Hard Corps

by Claire Thompson

  ‘I am your guide, as you know. They like to pick new slaves to guide the novices, because we’ve just been there. We know exactly what you are going through and can anticipate some of your questions and fears. I was so glad I got you, Remy. You’re my first assignment.’ She sat back and smiled at me.

  ‘So what does that mean, exactly? How do you “guide” me?’ Images of plump Amelia bending over and showing me how to take a whipping leaped unbidden to my mind. I shifted uncomfortably and waited for her reply.

  ‘What that means is, for the first month, I will be available for your questions and concerns on an informal basis. If something doesn’t seem right, or you don’t understand your duties, or just have questions, I am here. You can withdraw at any time from the Corps, Remy. All you have to do is sign a contract swearing never to reveal our existence to the outside world in any way, and you are free to go. Nothing said, no hard feelings. And there are people who find out this really isn’t for them. Wannabe’s who thought playing at sex slave would be cool, but then couldn’t cut it. And some who simply found out it wasn’t right for them. It isn’t for everyone, of course.

  ‘We can always talk and remain friends, whether you choose to stay or not. I’ve always liked you, Remy. You have character.’ Here she smiled again, that angelic smile that made her look absolutely beautiful. I couldn’t help but smile back. ‘Let me start by telling you what to expect these next few weeks. You will begin with a series of meetings with masters and mistresses. Not any new or still in-training dominants. Don’t worry. They only get to practise on well-trained submissives. About once a week for the next month or so you will have a new assignment, which you will find in your mailbox the night before. You will be given instructions, and Remy, be sure to follow them to the letter. Remember, this is serious business. They expect you to behave as professionally as if you were applying for Officers’ Training.

  ‘Your mentor — that’s the dominant who will kind of take you under their wing — will meet with you, either as one of your assignments, or after you’ve had a few, to discuss your novice status, and decide if you are slave material or not. The mentor will have had input from the other masters who have met with you, and input from me and other Corps sources.

  ‘Once you get accepted into the Corps as a slave — ’

  ‘If I do, you mean,’ I interjected.

  Amelia smiled softly at me and said, ‘Don’t you want this, Remy? No one is forcing you to be here, surely you understand that. This is an honour, a gift.’

  I looked down, contrite. I did want it. I had to find out, to explore these wild sexual feelings just budding inside of me. I nodded, and she continued.

  ‘You will receive a sort of basic slave training. Things like how to walk, how to bow and curtsey, how to take a whipping with grace. There are trainers who do nothing but train us would-be slave girls and boys so we can become worthy of our masters and mistresses. You will be bound and taken to limits you never dreamed of, Remy. You will learn what it is to suffer, and to exalt.’

  Amelia was speaking very softly, her voice dreamy, mesmerising. I had to lean over to hear her. Clearly she was speaking from experience. She went on, seeming to snap back to the moment. ‘For this month though, you will just meet with several masters or mistresses, or perhaps the same one several times in a row. You will spend from forty-five minutes to four hours with each, serving them in whatever manner they wish. You will be expected to perform sexually, to be used sexually, to accept whatever torture or punishment they deem appropriate. In short, you will be their personal property for the time you are with them.

  ‘No sexual intercourse, though. We are all tested regularly, but still, we don’t want any pregnancy or disease gumming things up. We can’t rely on over-eager masters who might forget their condoms and over-eager-to-please slaves who let them. So they’ve made it easy. No vaginal fucking. Period. But everything else goes.

  ‘And what do you get from this? I don’t need to tell you, do I, Remy? You get the chance to serve. To realise at last what has always lain dormant or secretly alive inside of you. You get the chance to become what you really are. Do you understand, slave girl?’

  The room suddenly seemed too close. I realised I hadn’t been breathing as I listened to her. Yes, oh yes. I did understand. There was no reward required. It was something one was born to. I knew it in my bones, even as she explained it aloud. I was one of a secret elite now. I had been given the chance to serve. I couldn’t wait to begin.

  * * *

  I was lying in my bunk, staring at the metal slats of the bunk above me, wondering what the dawn would bring. It was my first day as a full-fledged novice and I had found the long envelope in my mailbox the night before. My first assignment during what would have been PT, in the pre-Corps days, was to report to Captain Rather, professor of biology.

  I was to wear my daily uniform, as if it were any other day of classes and training. I had awoken at around 3a.m., from troubled, vaguely erotic dreams. What would Captain Rather be like? What would he have in mind for my first ‘assignment’? Amelia had filled me in on what to expect, basically. She warned me that some masters really did want to train you — to teach you discipline and grace — while others were really only there to get their rocks off. But, she advised, even submitting to them was a worthy submission, perhaps even more so than with ‘true’ masters, since you gave of yourself with grace, no matter the circumstance.

  I imagined myself kneeling at Captain Rather’s feet, waiting for his touch. He would reach down and I would feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I would stand and see a tall, handsome man, with strong, commanding features. His violet eyes would flash as he leaned forward to kiss me with those red lips. Oh, my God! I was imagining Jacob! How absurd. I realised I had barely thought of him these past few days, but here he was, popping up again in my fantasies.

  Annoyed with myself, I got up and showered before anyone else had stirred. Finally it was time to go to my first assignment. I made my way to the science building through the fine drizzle of a grey day.

  A middle-aged woman with a heavy, rather masculine face looked up from her secretary’s desk as I stepped out of the elevator on the second floor. I couldn’t help wondering if she was in on this, if she knew just why I was there.

  ‘Hello,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You must be Cadet Harris. Captain Rather is expecting you. You may go right in.’

  I thanked her, my voice coming out like a little kid’s, as I approached the door she indicated. It was slightly ajar and, as I pushed it open, Captain Rather hailed me in a jovial voice.

  ‘Come in, come in, cadet. Close the door behind you and we can talk about your biology project without interruption. I’ve already advised Miss Martin not to disturb us for the forty-five minutes I have allotted for you.’ I shut the door as he spoke, aware that his little performance was entirely for the secretary’s sake, and whoever else might be wandering about the hall.

  Seated behind a desk was a plump, little man with curly, short grey hair and small, bright eyes set in a ruddy face. He looked more like someone’s doting grandfather than a master, as far as I could see.

  Once the door was shut, he gestured for me to follow him as he walked to the corner of his small office and opened a little door that led to an even smaller private bathroom. As we squeezed in together, I realised my heart was pounding and that I had no idea what to expect from this man.

  As if reading my mind, he said, ‘Now then, novice. I understand I am your first assignment. For the next forty-five minutes you belong to me completely. You will not speak unless I ask you a specific question. You will strip at once. I can’t stand that damn uniform on a woman.

  ‘Instead, you will wear this.’ He handed me a skimpy black sort of bathing-suit thing, with no crotch. He also handed me long, black gloves like the kind I had for my Barbie when I was a little girl. My distaste must have registered on my face, because suddenly he barked at me, ‘Strip, bitch! I didn’t ask you if
you liked it, whore. I just said put it on.’ Grandpa was gone. Master was here, and what an asshole he was.

  Still, I didn’t want to mess up my very first assignment, so I struggled out of my things and pulled up the little black garment. Captain Rather watched from his perch on the toilet seat as I wrestled with the lingerie. It was too small for me, and the bra cups forced my breasts up and together, spilling over the tops and sides. I pulled on the gloves and stood before the little man, easily five inches taller than he, even in my bare feet. I felt absolutely ridiculous in my little whore get-up, but apparently I passed muster.

  ‘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 impers
onal. 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.

  Chapter Seven

  The Colonel

  My 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.