Maverick and I stripped off our uniforms for another evening's hanging practice. It was becoming our habit to do it after dinner. Even without the arousal of watching Maverick hang, I still felt a flutter when I saw Maverick naked, but I believed — hoped — at least there was no visible sign of it. But I had no way to hide my reaction when Maverick's turn came to hang.
As Maverick secured the rope around my wrists, I had a vague feeling that he was acting oddly. Maverick had never fumbled with the rope before, and he looked slightly flushed. Probably has some new move he wants to show off when it's his turn to hang. I know he thinks it's the funniest thing when I still run into the bathroom after his little show. I wish I didn't have to. I know he knows I'm masturbating in there, so it's not like I'm managing to keep any secrets. But I'll be damned if I'll let him watch.
I managed to push thoughts of Maverick out of my head as I felt the platform descend to leave me hanging by the neck. As always, it was the one time in any day when the pressures of schoolwork could be put aside, and I felt... self-realized... was the word for it. When I'm hanging, I'm being the most innermost me I can possibly be. Doing what I was always meant to do.
As usual, I tried a little of Maverick's hip-thrusting. I felt I was getting better at it, yet, as quickly as ever, the first signs of hypoxia brought my concentration back to drawing air into my body and giving my blood a path up to my brain. Don't worry, I insisted to myself as always, you've still got nearly three years to learn how to do it right.
It occurred to me that Maverick was standing a little farther away than usual, his arms folded across his chest, looking at me with an unblinking concentration that exceeded any amount of attention I'd seen in him before.
I was tiring sooner than usual. Maverick's odd behavior, was probably disrupting my concentration, I thought. I waggled my foot to signal Maverick to let me down.
But Maverick just kept staring at me. I angrily waggled my foot again, and reached out with my leg to try to kick Maverick, but he was standing just out of reach.
My heart suddenly raced; I could feel its beat throbbing in my neck. He's going to kill me!
My last kick had twisted me so that I could see Marshall out of the corner of my eye.
Marshall! Give me some help now! I can't die now! I've got to graduate, I've got to get to my show!
I rolled my head frantically, trying not only to breathe but somehow to call out for help. There were other boys so near, just on the other side of the walls on either side of the room. I couldn't seem to make any louder sound than a light choking noise that seemed hopelessly muted, too soft to penetrate the walls, and too similar to the sounds all the boys made at some point while hanging to be interpreted as a sound of distress anyway. I struggled meanwhile to free my hands, but Maverick, despite his fumbling, had my wrists securely wrapped in rope.
In twisting toward Marshall, I had lost sight of Maverick. In a way that was good — I didn't have to watch that maddening intense stare, and the immobility of the only person who could save me. I tried blindly kicking back toward where I thought Maverick should be standing, but he was still too far out of range.
I could only look helplessly at Marshall. The room seemed to revolve, yet Marshall was still in view. It must just be dizziness. I wasn't even sure my legs were moving anymore.
A slight haze clouded my vision, but I was suddenly aware that Maverick was standing right next to me, reaching up toward me with his arm. Though my face and neck were feeling numb, I could sense that Maverick's fingertips were lightly on my neck. Like he's taking my pulse, I thought... no, not like that. That is what he's doing. He wants to know when I die.
Marshall!! I screamed in my mind. Give me some strength for just one second!!
I lashed sideways with my foot, catching Maverick in the stomach and sending him stumbling backwards onto his bed with an astonished look on his face, his shoulder thumping loudly on the wall. I bent my head back as hard as I could, putting all the pressure I could on the back of my neck and managed, finally, a loud choking "Arrgh!" sound.
That's all I can do, I thought miserably, all hope fading out along with my energy. The redness closed in, and sound vanished. Unexpectedly the thought flashed through my head: I never told Daddy to make sure Scott gets some of my fur! Then everything went away.
I felt lips covering mine, forcing air into my lungs. I jerked and started coughing, and heard a triumphant voice shout, "He's awake!"
I opened my eyes, squinting against the bright light in the ceiling, and felt the floor spin around under my back. I saw it had been Brian kissing me — no... giving me mouth to mouth. Nothing personal.
