ‘assistant’ untied Sam, letting him fall forward as the ropes were released. He slumped, naked, to their feet and pressed his head against the hard ground. They looked at him for a moment, naked and prostrate at their black-booted feet. Then, without another word, they disappeared into the darkness, leaving Sam, still naked, kneeling, his head touching the ground, his thin back rising and falling with his still-ragged breathing.

  I stayed very still, my heart thudding in my ears. Should I go to him? Was he hurt? Before I had a chance to make any decisions, Sam was up. He walked over to a little pile of what I saw were his clothes, and gingerly he pulled them on over his marked body. Then he too was gone, having slipped through the trees as silently as a night animal. I was left alone with the stars still sparkling overhead.

  I realised with a small shock that my panties were soaking. Watching Sam be whipped and then sucked off by another man had aroused my body, even while my mind was busy with its virtuous outrage. Knowing I should be getting back to the dorm, but too horny to care, I sat back on my heels and let my fingers find my throbbing clit. Images of Sam, naked and at the mercy of those two strange men, were overlain with memories of Jacob, holding me down, fucking me hard. Fast and furious, I fucked myself with my hand, alone in the dark, until I came with a little gasp of my own.

  Standing, heart still pounding from the whole experience, I quickly retrieved my backpack, which had slipped off during my play. As I turned back toward the centre of campus, I thought I heard a sound. I looked in the direction of the sound, standing as still as I could for some seconds. I didn’t want to get caught out without a pass, my face flushed from the recent bizarre events I had witnessed, and my own little solo adventure in the dark. When I heard nothing further, I decided it must have been a squirrel or a bird. I headed back to the barracks, full of curiosity about what I had witnessed.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Amelia and I were eating lunch in the dining hall. We were just about finished when Sam Brady joined us at the table. Setting down his tray, he nodded toward us, silently asking permission to join us. Amelia smiled, nodding her assent. I stared at this fresh-faced boy, his glasses slightly askew. Could he possibly be the same guy I had seen strung up and naked the night before? I looked down, hoping the heat I felt in my face wasn’t translating itself into a bright-red blush. But Sam seemed perfectly at ease, smiling as he sat down next to us at the table. I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as we ate. He seemed oblivious of my scrutiny, as he stuffed fried chicken and corn bread into his mouth like a man with a mission.

  ‘Well,’ Amelia whispered, defying the no-talking rule in the dining room, ‘I have Special Calisthenics at 1300 hours. I’d better not be late. See ya’ll later.’

  We both watched her walk away. Sam seemed to stare at her with a special intensity. He looked back at me, as if he were about to speak, to ask something, but he reconsidered and looked down thoughtfully at his plate. I picked at the last of my apple pie while Sam finished off his meal with slurping gulps of milk from his carton. I was wondering what Special Calisthenics were, anyway. I realised that I never did see Amelia in any of my gym classes. Maybe she got to be in a special class because she wasn’t as physically fit as the rest of us. I made a mental note to ask her, albeit delicately, so as not to offend.

  Just then an upperclassman strolled by our table. We both sat up straighter, ready to stand and salute if he came any closer. He didn’t, but he looked over at us and, as he did, Brady laid his hands on the table. Slowly, he crossed his wrists in that peculiar fashion, one bony wrist resting on the other, just as I had seen him do once before. I looked at him but he was looking down, head bowed, back very straight. Once the guy was out of sight, Brady relaxed and resumed the last of his meal.

  When he stood to put away his tray and leave, I stood with him. I hadn’t decided yet whether to confront him about what I had seen. I had, after all, been out without permission when I spied him. And how did one bring it up? Oh, by the way, why were you naked and tied between two trees while some guys whipped you and then sucked you off? As I followed him out of the mess hall, I decided on a safer tactic.

  ‘Sam,’ I ventured, ‘I just have to ask. What the hell is that wrist thing you keep doing?’ He didn’t answer but he looked uncomfortable. ‘Come on, Brady, is it some secret hand signal for some Mickey-Mouse secret club you’re in, or what?’

  Sam flushed suddenly.

  ‘I’m too obvious,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how to be subtle. There are ways of doing it without drawing attention, but I’m too theatrical.’ He turned from me, still not answering my question.

