The Academy - 5

Chapter V – Hazing

 

The message Hardcastle got loud and clear was that he was not to speak to the chaplain and was not to complain about anything that happened at the academy.  It was reinforced by the treatment he received from his roommates.  Baumgartner got him aside the very next day after his encounter with the company commander.  He was also a new'un, and Hardcastle had thought he could count on him.

 

"Goddamn it, man, what were you thinking?  You know everybody hates a tattletale.  We're not doing anything that hurts you.  Just having a little fun," Baumgartner chided.  I heard that you fuck up again and it will hurt you.  If you get my drift… They will fuck you up the ass if you give them any more trouble.

 

In a day or so, the incident was common knowledge.  His roommates had previously half heartedly protected him from bullies.  No longer.  He was the object of universal derision.  He felt he had no place to turn.  His father had not even answered the letter he'd sent.  He couldn't bring himself to describe his predicament in a letter to his mother.  His friend, Herbert Lindstrom, continued to comfort him, but that still left him with a hollow feeling.  And nothing had changed.  His roommates' sexual shenanigans continued unabated, every single night.

 

The following week he arrived in study hall to be told to report to the chaplain.  He was terrified.

 

"I don't think I need to go," he said.

 

" Cadet Hardcastle, You WILL go!" was the reply.

 

Chaplain Pugh simply wanted to inquire if the problem Hardcastle had brought to him had been solved.  He was assured that it had been.

 

Still, at his earliest opportunity Hardcastle sought out Barefield to tell him that the chaplain had sent for him and what was said.

 

"You may get with the program yet," Barefield sneered.

 

Fulton was cowed by his experience with Menifee, but was still being a shit ass.  He didn't act up enough to risk being raped by the sergeant again, but he went as far as he felt he could.  He was used to being "number one" and when crossed, he always got even.  He'd watched his dad deal with adversaries in the Alabama Legislature.

 

He had a good miniature camera; and he wrote to his dad, asking him to buy some ASA400 film for it.  It would be fast enough to allow him to take pictures with dorm room incandescent lights.  The results would be good enough to see what was going on, even if the quality wasn't the best.

 

He also knew about the Hardcastle incident, and he formulated a plan to get Menifee in trouble that would also involve the chaplain.

 

He received the film by parcel post, loaded it and hid the camera under his pillow.  So he was ready the next time his roommates wanted to play.

 

They would have let Fulton join in the fun, but he still proclaimed that "he wasn't a fucking faggot." He just lay on his bunk and pretended to ignore them.

 

They were so distracted as they observed or participated in what was going on that no one heard the clicking of the shutter or saw that Fulton was photographing them as they ‘played’.

 

Conventional wisdom held that Kodak wouldn't process sexually explicit pictures.  Fulton knew this was bullshit.  Kodak didn't care, and even if they did, they wouldn't have a squad of photo police looking at every roll of film they received.  So he waited patiently for his contact prints to be returned.  There were several clear enough that Menifee easily could be identified both penetrating and being penetrated.

 

These were stuffed into a plain envelope, marked "personal," and anonymously mailed to Cdr.  Ellis Pugh.  Written on the back of each picture was "Farragut 212." Too bad that Fulton didn't know how the chaplain had handled Hardcastle's earlier revelation of sexual misconduct or that Hardcastle had later led him to feel that the problem had been so expeditiously handled.

 

In fact, Cdr.  Pugh didn't hesitate to immediately summon Cadet Capt.  Witherspoon to his office.

 

"I have received some really disgusting photographs," the chaplain began. He passed the pictures to the Company B Commander.  Can you identify these cadets?"

 

"Yes sir, one is one of my squad leaders and I think the other is one of his roommates."

 

"Well, you seem to have handled the other problem that I referred to you in a most exemplary manner, Captain.  I trust you will do the same in this instance."

 

"You can count on me, Commander."

 

This time Witherspoon didn't see the need to involve the Battalion Commander.  He just sent for Menifee.

 

"Sergeant, I didn't know you were doing modeling on the side," he said.

 

"What do you mean, John?"

 

Witherspoon passed the photographs to Menifee.

 

"What the fuck?" Menifee yells.

 

"Caught in the act, getting it and giving it," Witherspoon laughed.  "Got these from the chaplain, I did."

 

"This shit had to come from that fucking bastard, Fulton.  I'll kill the motherfucker."

 

"Calm down, boy.  You don't need to get your ass in an uproar," the Company Commander counseled.  "Cdr.  Pugh is letting me handle the problem like he let me handle the problem with Hardcastle.  You don't have anything to worry about. You do need to deal with Fulton, though."

 

"I tore him a new asshole the last time he fucked up.  I thought he'd learned his lesson.  Let me think about it.  Maybe you can think of something too." 

 

Witherspoon did.

