Marshall was still naked after his time in bed with Dad. He licked his lips and adjusted the drape on Dad's ammunition bandoliers, then stood on his tiptoes to give him one last, lingering kiss. Dad, armed with a rifle similar to Andrew's but sporting a bayonet, with a small clear plastic button on the point to render it relatively harmless, returned the kiss eagerly. With his arm around Dad's waist, Marshall escorted him to the tent entrance. "Could you ask Bailey to come in here now? And tell people I'll need..." He paused in thought. "...about forty minutes to get ready, and then will signal for you to come back in."
He waited a few seconds after he'd gone. This time I stayed hidden until Marshall turned and beckoned me. Marshall's face was glowing with excitement. "This is it, Wynn! Time for the big deal!"
"Yes, but why are Andrew and my dad dressed like that?"
Marshall grinned. "There's usually kind of a show built around the hanging. This one's called the 'Captive Prince Scenario.' It's kind of cute, you'll see."
Bailey came into the tent. He looked excited as well. He laughed. "Everybody's whispering about those outfits Mr. Cameron and Andrew have on. Are we ready to go, Marsh?"
Marshall nodded. "I told Preston about forty minutes. That gives us lots of time, but we better get started."
Bailey unzipped his leather jacket and let it fall to the ground. Underneath, he had on a black see-through shirt that covered his chest without really concealing it, and a pair of shorts that just barely covered his genitals. I gasped: Bailey looked sensational. The kangaroo took off his dark shades for the first time since I met him, and tucked them into the pocket of his shirt.
My eyes had been drawn to Marshall when we first met — but now I noticed Bailey's choker said, in block letters much less fancy than the script stitching on Marshall's, "Bailey - Property of the Hanging Academy."
Marshall saw me watching and said, "Bailey is kind of the executioner, though Andrew's actually going to pull the lever. The black outfit and shades are part of the persona."
Bailey grinned. "There were a few times in the last few years I felt like executing you. Here's my chance, finally."
"You've known each other a long time, huh?" I asked.
Marshall smiled in Bailey 's direction as the kangaroo approached with a handful of items, including a gold coronet. "We've been roommates, right from the first day. Sometimes boys change around, but we never did. We graduated at the end of last summer, but we stayed on as teaching assistants until we could get sold. We're still sharing a room."
Bailey nodded. "I've got my gig scheduled for next weekend. Steve's going to be my assistant."
I suddenly noticed the vibes passing between Marshall and Bailey. "Should I go? You guys probably want some alone time."
Marshall smiled and shook his head. "That's really sweet of you, Wynn. But we said our goodbyes this morning. We knew there wouldn't be a chance to make love after we got here."
"You're lovers too?"
Marshall smiled. "Most roommates end up that way. You just spend so much time working together, studying together, and being partners for hanging practice. You look out for each other. You literally trust your roommate with your life when you're practicing." He laughed. "All the rooms have two small beds when you first move in. You can request that they replace them with a single larger one. Most of the boys end up doing that by the middle of the first year."
I wasn't sure I wanted to bring this up, but I had to ask. "You must... lose a few boys along the way. Aren't there accidents sometimes?"
Bailey had put down the coronet and, with a look of serious concentration, used his finger to tease out a lock of Marshall's headfur just behind the temple. He gave it a few twists and pulled it straight back along the side of the horse's head, securing it in place with a couple of hairpins.
Marshall answered, "Well, a lot of boys don't make it, for one reason or another. Accidents are kind of rare, because we have a lot of safety rules and we stick with them, but there are other reasons boys don't finish."
"How many do finish?"
"About..." Marshall stopped and thought, as Bailey styled the other side. "It's around forty percent, I guess."
"Less than half graduate?"
I was impressed with the transformation taking place. The hair arrangement suggested a laurel wreath, but without flowers. It gave Marshall a look that was both innocent and regal; he looked like a young man just starting college, or about to attend his first prom.