  ‘Are you going to tell me? Or speak in riddles all day? Because I have a class to get to, too, you know. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business.’ I started to walk away, pretending to give up on mysterious Mr Brady.

  ‘I have to go, Remy. Maybe later.’ Maybe never, from the sound of his voice. Some devil got into me as I watched him walk away, and I said, quietly, ‘And it’s none of my business if you like to hang around the bell tower after hours with mysterious upperclassmen in black.’

  Sam stopped dead in his tracks. For a long moment he stood perfectly still. He turned slowly toward me then, and his face was ashen. He reached out suddenly and grabbed my arm. His grip was tight; he was hurting me, his fingers digging into my arm. Turning my wrist, I bent his thumb back, forcing him to let go.

  His voice was pitched too high as he said, ‘What. Did. You. Say?’ It came out like that. Like separate sentences. He was obviously terrified and I didn’t have the heart to make him suffer anymore.

  ‘Relax, Brady. Your secret is safe with me.’

  He stared at me intensely, as if gauging how much he could rely on those words. Then he seemed to collapse in on himself, though from relief or fear I couldn’t tell.

  Finally, he whispered, ‘What do you know, Remy? Who told you? Who else knows? Oh, God,’ he ended with a little whimper. It was embarrassing.

  ‘No one told me. I saw you. I was there.’

  ‘You were there? Oh, Jesus God, I’m a dead man. They’ll throw me out. Oh, God, it’s over.’ His face was pale, the freckles standing out, and tears filled his eyes.

  I moved in closer to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. ‘Sam! Stop it! Get a hold of yourself! Who are they? What are you talking about? I haven’t told anyone. I just want to know what is going on. Are you OK? Are you in something over your head? What’s going on? Do you need help?’

  ‘OK, OK. I’ll tell you.’ He was trying to get control of himself, and I waited. He made several false starts, but kept lapsing back into silence. I glanced at my watch and realised that I didn’t have time for this right now, even though I was dying to hear what he had to say.

  ‘Listen, Sam. I have to get to class. Meet me at the fountain during free time. Get yourself together. And relax. I won’t give you away.’

  He looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and terror. I hurried away, wondering if he would meet me or not.

  * * *

  I waited by the fountain, having arrived just in time. No Brady. Five minutes passed, then ten, and I was almost ready to give up and leave when I saw him running toward me.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I couldn’t get away right away. I had, um, duties to perform.’

  I waited, without saying anything, for him to catch his breath. After a minute he said, ‘Let’s get out of here. Too public. Let’s go over there.’ He gestured toward a little path away from the main buildings of the campus. I followed, expectant about what he was going to tell me, but biting my tongue. I didn’t want to scare him off. I wanted him to feel safe enough to tell me everything.

  We came to a wrought-iron bench where Sam sat, looking around as he did so to make sure we were alone. He fidgeted and wriggled until he finally tucked his legs up under himself, which made him look like a little k
id, all freckles and knees.

  ‘OK,’ he said after a moment, ‘what do you want to know? You caught me. If I confide in you, will you promise not to tell anyone? Please, Remy, promise.’

  ‘Of course I promise, Sam. Who would I tell, anyway? Who would even believe me? I half don’t believe it myself, except that I saw it with my own eyes. And why the hell were you guys out practically in the open if you didn’t want to get caught? At first I thought it was some hazing thing, but then I saw your reaction. Sam, you loved what they were doing to you, didn’t you?’

  He turned away, but not before I saw the colour again creep into his cheeks. His skin was the sort that showed every mark, every flush, with painful clarity. It was barely a whisper as he said, ‘It’s more than that. I live for it.’ I heard the drama starting to creep in; Sam was histrionic in the extreme.

  ‘Tell me,’ I whispered back, my curiosity raging.

  ‘You promise — ’ Again the hesitation.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I shot back impatiently. ‘Come on, Sam. Tell me before I beat the shit out of you. I mean — ’ Here I broke off, stammering, suddenly confused as I realised that beating was what he craved, though surely not what I had in mind. To clarify I said, ‘And not the good way!’

