Hard Corps

by Claire Thompson

  When I got to the little waiting room of her office, the secretary’s desk was empty. Maybe non-military professors didn’t rank a secretary. I wasn’t sure if I should knock or just wait. I was a few minutes early, so I decided to sit tight.

  When it was time, I stood to knock on the door. Just then, it opened, revealing Dr Wellington on the other side. She was wearing another closely cut dress that emphasised her pert, little breasts and tiny waist. Her eyes were dark and shaped like almonds; she had a decidedly Oriental quality. Waving me in, she said in that low voice of hers, ‘Come in, come in. I’ve been looking forward to our little visit. We have plenty of time today. I have you cleared for two full hours.’

  Two hours! I didn’t say anything, since I remembered her admonition once about not speaking unless directly asked to do so. She closed the door quietly behind us.

  ‘Before we start, come and sit down.’ She gestured toward her desk, a large affair with stacks of papers and little blue exam books neatly piled to one side. Close to the edge of the desk where I sat stood a long, glass vase filled with a huge spray of yellow and purple irises.

  She sat behind the desk and took a slim manila folder from one corner. She opened it and stared at the pages in front of her for a moment. I realised I had the same sick feeling that I used to get when I got sent to the office for some infraction or other in grade school. I sat on the edge of the seat, resisting the temptation to bite my nails.

  She looked up at me, her face pleasant, but serious. ‘Remy, I have to be frank with you. So far you have mixed reviews.’ My heart sank as she started to speak. I was sure both Captain Rather and the colonel had found me to be a miserable excuse for a novice. I was a failure: I would be kicked out before I even had a chance to learn. Somehow, though I loved the excitement of submitting, I didn’t seem to be the submissive type, apparently.

  I was dying to ask what was in those reports, to grab them from her and read them myself, or at least to defend myself. But she hadn’t asked me a direct question, and I wasn’t going to blow it now, if I could help it. Dr Wellington stood and walked gracefully over to the couch on the side wall. As she sat down, she pointed to the floor at her feet. Hoping I was reading her cue correctly, I left my chair and kneeled beside her, hoping this was what she intended. I looked down, waiting for the bad news.

  She was still holding one of the pages in her hand. She looked down it again, and said, ‘Let’s see. You have arrived on time and obeyed everything asked of you. You have submitted to their demands with relative grace. I say mixed reviews because both assignments to date report that you are too proud. I understand the colonel even sent you away, unused. But then, he often does that.

  ‘I don’t often warn slaves, but be careful of the colonel. Just between us, I don’t think he has a place in the Corps. He likes to break people. He has sent more than one slave over the edge. He is too brutal in his approach. But then, they don’t ask me about these things.’ She laughed as she said that, but I was troubled by her remarks. She brought me back to the issue at hand as she continued to speak.

  ‘Still, Remy, there seems to be something lacking in your make-up; lacking that is, if you really want to serve others. Call it humility, perhaps.’

  I sighed, then realised with horror that the sigh had been audible. Still looking at the carpet, I waited for the recrimination. Instead I felt a soft finger caressing my cheek, smoothing back my hair.

  ‘Do you want to know what I think? I think both those men lack understanding about novices. They forget what it is like when you are at the beginning. They forget that a person isn’t born a perfect slave. You may have intensely submissive sexual feelings; you may long to serve and merge with another who has complete power over you. But that doesn’t mean you automatically know how to act or how to submit with grace.

  ‘Especially a girl like you, Remy. I’m familiar with your record to date: most impressive. But it’s the record of a strong personality, one might even say a dominant one. One only needs to look at you to see you are athletic and capable. I personally don’t think that has to count against you. To teach someone like you to really submit: now that would be an accomplishment.’

  I felt a warmth suffuse me as she spoke. She seemed to not only understand me, but to accept me as I was. She had faith in me, I realised.