 

If you believe the conventional wisdom, Gunnerston should have become the most miserable cadet at the academy by now.  Not so.  There are always bullies who will take advantage of anyone weaker than they are.  But if someone is willing to be himself, there are others who will protect him from the bullies and enjoy what he is willing to offer.

 

So it was with Gunnerston.  He didn't care who knew he was a queer.  He'd let any dick in that wanted to penetrate his hungry little hole.  And almost everybody on the second floor of Farragut, except for a few Evangelicals, had used the hole at least once already.  As a result he was protected, not accepted or admired, but allowed to live in peace.  That was an arrangement often found not only in places like Lee Academy, but all-male prep schools and colleges across the country.

 

Witherspoon called Gunnerston to his room.

 

"You wanna fuck me, sir?" Gunnerston asked.

 

"No, Dick, I wanna ask you some questions.

 

"Have you ever fucked a guy?"

 

"Well....yes....back home.  Guys like....me....well, you know."

 

"Would you like to fuck a cadet here?"

 

"Well....sure, but...."

 

"What I'm saying is....we've got an older guy here that's too big for his britches.  Needs to learn a lesson.  If a couple of cadets held him down while a first former pounded his ass, that might make him change his attitude."

 

"Yes, but it could make him want to beat me up too.  I had enough of that back home."

 

"You don't have to worry about that, Dickie-boy.  We'll all take care of you."

 

"Well, if you really want me to...."

 

 

Menifee sought out Johnston.  "I need your help, man."

 

"How's that?"

 

"You know this asshole, Fulton?"

 

"Don't everybody?  He's a fucking pain in the balls."

 

"Well he's been trying to get some of us in trouble with the chaplain by sending him pictures of shit that's been going on.  We're planning a sort of kangaroo court, and getting punishment set up for him.

 

"Who's got the biggest dick on the football team?  You spend a lot of time in the locker room."

 

"That's easy," Johnston laughed.  "Kent Plunkett's got a monster."

 

"Does he like to use it, if you know what I mean?"

 

"If he can ever find somebody that can take it."

 

"We're going to have Farrier and Hammond hold Fulton down, while Gunnerston fucks him.  That ought to embarrass the shit out of him.  And then it'd be great if Plunkett would ram him.  I thought I'd torn him a new one once before, but he didn't get the message.  Maybe a utility pole up his ass will do it."

 

"Shit, I'm sure Kent 'ud love that.  I'll ask him."

 

 

Farrier and Hammond had been shown the pictures and had been alerted to be on the lookout the next time they were messing around.  Sure enough, Menifee and Farrier were going at it hot and heavy, while Hammond was supposedly watching, when Fulton started taking pictures again.  Quickly Hammond grabbed the camera and opened the back, ruining the film inside.

 

"Goddamn it, gimme that back.  That's an expensive fucking camera!" Fulton shouted.

 

"You mean it was an expensive fucking camera, motherfucker." Hammond dropped it onto the floor and stomped on it.  Fulton had wondered why his roommate still had his clodhoppers on.

 

"You'll pay for that!" Fulton yelled.

 

"Sure I will," sneered Hammond.

 

Menifee and Farrier had paid no attention to what had just happened. Farrier was just pounding Menifee's ass faster and faster.

 

< =============== >

 

It was the Saturday before Thanksgiving.  Seemed like most guys were hornier than usual.  In Room 212, Fulton realized things were quieter than they normally were on a Saturday.  And his roommates all still had their uniform shirts on.

 

There was a knock on the door.  Farrier opened it, and Witherspoon and Ellis, the Company Commander and the Platoon Leader, both entered.  Menifee and Hammond both jumped to their feet and saluted parade ground style.

 

"What the fuck's going on?" Fulton drawled.

 

"We're here to dispense a little justice," Witherspoon said.  "Do you recognize these photographs, Fulton?"

 

"Where the fuck did you get those?" Fulton asked.

 

"From Chaplain Pugh," Witherspoon answered.  "Someone didn't realize that the chaplain lets the cadet officer’s deal with sexual problems.  Did you take these pictures?"

 

"You can't prove I did.  Besides, I don't even have a camera."

 

"But you did until a week ago, this one." Witherspoon took the battered camera from Ellis and held it up.  "And the lab code on these prints shows they were made from thirty-five millimeter film.  Not too many miniature cameras around here, Fulton.  Also, if you hold up the prints you can see they were taken in this room right from your bunk.  All three of your roommates are in the pictures, but you're not.  So what do you say?"

 

"I say `fuck you!'"

 

"And I say you're guilty of trying to get your squad leader in hack. Sgt.  Menifee, you can administer punishment."

 

Without saying a word Menifee slowly peeled off his uniform.

 

"So you goanna dry hump me again, motherfucker?" Fulton scoffed.