Marshall nodded. "There are about sixty or so boys in each entering class. Between about... I think twenty or twenty-five graduate."
"What happens to the others, then? I don't think I've heard of any Hanging Academy dropouts walking around."
Bailey carefully settled the coronet on Marshall's head, and attached it with three clips at the bottom.
Marshall smiled and shook his head. "There aren't any dropouts. All of the students either graduate or else die along the way."
Bailey said, "Hold still, Marsh."
"Sorry, love."
"But I thought you said there aren't many accidents."
"Right. It's not from accidents. For one thing, every two months there's a demonstration for the whole class. The five trainees with the lowest grades have their names put in a hat, and one of them is picked for the demonstration. He's hanged, and the rest of the class discusses his performance." Marshall looked directly into my eyes. "Do you understand why, Wynn?"
I blinked once, then the answer came to me. "You have to see some actual hangings, all the way to the end. There are some things you can't learn any other way."
Marshall beamed. "Exactly right!"
Bailey finished with the coronet. "See if that'll stay on there, Marsh."
Marshall shook his head, tilting it both ways, trying to dislodge the coronet. "Yeah, that's on there." He shook it again, briskly. "It's not getting any looser. We'll leave it like this."
Marshall went on, "Oh, and the other thing is the parties. Every three weeks the Academy hosts a party. People pay for admission — that's one source of the Academy's income, besides selling the graduates — and the students take visitors, male or female, to private rooms to entertain them. Like I just did with Andrew and your dad. Several in a night, usually. That contributes to two aspects of the learning process. Can you tell me what they are, Wynn?"
I realized that Marshall intended to use his remaining time to make a student out of me. "Well..." I thought. "Obviously you learn more about sex that way. And..." It suddenly came to me, because I'd just seen such a vivid demonstration. "And..." I grinned and held up my little finger, twirling it in a circle.
Marshall laughed as hard as I'd ever seen him. "You got it! Learning how to read people and figure out what they want before they tell you. Like you saw me do. You learn a lot of that from studying about it, but there's no possible substitute for actually doing it. Anyway, the reason I brought up the parties is, at the end of each party, one of the students is hanged. They rotate that among the classes, first year, second year, third year, and he's chosen the same way as the students for the bimonthly demonstration. Of course, that's what a lot of the visitors came to see, more than the sex."
I looked deep within myself to see whether my determination to attend the Academy had been shaken. A day ago, what Marshall was now telling me would certainly have scared me off. Now I just felt a growing confidence inside myself. Only the students with the lowest grades were hanged before graduation. I had always worked hard for my grades. I could work harder still. Being with Marshall made me feel equal to any task.
Marshall and his roommate looked at each other for a few seconds, neither of them speaking. Suddenly Marshall reached out and put his arms around Bailey, drawing the kangaroo against him. "One more time." They held each other tightly, leaning their heads against each other. For the first and only time in Marshall's presence, I wished that I were somewhere else.
The two friends lifted their heads, looked at each other and kissed, holding the kiss a long time. They broke it off at the same moment; Marshall's eyes were shining. Marshall said softly, "I love you..."
Bailey responded, "I love you, Marsh. Always."
Marshall smiled and sighed. Then he lifted both hands in front of him. "C'mon Bayl. You need to tie my hands."
"Yeah, gotta get it done for your big moment." Bailey took the rope, and walked around behind Marshall. Marshall exclaimed, "Oh! Here's something you can help with, Wynn. Look in the satchel for a spray can and a bottle of glittery powder."
There weren't many things left inside the satchel by now, and I found the required items right away.
"Okay, now take the spray can and cover my body with it, but not too heavy —the tip of my fur should be just slightly sticky. Then dust the powder over me. Everywhere. I need every square inch covered with it. Except my face and neck. Stop at the choker, but get everything under that."
I shook the can. "I don't understand. I thought they would want your fur the way it is."
"Oh, it'll come off later. It's water soluble, but you'll see what it's for."