  ‘Now, Remy. Here’s the thing. I want to give you a final chance. I want to test you, really test you. I don’t want you to “submit” to something that sexually arouses you. I already have some idea about that, don’t forget.’ I bit my lip, remembering that she knew all too well what aroused me. She of all those present at the initiation had seemed to understand the thrill I got from exposing myself to their cold stares as I came with abandon for them, after having been beaten and humiliated by those virtual strangers.

  ‘I don’t intend to satisfy your lust today, Remy.’ As she said that her hand trailed down to my breast, her fingers grazing my nipple, causing it to instantly stiffen to attention. ‘No,’ she said, pulling her hand away. ‘Today we will see what you are really made of, novice. Today we will see if you deserve the title of slave or if you are just masochistic. Are you prepared to submit for me, Remy? To truly submit, not for your pleasure, but at my command?’ Her eyes rested on me so heavily I could almost feel the weight of her look.

  ‘Oh, yes, ma’am. Yes, please.’ I did want it. I wanted it so badly I knew I would do anything to please her.

  ‘That is what I had hoped to hear. Get up, girl. Get up and strip. Then stand in the centre of the room, arms clasped behind your back at the elbow.’

  I scrambled up, eager to do as she bid. I waited, trying to calm my breathing, which already was coming in short, shallow breaths of anticipation.

  ‘You can come in now, Jean.’ Oh, God. I couldn’t have heard that. Maybe it was coincidence. But no. I felt something sharp catch in my chest as little Miss Jean Dillon came sauntering into the room from a door I hadn’t noticed until that moment. She swaggered over to me, her little body smartly fitted in a black leather corset and skirt. Her heels were high, so high she almost stood eye-to-eye with me in my bare feet. I had to admit grudgingly to myself that she cut quite a sexy figure. Her honey-coloured skin looked creamy against the shiny, black leather of her corset. Her little breasts were raised and pressed together appealingly. She wore very little make-up, but her lips were painted a bright, cherry red. I was drawn back to the situation quickly by Dr Wellington.

  ‘As you know, Remy, Jean is in training to be a mistress. It is unusual to allow novice dominants to interact with novice submissives, but General Dillon feels Jean is ready and, of course, I will be directing the activity.’ So that explained it. Little niece Jean had used her formidable connections to get her way. She had promised she would get me, and boy was she going to. Dr Wellington reminded me of my promise.

  ‘Remember, Remy. You aren’t here to please her, you are here to submit. I know something of your situation. I know something of the, er, relationship between the two of you. It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant. What matters is that you are here to serve me. And it pleases me to see you here, naked, in front of Mistress Dillon.

  ‘And you.’ Now her attentions were mercifully turned from me to my enemy. ‘You must remember who you are and what you represent. You are the Corps. When you assume the role of mistress, you also assume the responsibility. This isn’t a chance to exact revenge for whatever perceived slight there is between you. This is your chance to persuade me that you have what it takes to make a true dominant, not a bully girl. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jean spoke softly, her head ducking slightly in submission as she nodded her compliance to Dr Wellington. I had never seen Jean like that and was momentarily fascinated by her seeming humility.

  ‘Good. Then we will begin. First, Jean, I want to see how you wield your whip. Thirty strokes should be sufficient. Novice, kneel on your knees, keep your body up so both sides are accessible, and put your hands behind y
our head.’

  I did as ordered, now becoming truly afraid. I was certain Jean would find a way to really hurt me, or at least humiliate me. I was determined not to let her do so. I would show her, and Dr Wellington, that I could submit, even when the mistress was someone who I was certain had no place in the Corps.

  Biting my lip to stay quiet, I waited, heart pounding, for the torture to begin. Dr Wellington handed Jean a long, slim riding crop. The loop at the end was very small. Jean came forward, until she was standing close in front of me. Slowly she moved the handle of the crop across my stomach, which caused me to flinch slightly. I wanted to pull back, but forced myself to remain still. Stepping back, she walked around behind me. I stayed still, holding my arms behind my head, willing myself to be calm.

