The weeks went by, not slowly, not quickly. I got my hair removed once a
week, and it got less painful and my hair finer with each time. I slowly
worked myself into shape, and understood more about how the body works and
where my limits are with each passing day. It all became routine.
One day during my sex class, the teacher asked me if I thought I could
penetrate him. I told him I didn’t know, but would try it if he wanted me
to.
“We’ll try it. You’ve been doing well enough to deserve a reward.” He
handed me a condom and told me to put it on while he stripped. I did,
watching. His body was every bit as good-looking as I’d thought it would be
under the leotard. Once he was naked, he reached over and began stroking me
lightly. That much wasn’t new to me, as he’d fondled me regularly. I got
hard quickly. He applied the lubricant himself, liberally coating my
sheathed dick, then got on his hands and knees in front of me. “Kneel
behind me and get up close.” I did, still aroused. “Now, put yourself right
at my anus and push forward gently.” The tip of my dick slipped in.
“Mmf…hold it right there for a moment.” I put my hands on his shoulders.
“That’s nice. Almost there…” A moment later, he slipped backwards onto
me. “Now, you can begin moving. Try not to pull all the way out.”
I did, feeling the warm tightness around me. It felt little different from
fucking a woman with a condom on. He sighed happily. “That’s
right…mmmmm.” I thrust, enjoying the feeling. I almost forgot everything
else that had happened to me lately as I built quickly to a climax. I even
forgot just for a moment that this was a man I was inside. I slammed deep
into him and spurted into the condom. When I subsided, I relaxed right
where I was for a moment, then withdrew.
“Very nice, 461. You’re getting the hang of this.”
“Thank you, Teacher…for that, and for the reward.”
“You’re welcome, 461. Now, clean us up and get dressed.” I grabbed a towel
and did just that.
After a few more weeks, a new student came in. He was assigned number 457.
When he did, the teacher switched to giving him sex lessons after class. He
told me that I’d learned enough to make my way in the student population,
and to go have fun. I pointed out that it wasn’t quite fun for me yet. “You
seem to be enjoying yourself well enough. Go to it. Oh, one other thing:
Now that there’s someone here for you to use it on, you need to learn how
to use the control implant.”
“Is that what’s in my arm?”
“Yes, it is. Here’s how it works: There are three buttons on the unit. If
you run your fingers over your left forearm, you’ll find them. Do that now,
but don’t press any.” I found them, lurking under the skin. “Do you know
about octal numbers?”
“Yes, Teacher.” I thought about saying that I had been a computer programmer
before being kid…er…recruited, but decided not to.
“Good. With the first three fingers of your right hand on the buttons, the
index finger is 1, the middle finger 2, and the ring finger 4. You must
press the buttons that make up a digit simultaneously. The command to send
a punishment is five digits long. There are no zero digits, so every one
will involve pressing one or more buttons. The first digit is the rank: 1
for those, like you, in pink; 2 for green; 3 for blue; 4 for red, and 5 for
black. Staff is 6, and teachers and the Headmaster are 7, but you won’t be
able to use them until you reach that level yourself, if ever. The next
three digits are the member number, and the final digit is the punishment
level. You can only send punishments to someone if the first four digits
make a number lower than yours. The highest punishment you can send is the
difference in rank between you and the other member, plus one. Right now,
that means you can only send a level 1 punishment to 457, since he’s the
only person whose number is lower than yours. That will change, of course,
in time. If you try to punish someone you’re not allowed to, or try to send
too high a punishment, the punishment you send will instead be applied to
you, so be careful.
“There’s an activation switch, as well. You must hold your left hand rigid
and flat, like this.” He demonstrated. It looked like he was getting ready
to deliver a karate chop. “If you release the tension in your hand, or if
you do not complete the sequence within five seconds, it is cancelled
automatically.
“Go ahead and try sending a level 1 punishment to 457. Don’t complete the
sequence, though; cancel it before the final digit.”