I wasn't quite sure, but Marshall fixed me with one eye and nodded firmly. So I started spraying his fur, starting at his feet.
Marshall put his hands behind his back, crossing his wrists. Bailey looped one end of the rope around Marshall's right wrist and knotted it, leaving one long end and about ten inches on the other. He looped the long end around Marshall's left wrist, then his right, then the left again, in a figure eight pattern, pushing it through between the horse's wrists each time. By the time the remaining ends of the rope were equal in length, Bailey wrapped them in opposite directions around all of the ropes running between Marshall's wrists and knotted then tightly.
I looked up from spraying Marshall's knees and was surprised at how complete the job was. There was obviously no way Marshall could free his hands — there were so many loops around each wrist, and the knot was in a place his fingers couldn't possibly reach.
I dusted some powder on Marshall's legs, then resumed spraying Marshall's fur above the waist. Marshall saw me looking at the ropes. "We always make sure it's obvious to the audience that there's no way the boy being hanged could save himself. It adds to their excitement. Keep going, with the spray and powder. If Bailey is in the way of something, remember to come back to it later."
I nodded. "I — it's just funny to think you'll never use your hands again. The rest of your life."
Bailey looked over what I'd done and said, "Good work."
Marshall looked in the mirror. "Yeah. You'd never know this is his first time, would you?"
"Nope."
"Damn right, nope. Wynn, you'll find a nice soft brush in the satchel. Would you be a dear and brush the powder into my fur?"
I got the brush out and started brushing marshall's fur. It felt nice — soft — and I could see that he was enjoying it too.
Marshall let out a sudden gasp and shiver. "Wow, that feels good! But let's let Wynn get in there now. Wynn, be sure to get my cock and my butt."
I was amazed at the smoothness of Marshall's package. The fur on his scrotum andsheath was barely 1/16 inch long . I knew that some males shaved their pubes close. But I had never actually seen what that looked like.
Marshall moaned softly as I brushed his cock sheath, and his knees buckled for an instant.
I'd never in my life touched another person so intimately, but somehow there was no other person I could imagine it feeling more right with than Marshall. I concentrated on reaching every available area — including Marshall's sexy behind. My mind was brimming with many more questions than I had time to ask, but at least asking some of them would make me less self-conscious of what I was doing with Marshall's body. "I was looking at Bailey's choker. Do you become slaves of the Academy when you graduate?"
Marshall smiled. "Actually, you're a slave as soon as you enter. They invest a lot in your training. They don't want students casually leaving. Like I said, the only alternative to graduating is dying."
"After you graduate, how do you get sold? I mean, how did you end up here?"
"Well, whenever a request comes in, a description goes around to all the graduates. We can say no to any of them, though if we wait too long..." He grinned, "We start to be eligible for the drawing at the parties, so you have to take something eventually. Anyway, this one asked for a light-colored horse, and they wanted the 'Captive Prince Scenario,' which I had down as my first preference, so it naturally came to me first. Your dad came in and I met him there, and he seemed nice..." I could well imagine Dad being very ingratiating in that situation, "...so I said okay. He worked out the payment with the Academy, and it was all a done deal. Don't forget to powder between my arms and my back. You'll have to kind of force your way in there. I can't help you much."
I was brushing Marshall's belly when I thought of another question. "What's the best thing I can do to get in? To the Academy?"
Marshall smiled at me. "You still — OOH that feels nice — you still want to go, after everything I've said?"
I stopped for a moment, my hand resting on Marshall's belly. "Even more."
We locked eyes. Marshall said, "I knew it when I met you." He closed his eyes. "Keep brushing — OH!" He shivered and grinned. "Anyway, the best thing to do is fill in your application as soon as you can. And definitely go there personally. Don't do it by mail. You probably won't get an interview right there on the spot, they'll schedule that for later. But there are often important people hanging around the Admissions Office. And even the secretaries are worth the trouble of impressing. Just let people see you're there. If they look you in the eye, they can see how much this means to you. That's really important. Can you go in Monday?"