 

"Not right now.  Maybe later," Menifee sneers.  First somebody that knows more about it than I do.  Bring in Gunnerston!"

 

Hammond opened the door and led in the already-naked first former.

 

"Oh no," Fulton yelled, "I aint lettin' that little queer have my ass!" He started for the door, but Witherspoon stood in front of it, tapping his palm with his baton.

 

"Strip him boys," Menifee ordered.

 

Fulton tried to fight off Hammond and Farrier, but the stronger Menifee locked Fulton's arms behind him, and once he was naked threw him on his bunk, where Hammond and Farrier turned him on his stomach and pinned him.

 

Gunnerston jumped on the bunk and got between Fulton's legs.  He'd been told to be cocky, so he giggled.

 

"Just you wait, you fucking queer!" Fulton spit.

 

"This is going to be fun," Gunnerston said.  "I've never fucked a big boy before."

 

"Any of you guys want to witness punishment?" Witherspoon was in the hall now.  "Come on."

 

Cadets in various states of dress or undress trooped into Room 212 to watch what was going on.  Some guys from the first floor even came upstairs to see what the commotion was about, Barefield and MacMillan among them.

 

Gunnerston's hard-on was only four inches.  He'd been told "no lube." And when he plunged into Fulton's angry ass, it felt so good.  He was surprised that Fulton wasn't as tight as the boys he'd played with back home.  But he realized that tonight he was "the star." He made the most of it.  He tried to make it last, like he'd been told to.  He couldn't.  He did lay on top of Fulton until his dick was so soft he wouldn't stay in Fulton's ass.

 

"Let me up, you bastards!" Fulton yelled.

 

"Sure," Menifee laughed.  "It's time for Number 2."

 

By this time both the room the hall was packed with cadets enjoying the spectacle.  But Plunkett had been hiding in another room.  Hammond went to get him.  He was wearing a towel when Fulton first saw him.

 

Fulton had just said, "So that little-dicked queer is supposed to psych me out?  Fuck all of you."

 

"Oh yes," Menifee had said.  "We thought you'd feel that way.  So we brought you a big-dicked son-of-a-bitch to make you happy." He reached for Plunkett's towel and ripped it off.

 

Plunkett at seventeen was over six feet tall.  He weighed not quite 200.  He was all muscle.  He wasn't what you'd call "handsome," but he had a beautiful torso and an unbelievable dick.  The bottom of a Coke bottle was about two inches across.  To Fulton, Plunkett looked that big.

 

Johnston had spoken the truth.  Plunkett couldn't get guys to take his huge prong.  So he was really looking forward to what was going to happen here.

 

"Turn him over," Plunkett commanded.  "I want to see his face, when he takes my fuckin’ rod."

 

He stuffed his huge tool into Fulton's unwilling hole and cried out, "Yeah, you want that, don't you, you fucking queer!  You like big dicks, don't ya?"

 

He paid no attention to the Fulton's screams, as he pounded the offender's anus mercilessly.  Guys watching couldn't believe how high Plunkett's butt rose up as he slid his ten incher in and out of Fulton’s asshole.  Unlike Gunnerston he was able to control himself.  Gunnerston's cum provided just enough lubrication that he wasn't over-stimulated.

 

"Are you going to be a good little boy from now on?" Plunkett panted.

 

"Fuck all of you," Fulton wailed.

 

Plunkett responded by forcing his rod into Fulton even more savagely, his ample pubes scratching his victim's tender cheeks on each plunge.  As he came, he bellowed, "Yeah, take my man juice, you little sissy faggot!" Then he collapsed on top of Fulton with all his weight, almost knocking the breath out of him.

 

He got up and turned to Menifee, saying "He's all yours." Then he grabbed his dick and turned to the audience.  "Any of yall got a trap big enough to take this mother.  It needs a good cleaning." There was raucous laughter.

 

Meanwhile, it was Menifee's turn.  He played with himself to get it as hard as he could, then said, "This is number three, motherfucker." He rammed his dick all the way up Fulton.  Plunkett's load lubed him so much that there was no pain, just humiliation.  Menifee enjoyed getting off as much as he was enjoying Fulton's punishment.  As for Fulton, he was so exhausted that Menifee didn't even have to bother holding him down, although his two other roommates were still there to make sure he didn't do anything he shouldn't.

 

When Menifee dropped his load he asked for other volunteers.

 

"Can I do him again?" Gunnerston asked.

 

"Sure you can, stud," Menifee responded.

 

This time Gunnerston was able to take it slow, like he was supposed to the first time.

 

Afterward, several other cadets took Fulton on, including both Barefield and MacMillan.

 

Just when Fulton thought it was all over, Witherspoon ordered, "Go to Chapel tomorrow morning, then have lunch.  Immediately after that report to me in my quarters.  Don’t show up and I will send Plunkett to get you."