  We both laughed then. It sounded so silly. Somehow that changed the mood and Sam relaxed a little, uncurling his legs and sitting back against the cold iron.

  ‘Well. What you saw was part of my training. I am a novice. A novice slave.’ As he said the word something jolted inside of me. I realised I was holding my breath, waiting for more. ‘When I cross my wrists like that, like you saw, it’s part of my training too. It is a gesture of submission. I’m in this club. It’s a special kind of club. You know?’

  He looked at me appealingly, as if willing me to say, ‘Ah, yes, I see now,’ and leave it at that. But instead I said, ‘What kind of club? A slave club? For real? What do you mean?’

  Sam sighed and ruffled his short, red hair with a gesture that made me think it must have been much longer before his cadet-short military cut. ‘OK, let me try to explain.’ Again he paused, trying to compose himself. I resisted my strong urge to scream at him to tell me already. Finally he started again, and this time kept going.

  ‘Well, you know maybe that some people are just naturally dominant, right? And some are just naturally submissive. I don’t mean men versus women: it’s something deeper than that. I think you’re born to it, really. Most people tend one way or another. I personally think people that are drawn to the military have more pronounced tendencies, either dominant or submissive, but that’s just my opinion.

  ‘Because here you are either a soldier — a follower — or you are the leader. There is no in-between. Well, I am a follower, no question about that. I like the order and discipline of military life. I like knowing exactly where I stand, and what is expected of me. I like — ’ he hesitated, as if trying to find the word, or the courage to say it ‘ — to serve,’ he finally finished.

  I was still waiting for the real story. So far he hadn’t said anything particularly novel. I mean, I understood the dynamics of a military hierarchy that naturally had leaders and followers. But I let him go at his own pace. He continued, relaxing a little as he warmed to his subject.

  ‘Some people were born to serve, and to submit; others to control, to use and to claim.’ My hands suddenly felt sweaty, and my throat was dry. Of course, I knew where I had heard these words before. Thoughts of Jacob flooded through me, causing me to draw in my breath to keep from moaning at the vivid memories of our last time together. Sam continued calmly, unaware of my discomfiture.

  ‘Normally in this society there is very little opportunity to explore these feelings in a controlled, safe environment. Well, here you can. It’s like heaven on earth for someone like me.’ He paused again, and looked at me slowly, a little smile now curling on his lips. I realised I was holding myself very still and tense. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I leaned back into the unyielding bench, trying to look nonchalant. Inside, I was coiled, as if ready for something I had always been waiting to hear.

  ‘Well — ’ he leaned very close to me, so that his nose was almost touching mine ‘ — it’s called the Slave Corps. It’s been around since the Academy was established, maybe longer. It’s a formalised SM club.’ I must have looked puzzled. He defined it. ‘Sadomasochism. You know. Whips and chains. Masters and slaves. OK, Remy, you can close your mouth now.’ I realised with a shock that it had actually fallen open and I shut it, biting my lips.

  He went on, now clearly warming to his topic, fear of betrayal behind him, or just accepted. ‘But the Hard Corps isn’t just a sex-play group.’

  I interrupted him, confused. ‘The Hard Corps? Didn’t you just say the Slave Corps?’

  ‘Oh,’ he laughed. ‘The Hard Corps is a joke, a nickname. I suppose I really should show more respect, but everyone calls it that. You know, like hard core.’ He laughed again, and then went on. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, it isn’t just a bunch of horny people getting together to get their rocks off in some kinky way. It’s a real life choice that we have made. If you join, you make a commitment to serve or to lead, as we say, with all your heart and all your soul. There are lots more submissives, or slaves, than real masters.’

  ‘Wow, Sam. This is too much. Who is in this group? How did you find out about it?’ How do I join? I didn’t say that, but somehow it came, unbidden into my head. I ignored it, focusing on Sam.

  ‘Of course, the group is mostly men, since this place is 85 per cent male, after all,’ he continued. But there are women, too. And not just students. Staff and professors are involved, too. If you join, you take a pledge to serve them all, or lead them all, depending on your position.’