I was brushing Marshall's shoulder now. "I think so... oh!... I have a couple of big tests Monday."
Marshall nodded. "Tests are important. Don't let your grades suffer, no matter what. What about Tuesday?"
"Tuesday... yes. I can do it then."
Marshall beamed at me. "I wish I could go with you. Take that letter I gave you, for sure."
I checked my back pocket to make sure it was there — for the hundredth time. "I will."
Marshall turned to Bailey, who was standing by with the robe. "Two pairs of eyes, Bailey. Both of you check and make sure there aren't any missed spots." He turned slowly and let both of us look him over.
Bailey looked at me, and we both nodded. "You're gorgeous, Marsh."
Marshall took a long, deep breath. "Let's get the robe on."
The robe was of a deep purple color, such as had once been reserved for royalty, and was richly textured, like the bathrobe you might find in a five-star-plus resort — but it was cut for looks, not just comfort. It was oddly wide open at the collar, held that way by a strip of springy metal sewn into the collar.
I remembered something else I'd wanted to ask. "I heard you talking to your dad about 'the boys.' You've got brothers, then?"
Marshall smiled. "Three, yeah. Marcus, Magnus, Michael. They're..." He frowned, trying to think. "Let's see: 16, 14, and 11. I wish they could be here, but I understand Daddy not wanting them to. They're so sweet, but I always wondered what having an older brother would be like. You're lucky, having one."
I tried to keep a straight face; Marshall hadn't said it was good luck.
Bailey draped the robe over Marshall's shoulders, and with some effort pulled the collar nearly closed. He secured it with a piece of metal whose hooks at both ends fit into small eyelets on either side of the collar. A long, silky sash hung down on both sides from the collar. Bailey tied the ends to each other in front of the collar with an elaborate slip-knot, and removed the metal strip, which had just been a temporary device — it was the sash that was now holding the collar closed. There was one more sash that encircled the waist. Bailey closed the robe in front and tied the waist-sash with another slip-knot, leaving Marshall's body hidden within the robe, from his neck down almost to the floor.
Marshall was bouncing slightly up and down on his tiptoes, his face flushed. "This is it, Bailey! This is it!"
Bailey seemed equally excited. "I know! I know!"
Marshall sighed. "Bailey, have a wonderful time next week. I'm glad you could see mine. I wish I could be at yours."
"Me, too. Thanks for everything, Marsh. Love you."
"Love you too, Bailey."
Marshall turned to me, beaming. "Have the best of luck, Wynn. I believe in you. Stand still a second." Marshall took a step closer to me, leaned towards him and kissed me full on the lips. I wasn't expecting that. Wow!
Before today, I had lived a very shy life. I had never yet kissed anyone, male or female. I'd always wondered if I would know what to do. But it felt very natural for my lips to melt against Marshall's, and he gave off a pleasant aroma of arousal.
Marshall broke the kiss, finally. "That was for something to remember me by."
"It's... I... I think I would have remembered you anyway," I stammered.
Marshall laughed, hard. "I hope so." He turned to Bailey. "Bayl, tell Preston he can come back in now. No need to remind Bill about the sword, I think — he's done enough of these." Marshall's eyes lit up. "And ask Bill to hold the sword up where I can see it before I lose consciousness. I love looking at a sharp sword. Especially when it's for me. Oh! Put your shades back on!"
Fumbling with them slightly, Bailey retrieved them from his shirt pocket. He reached out and brushed Marshall's robe-covered arm softly. Turning, he left the tent.
"What happens now?" I asked, still a little flustered from the kiss.
Marshall gestured with his head. "First you'd better get back in your little hiding place. Your dad's about to come in here."
"Oh!" I ran back to the fold in the tent wall and hid behind it.
Marshall went on, "Wait till we're gone, and come out... maybe ten seconds later. I promise, nobody's going to be looking at the tent."
I nodded, though I knew Marshall couldn't see me. I closed my eyes, remembering the kiss.