My hip and the back of my head hurt. My neck ached, and I tried to reach up with my hand to soothe it, but my wrists were still tied, my arms pinned under my back as I lay on them. I closed my eyes to stop the spinning, and became aware of being addressed. Brian's voice, worried. "Wynn? Wynn? Can you hear me?"
I decided it was important to answer. "Wha... Okay... yeah." I breathed deeply, feeling my head begin to clear.
"Wynn... Do you know where you are?"
I gave him a faint smile. "Academy."
"Do you know what day it is?"
I tried to get my brain up to full speed. "Had... A&P class s'afternoon. I guess it's Wednesday. Can't be Friday. I'd be happier."
I opened my eyes. Things in the room seemed more stable now, and I could see the relieved grin on Brian's face. Surrounding me was a circle of boys, as many as could fit in the room, and behind them more boys in a line stretching to the doorway and into the hallway. The noose lay in a loose tangle on the floor beside Brian. Maverick was sitting on his bed with his arms folded, biting his lip, looking scared.
Brian straightened up into a kneeling position beside me. Gil stood behind Brian, his arms held out to try to keep the boys on that side back. He said grimly, "Okay, who found him?"
Jem, from the room next door, nervously raised his hand. "I was in my room, and I heard this banging noise, and then some other weird noise. Then it stopped. I... I waited to see if there was anything else, so I could figure out what was going on..." He looked miserably at me, his ears down as far as they would go. "I'm sorry, Wynn, I know I should have come in sooner."
I struggled and at last sat up awkwardly. "Could somebody untie my hands?"
Brian quickly bent to do that, and I reached up to my neck and coughed again. The throbbing feeling was already receding. My fingers brushed the smooth metal of my Academy slave collar, and I drew strength from it. I'm alive! I can still graduate! I can go out the way an Academy Boy is supposed to!
Gil looked at Jem. "Was he hanging when you found him?"
Jem gulped and nodded, his ears still down. "H-he was just limp. You know, unconscious. And..."
Gil's jaw clenched. "And where was Maverick during all this?" Gil was clearly mystified as to how anything like this could have happened.
"He..." Jem pointed at Maverick. "He was just standing there, with his hand on Wynn's neck. He wasn't doing anything else. I ran over to the wall and hit the release button." A tear rolled down Jem's cheek. I suddenly realized that was why my head and hip hurt — from the fall to the floor.
Brian bolted suddenly to his feet. "What???" He stared at Maverick, his jaw hanging loose. "Anybody else see that?"
Darin raised his hand, visibly shaking. "I - I was right behind Jem. Then I went and got you guys."
Maverick stood, wringing his hands, his voice quivering. "Look, I was just trying to..."
Gil snapped at him, "Save it!" He was visibly shaking with anger. "You can tell it to the Dean tomorrow. If you were about to say why you were doing it, I don't think that's going to matter. He'll have to approve, but I think he'll agree with me this is a clear Level 2 violation. For now I want you to follow me to the detention room."
Maverick stood up, his breath now coming in quick pants. His tail was tucked between his legs, almost touching his sheath. A stream of urine flowed down from his cock. "N-no, please, wait..."
Level 2. The threat in the back of every student's mind. Not that any of them constantly fretted about it, nor even gave it much conscious thought — they were all sure they could never do anything that bad. But Maverick had done it, to a point beyond the possibility of any explanation saving him. And it looked to me as though Maverick, for all his usual obliviousness to the consequences of his actions, seemed to understand that now.
Tomorrow, following the Dean's approval, Maverick would be executed.
Maverick would be led from detention to an adjoining room. He would be clothed in a loose-fitting, generic gray jumpsuit, his pretty Academy slave collar taken away from him and replaced with a dull generic slave collar. In the middle of that room, his hands would be tied behind him in the usual way, and his feet as well — there would be no sensual kicking — and he would be blindfolded. A noose would be secured around his neck. All witnesses except the designated executioner and the Dean would leave the room. The trap door would then open under Maverick's feet, and he would plunge downward eight feet, a long drop into a darkened room beneath the execution chamber. The rope would stop his fall suddenly, breaking his neck. No one would see his actual hanging — that was the most fearsome feature of all to any Academy student, who lived for the day he could perform his last dance in front of an enthralled audience. There would be no dance, no performance, no culmination of all his training. There would simply be a quick death.