  ‘Count, slave.’ Jean said, her voice no longer humble. Suddenly I felt the stinging slap of the leather against my back. I gasped.

  ‘Is that how you count? Now. We’ll start again, novice.’ The disdain was obvious in her voice. Again she struck me with the whip, hard. This time the blow mercifully landed on my ass, which at least had some padding.

  ‘One!’ I called out. ‘Two! Three!’ She slapped me with the crop twenty more times on my back, ass and thighs. My body was on fire from the constant caress of the leather. I was breathing hard, trying to keep control of my voice as she whipped me harder and harder. Finally Jean stepped around in front of me. She was slightly out of breath from her exertions. Her eyes flashed as she raised the crop to my breast. I couldn’t help but squeeze my eyes shut as the crop came down on the soft swell above the nipple.

  ‘Twenty-four!’ I managed. Down came the crop on my nipple. This time I couldn’t keep it together. I screamed with pain and fell out of position, my hands flailing out to break my fall. I couldn’t catch my breath as I hurried to scramble back into position, putting my now-tired arms back behind my head.

  Dr Wellington remained implacable, watching us from her position on the couch to my left.

  ‘Five extra strokes for losing position,’ Jean announced, looking toward Dr Wellington, perhaps for confirmation. I was still looking ahead, but Jean must have got the go-ahead, so I steeled myself for eleven more strokes to my flesh.

  Jean smacked me methodically, from breasts to belly to thighs and back up again. The final blow was delivered to my other nipple, just as hard as the first time. I sucked in my breath sharply, but somehow managed to stay in position, as I grunted, ‘Thirty-five.’

  ‘Nicely done,’ Dr Wellington remarked.

  I wasn’t sure who the remark was meant for, but Jean replied, ‘Thank you, mistress. She is nicely reddened, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Indeed, I would. But the praise wasn’t for you.’

  Jean actually had the grace to blush herself at that point. Dr Wellington wasn’t focusing on her, though. She had gotten up and moved close to me, leaning down to stroke my face. ‘You took that with real grace, slave.’ Slave. She had said slave, not novice. I tried not to attach too much importance to her remark. ‘You did fall out of position but the second time you took it with real courage.

  ‘Now for the rest of your assignment. I want you to ask Mistress Dillon how you can please her today. And then do it.’

  I froze for a moment, feeling a sickening finger of dread pull its way through me. Giving Jean carte blanche would certainly end up with us in a fistfight, or worse. God, this was hard. Much harder than submitting to the crude Captain Rather or the pompous colonel. They were abstracts. Jean Dillon was real, and she was now in a position to control me, while I was to remain defenceless and at her mercy.

  I saw that Dr Wellington was staring at me, waiting to see how I would respond. She smiled slightly, perhaps encouragingly. I felt myself rising to the challenge despite any misgivings. I could do this. I would do this, for Dr Wellington, for myself. I would truly submit.

  Jean meanwhile had walked over to the couch. She stood confidently, her hands on her hips, her corseted body beautifully outlined in leather. Her dark hair was loose and wild from the exertions of the cropping. ‘Novice,’ she said imperiously, ‘crawl over here on your hands and knees. And let’s see those big tits sway back and forth.’ She sat down as she spoke, exuding confidence and arrogance. I felt anger rise and mingle with shame. I had started to feel proud of my well-shaped breasts, but somehow, around these two perky-breasted women, I again felt big and awkward. Somehow Jean had latched on to my insecurities. She had cut to the quick with her crude remark.

  Still, I was determined to obey, to the letter. Face burning with shame, I crawled toward the young woman sitting on the couch, her legs crossed, long heels dangling. I reached her feet and waited for the next order.

  ‘Now. Kiss my feet. Leave the shoes on, and make love to my feet. Use plenty of tongue. Convince me that you love it. This is just where you belong, and just where I want you.’ She laughed cruelly, extending one pretty foot for my attentions.