I held my hand out flat, then gingerly pressed the right buttons, with the
teacher watching. There was a definite snap as each was pressed. “That’s
right. You’ve got it. Now let your hand go limp.” I did. “Good. You’re now
ready to go out and have fun with anyone you want…or that wants you.” He
hugged me. “You’re a good student, 461. I can tell you’re trying, and
that’s all we really ask.”
As my body got firmer, I started to attract the attention of the other
students. The first one to order me to bend over for him in the shower was
515, the one that the teacher had pointed out to me the first day, but he
wasn’t the last. The word got around that I was pretty good for a new guy,
and for a while, every shower was the scene of another screwing. I even got
asked to screw others a couple of times. That surprised me. I guess that
there are guys who really enjoy that. I didn’t, then, all that much.
I only had to suck off another guy twice, and managed to do it well enough
both times that they didn’t punish me. I hated every moment of it, though.
The condom rule meant that I didn’t have to swallow their juices, and I was
grateful for that.
More students came in, and some left the class. Nobody ever said that
someone was about to leave. They just wouldn’t be there the next day.
Sometimes I’d recognize a guy wearing a green leotard as someone who’d been
in my class, but sometimes I’d just never see them again. They must have
flunked out – and that meant they’d died. That drove home the point that I
needed to keep working at it if I wanted to live.
I lost track of time. There was only exercise, and leotards, and sex, and
eating, and sleeping. Once upon a time, I’d have said this was heaven. Were
it not for the ever-present discipline, it might have been.
After a while, I was promoted to the next class. I only knew it because I
woke up to find a green leotard one morning instead of the pink I’d been
used to. The work was different, concentrating on the basics of ballet
instead of pure physical conditioning, but nothing else changed. It was
getting routine: eat, work, shower, class, lunch, work, shower, dinner,
with as much sex as I wanted thrown in. Did you ever think you could get
into a rut to the point that sex wasn’t more than a chore? I slacked off,
only picking out a lower-ranking student to fuck every now and then.
My education progressed through green, blue, and red leotards. The first
day I wore a red leotard, I took my now well-worn, comfortable shoes to a
supply room and handed them over. The staffer handed me a pair of shiny
new, un-broken-in pointe shoes, and a pair of gel-filled inserts for them.
“The inserts go in the toes. They put your weight on the bones of your
foot, not your toes. It’s going to hurt for a while. You’ll need to help
the shoes break in, too.” Great. More pain. At least I was in good enough
shape that dancing didn’t hurt much any more.
He was right, too: It did hurt. Still, I managed to learn how to get up on
my toes, and stay there, and even dance pretty well.
All of this took some uncountable time. I’d forgotten my past as a computer
geek, and even had to work to remember my name. Remember the line from A
Horse with No Name? “You can’t remember your name, cause there ain’t no one
for to give you no name”? That was me. I knew myself as 461 now. My body
was different from back then, too: hard, lean, muscular. I could dance all
day and never feel really tired, or sore. I wouldn’t have recognized
myself.
The red class was bigger than any of the others I’d been in. I asked the
teacher about it, and he told me that that was because there were only so
many dancers they needed for performing, and every promotion to that rank
was strictly by merit. Only the best of the reds was chosen when a spot
came open.
“So how do spots open up, Teacher?”
“Either a member gets promoted, or gets hurt and can’t dance any more. We
turn those into staff.”
“But you only need so many teachers.”
“True. Have you noticed that the Headmaster changes regularly?”
“No, Teacher. I’ve only seen the Headmaster a few times.”
“Well, he does. Then a teacher becomes the new Headmaster, and we need a
new teacher, so one of the performers is promoted.”
“So one day, I can be a teacher?”
“Yes, 461. If you’re good enough.”
I decided I’d work harder at my dancing. I wanted to be a teacher, or maybe
even the Headmaster. They had it the best of anyone here.
As the days and weeks passed, I put my best efforts into my dancing. I quit
worrying about the state of my feet, or my body, or anything but being the
best I could at my new life. My interest in sex dried up, as it just got in
my way. The teacher praised me more than once in front of the class, and it
looked like I was on my way to the top.