Afterwards, his body would be given to a furrier, and his fur would be turned into decorative pieces, none identifiable as him. His head and bones would be reduced to ashes. No Hall of Honor niche for him.
Everything he had dreamed of, every shred of honor he had sought as an Academy Boy — all of this was lost. The Academy did not even so much as record the names of the boys in the past who had earned this punishment. They were written out of the history of the Academy.
I found I was looking at Marshall, as I always did when I felt a need for guidance. I found myself opening my mouth. "Gil... It was my idea."
Gil whipped around to stare at me. "Wh... What?"
I kept my eyes fixed on Gil's, understanding what I was doing, barely knowing what my words were going to be until they were out of my mouth. "I asked him to let me go until I passed out. I wanted to see... you know, how long."
Gil continued staring at me, completely unable to speak. Maverick looked equally stunned, wide-eyed, jaw slack. All of the boys around me, who had been looking at Maverick in astonishment, had shifted that same look to me — except for Jack, who shot me an exasperated look, his jaw clenched and his head shaking slightly. Jack knew exactly what had happened and what I was now doing.
I... was still trying to decide exactly why I was doing it. I had no worries that Maverick's death sentence would be transferred to me. I had suddenly changed a case of Attempted Murder to Teenagers Being Really Stupid. I had saved Maverick's life, at the expense of exposing myself to the lesser punishment that was about to come. I knew what that would be. I tried to understand what made Maverick worth it.
Brian caught Gil's eye, held up one finger and then used it to gesture back and forth toward Maverick and me. Gil nodded and cleared his throat. "As dorm parents, Brian and I don't need the Dean's approval to declare a Level 1 violation. Intentionally experimenting with hanging to the point of unconsciousness without prior approval from higher authority is a clear violation." He brushed Brian's arm. "Bri, would you secure the dorm and shut down the systems? I'll get the key to open up the equipment closet and get them set up." He turned to face the students clustered around the half of the room nearest the door. "Everybody, out of this room and back to your own. Wynn, Maverick, stay here until I come back."
Like toothpaste being slowly squeezed from a tube, the students made their way out of the room, followed by Brian and Gil.
Maverick, still pale and wide-eyed, his voice shaking, started out, "Wynn, I..."
I glared at him, my jaw clenched, held up my hand, palm out, and shook my head. At first sight of the expression on my face, he froze. We waited in silence for Gil to return.
I had to keep telling myself, I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't do anything wrong. It didn't help. I still felt paralyzed with shame — not that I could move anyway.
Gil had returned with the key to the closet at the far end of the corridor, beyond the last dorm room, and pulled out two punishment stocks, one for Maverick, one for me. I was secured in mine now, bent over at the waist, my neck thrust through a hole just big enough for it between the two wooden boards that were now locked together, my wrists similarly held in smaller holes in the boards on either side of my head. I was standing on my feet, with my ankles held in holes about a foot apart between another two wooden boards.
Maverick was secured the same way next to me, facing the same direction, toward the back wall of the corridor. Behind us, I heard the murmured conversations of the other students, waiting to take their turns participating in the punishment. Not seeing them should have helped, but didn't — it only served to make me that much more self-conscious, knowing they were looking, in some cases giggling, at my exposed, vulnerable butt, as I helplessly mooned all of them. We had both been naked for practice anyway, which saved a small amount of time — the Level 1 punishment was always received naked.
The worst part, I thought, was having to suck on the handle of the paddle that the boys would be using, making sure my mouth didn't drop it. There would be added punishments if I did.
Gil had pulled up a chair and sat to Maverick's left, and announced, "Okay, everything's ready. I'm going to keep time, for now —Bri, could you take over about halfway through?" Obtaining assent, Gil went on, "Okay, who's first?"
Gil waved his arms to quiet the hubbub his question had created. "Let's go in order of room numbers, back to front. You guys just decide who goes first from your room. I want to do three minute intervals. That will get us done in about three hours. So it'll be awhile before we get to the front rooms. While you're waiting for your turns you can go back to your rooms, or you're welcome to stay and watch if you want."
I couldn't hear anyone leaving. All fifty-five boys would be watching, at least for now. My sense of shame and embarrassment flared up again, full-force. I had never before been punished for anything, at any school I had ever been to. It wasn't in my nature to get into any sort of trouble. And certainly I'd never been to a school that offered a punishment resembling this.