  My eyes narrowed with distaste but I had to admire her choice of torment. What better way to reduce your enemy to nothing than by forcing them to kiss your feet, no, your shoes, for God’s sake. Again I became aware of Dr Wellington standing nearby, very intent on my actions. She gave me the courage to continue.

  Slowly, tentatively, my tongue darted out to lick the tip of Jean’s patent-leather-clad toe. I leaned forward, carefully taking one foot between my hands, as I started to kiss and lick the shoe in earnest.

  ‘Don’t forget the soles, novice.’ There was actually a small clod of dirt on the bottom of one of the shoes. Jean was apparently aware of this as she barked, ‘All of it. Every square inch. Clean it off with your tongue. You are my wash rag, novice. Do it like you mean it, like you love it. Worship me.’ I swallowed, steeling myself to the duty at hand. I had eaten plenty of mud by accident, during basic training, especially in the pit. It wasn’t so bad. I could do this.

  I started to lap her shoe, carefully cleaning the blob of dirt from the sole with my tongue. I tried to swallow it quickly, as I continued my oral homage to this woman. I had to admit that, even though I hated her, she had a style about her. She had a commanding presence. If only she could get past the bully phase, she might someday be a worthy dominatrix.

  My jaws were aching and my tongue felt like raw sandpaper when at last I felt a tug on my hair. I thought at first it was Dr Wellington, granting me a reprieve at last. But when I looked up, I saw it was Jean herself. She actually patted my head and smiled at me.

  ‘See,’ Dr Wellington said, obviously pleased. ‘That wasn’t so bad. For either of you. You both have shown real potential to be a part of the life. And now girls, I get to have some fun. I like to watch. I want to watch you two sexy things kiss and make up. Oh, and to quote my little friend Jean here, do it like you mean it.’

  I knew exactly what she wanted, though Jean seemed a little slow on the uptake. Dr Wellington prompted her a little bit more as I kneeled up and back on my heels. ‘Let this slave girl help you off with your corset, Jean, dear. Don’t forget you are still a novice, too, and as such, at my command. Let’s even the field a bit. Get naked and then kiss this lovely blonde girl. Like you mean it.’

  Jean stood, a little shakily, and for a moment I almost felt sorry for her. I was used to being naked and exposed at this point, but apparently it was something new to her. She blushed prettily as I stood behind her and untied the satin bows and released the little hooks that held her tightly in place. She leaned forward slightly, allowing the corset to fall. I took it and laid it carefully on the couch near Dr Wellington, who smiled sweetly at me. Then I unzipped Jean’s little leather skirt and she stepped out of it, still in her stiletto heels. I placed the skirt with her corset and returned, waiting for direction.

  ‘Don’t forget the shoes, though you do look lovely like that, Jean, naked in your spike heels. But I want you both naked, and facing each other.’ As the professor spoke, Jean stepped out of her shoes and kicked them toward me. I took them and set them neatly standing on
the floor by the couch.

  I had actually seen her naked before, in the showers, but somehow I had never noticed her petite figure, or at least I hadn’t appreciated it. Her breasts were small and high, with dark-brown nipples standing out against her tan skin. Her hips flared slightly from her small waist. Her little pubic patch was lush with short, black curls.

  Dr Wellington settled back, clearly having a good time. ‘Now, the fun begins. Start with a kiss, my darlings.’

  Jean seemed almost shy as she approached me. Gone was the tough-girl swagger, gone was the competitive cadet. In her place stood a naked young woman, though admittedly one who had just beaten me. My flesh still stung from her crop. And now we were supposed to ‘kiss and make up’. I had never kissed a girl before. She leaned toward me, her hands clasped protectively around her own waist. I leaned down, as scared as she was, until our lips met. Her face was so soft against my own.

  After a moment of chaste kisses, her lips parted slightly and her tongue licked across my lips. I parted my own, finding myself curiously eager for her kiss, for the invasion of her tongue. We were still only touching at the mouth, our naked bodies held away from each other by our uncertainty. A word from Dr Wellington changed that.