  I listened in stunned silence. Staff and professors too. Slaves, masters, serving, obeying, submitting. Sam tilted his head to one side, as if he were listening in on my thoughts. I shook my head, again to clear it, and said, ‘We’ve only been here for two months. How did you get so involved in all of this?’

  ‘My brother was here before me. He’s a senior now and very high up in the ruling echelons. He, unlike me, is dominant. I’ve known about this place for three years. It’s why I’m here. I could have gone to West Point; I have the grades. But they don’t have the Slave Corps. I’ve dreamed of submitting since I found my brother’s magazines and books on SM when I was fifteen. I read it all, inhaling it, needing it, craving it. It gave voice to something that had always been inside of me. When I finally got up the courage to tell my brother, he told me about the Slave Corps. He was a freshman here at the time, and he told me I would be able to join, at his recommendation, once I got here. It’s everything I dreamed it would be, and more.’

  We sat for a while, both of us quiet. I kept wanting to say something, preferably something scathing and smart-assed about his being a pussy slave boy, but somehow it wouldn’t come out. Nor did I believe it. What I was really feeling was intense excitement. A club! Somewhere where you could explore the feelings safely, in a controlled environment. Not in the arms of a lover. But it was that lover, it was Jacob, who had awakened these feelings in me. And now Sam had put words to them. I understood him far better than I would have admitted to anyone, even myself, at that moment.

  ‘So,’ I finally said. ‘So there are whole groups of people into this stuff? And you “serve”? What does that mean, really? Do you call letting guys whip you and suck you off “serving”? Or is it more like you mostly wash their cars and lick their feet and stuff?’

  ‘Remy, I know you’re joking around, and I know you’re kind of shocked about all this. I haven’t really explained anything at all. Everyone’s experience is different. It’s a very individual process. Like the wrist thing: that’s just between me and a particular master.’

  I flashed back to the upperclassman who had passed in the cafeteria. So he was a master! Who else was in the club? Two people walked by at that moment and I found myself staring at them, won
dering, were they in the club? Who did I know who was in the club already? My mind was brimming with questions. The one uppermost in my mind popped out. Neither of us was expecting it, most especially not me!

  ‘How do you sign up?’ At last, I asked the question I had really wanted to ask.

  ‘Interested?’ he asked, his freckled face split into a grin, his expression at once surprised and pleased.

  ‘Well, no! I mean, I just — ’ Now it was my turn to blush, and as I did so, I turned my face, feeling the heat in my cheeks and neck.

  ‘It’s all right, Remy. Don’t feel ashamed. It’s a natural curiosity. Even if you aren’t dominant or submissive yourself, you probably have some tendency, some basic interest. It’s just a part of human nature. I’ll tell you what!’ His voice was suddenly enthusiastic, almost pleading. ‘I can invite you to a stage show. We’re allowed to invite a guest, if we think that guest is ripe for recruitment. Always looking for a few good men.’ He laughed at his own reference to the Marine slogan.

  ‘On Thursday there will be a showing of some of the novice slaves. We’ve been training in some military exercises with a, um, twist. It’s going to be pretty intense. But if you’re interested…’ He trailed off, his hands twisting in his lap. I realised I had been holding my breath as I listened to him, my eyes as wide as plates.

  ‘Man.’ I finally let out a long breath that ended in a sigh. ‘Will you be in the show?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘I will.’

  I looked at him, appraising his lean, wiry frame, his tousled, red hair, his fair, freckled skin. He didn’t look like a ‘slave’, whatever a slave looked like. It must have taken enormous courage to share all of this with me, I realised, as he looked down, waiting for some response. When none was forthcoming, he reached around his neck and unclasped what seemed to be a necklace chain.

  Holding his hand out to me, he said, ‘This is my key. My key to the bell tower. You can’t get in without it. You keep it. Just till Thursday. You keep it and think about all this. If you decide you don’t want to go, just give it back to me, or put it in my mailbox. If you want to go, meet me at the fountain on Thursday, at 1900 hours. I’ll take you. I’ll introduce you to the right people. Then, you know, I’ll have to leave you, because I’m in the show.’ He was standing now, no longer nervous. He even seemed defiant, daring me silently to put down his submissive status. I realised I liked him.