But I'm not just a student now. I'm a slave. I loved being owned by the Academy, but slavery did have its drawbacks.
Gil spoke again. "Okay, room 29. Who's first?"
I groaned. Things were already bad enough, but they were now about to get worse.
Gabriel, a Corgi I didn't yet know very well, came around me to the front. As required, I lifted up my head to "present" the paddle, and he took it out of my mouth, looked at me sourly as he wiped a bit of spit from the handle, and took it back behind me . I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth, but couldn't stifle the yelp of pain as the paddle slapped stingingly against my buttock. Gaby came back around with the paddle, and I said to Gaby, as required, "I'm sorry." Gaby nodded and replaced the paddle in my mouth before moving over to Maverick and repeating the process.
It was hard to tell, since the physical sensation was absent, but I thought the slapping sound of the paddle against Maverick's buttock was louder than the one for me, and that Maverick's squeak of pain was louder than mine. That was some comfort, anyway.
Gil watched three minutes tick off on his watch before letting Gaby's roommate take a turn.
Brian had locked the doors of the dorm, so that none of the boys could leave to go to the caf for a snack, or to one of the rec rooms, or the library, or the other dorms where they might have friends. He had also turned off the entertainment system. All of the boys were missing any favorite TV shows for that night, couldn't watch a chosen movie, nor even listen to music. All of the boys were being punished for what Maverick and I had done, although to a less painful degree than we were. This ensured that every boy was pissed off, some more than others. And they all had just two targets on which to take out their irritation at the unfairness of their loss of privileges — the two of us, who were responsible for it.
In any case, every boy was required to participate. If any boy administered an especially light, token swat, Gil could require him to give the rule violator another, more sincere one.
The fifth boy to take a turn was Jack. I felt an especially strong surge of shame that a close friend could see me this way — I held up the paddle for Jack to take, but closed my eyes to avoid looking at him.
I tensed again as Jack went behind me, preparing my already-sore buttocks for another swat. I flinched as I felt something tap against my butt, and then heard the loud slap accompanied by a harder bump against me, but there was no pain to go with it. I realized that Jack had used my body to shield his actions from Gil and the others, put the back of his hand against my butt, then hit his own hand with the paddle. I was grateful: Jack's palm must really sting like hell right now. I resolved to do something very nice for Jack the first chance I got.
Eric and Shaw did the same thing Jack had done — I knew that Shaw felt he owed me so much that this was the least he could do.
Of course, none of the boys did that for Maverick, and Maverick gasped in pain as Jack, Eric, and — even harder — Shaw gave Maverick his swats.
Unfortunately, the conspiracy of Jack, Eric, and Shaw didn't seem to have spread any farther — the boys knew they were exposing themselves to a possible violation of their own by defrauding the dorm parents during a punishment. Once Room 27 had completed its participation, the real swats started again.
My face was awash in tears as the punishment went on, the pain in my buttocks going deeper and lasting longer between swats as time went on, and at last becoming continuous. I tried to get my mind off my humiliation by thinking over what I would say to Maverick after this was over. My anger at Maverick burned as redly as my buttocks, and I kept my eyes on Maverick, except when I was offering the paddle to each boy in succession. Maverick kept his face turned away after his first look at my expression.
I had no need to keep count: I knew who occupied most of the rooms and could easily track the painfully slow progression to Room 1. After three endless hours it was over. Brian had taken over supervising, so Gil went down to unlock the dorm doors. Brian released me from the stocks, then Maverick.
I groaned, my hands pushing against the small of my back as I straightened up from my bent over position. A few seconds later Maverick did too. All the rest of the boys had retreated to their rooms, or had taken advantage of their regained freedom to go somewhere else more entertaining, despite the late hour — by now it was after 11 pm.
Maverick looked apologetically at me, started to speak, and seemed to realize we were in a place a little too public for that. He started toward our room, but froze as I barked "No!"
I walked down the corridor, past our room and the contrite-looking Maverick, and growled a tense "Come with me" at him.
Maverick blinked. "Let me get some clothes on, at least."
I stopped, turned, glared at him, and hissed through gritted teeth, "Come with me!" I spun back around and continued down the hallway, without looking to see if Maverick was following. He owed me far too much to argue with me now.
We walked on without words, and I led Maverick to the Hall of Honor. The cleaning staff was long gone. We could be alone here for hours.
I yanked the door open and walked in, moving past the revered heads to a place where two aisles of heads were visible at once, and snarled over my shoulder, "Close the door!"
Maverick shakily pulled the door closed and approached me. He hurriedly started speaking. "Wynn, I can explain..."
"Bet you can't!"
Maverick was talking so quickly the words ran together. He probably knew I would cut him off soon and he wanted to get in as much as possible. "I was reading about the carotids and of course the rope cuts off the flow of blood but I saw all those studies were done a long time ago and I couldn't find any that involved boys with Academy training and I thought maybe with the sort of muscular development Hanging Boys get in their necks it might be possible that some blood was getting through and there might even be some new exercises we could do that would make the flow even stronger so we could last longer..."
"And you thought you'd test out your theory on me without even asking?!"
"Would you have said yes?"
"Of course not, because the whole thing is nuts, and there's no way I'd risk my life..."
"It wasn't a risk, I was like two seconds from hitting the release button when Jem came busting in..."
"Look where we are!"
Maverick blinked. "What?"
"Look around you. See where we are?"
"Well, yeah, but what..."
"I wanted you surrounded by boys who are better than you."
Maverick looked irritated. "Better how? They couldn't have been better at hanging or they wouldn't be here..."
"They're better anthros! And they're better students, too! They knew what the Academy was about! You're headed toward ending up in this room..." I stopped for a moment to seethe, and continued, my voice rough with fury, "...and I can't stand to think of somebody like you in here. These boys deserve their honor!"
Maverick stared at me. He moved his mouth wordlessly for a moment, and finally managed to sputter out, "I'm not going to be here! I'm going to graduate!"
"No, I don't think so. You don't even know how thin the thread is you're hanging from."
Maverick's eyes shot open in panic. "Y-you're going to tell the dorm parents what really happened?"
"It's a little late for that, isn't it? If I admit I lied to them to cover up, I'd be in as much trouble as you'd be!"
"Look, Wynn, I understand you're really, really mad. I never thought the thing would blow up like this, and I'm really sorry. Could we go back to the room, calm down, get some sleep and talk about it in the morning?"
I shook my head violently. "We're not going back to the room until you convince me I should still take the risk of being your roommate."
Maverick held up his hands, trying to find some gesture that might have the calming influence his words did not. "If that's a problem, I can try to find somebody else to room with..."
"Are you kidding?! Who the hell else would room with you now? Look, there are boys in this school who know me a lot better than you do, and I know for a fact they've figured out what really happened. They know I'm not stupid enough to do what I said I did, and too stupid to let you hang for what you did. They're going to spread the story around, and no matter what the official version is, every boy in this school is going to know what you did."
Maverick looked stunned. "B-but... I'll explain to them what I was trying to do. It was really stupid, I'm sorry, I'll never do anything like that again..."
I threw up my hands. "You idiot! After all this you still don't even know what rule you broke! With all your reading, did you miss that part of the handbook? Never thought any of that would apply to you?"
"What are you talking about?"
I pounded my thigh to emphasize each word. "You... Betrayed... My... Trust!!! Every boy who's hanging trusts his partner because he has no control over his own life! When I tell you I want down, I expect to be let down! I have to have that trust. Right now you have to tell me why I should. I guarantee nobody else trusts you now. If you want to keep living, you'd better start convincing."
Maverick shook his head. "The teachers know how good I am. Everybody does. They aren't going to want to lose me. They'll train me alone, I can get practice with the teachers..."
"No, because no matter how good you are, as soon as they figure out what all the students think of you, they'll know what I already know, and you'll be hanged at the next demo!"
"What do you mean? What do you know?"
My clenched hands shook at my sides. "That you're a cancer at the Academy! You've already got most of the boys doubting their own abilities, from all that crap you do in class. They'd be learning more if you hadn't already convinced them they can't. And now you've showed them that a partner might not be trusted. What if they start wondering that about their own roommates? 'Can I really trust him with my life?' How can they keep doing hanging practice if they're worried about that? You're a disease that's spreading its way through the student body."
Maverick's face, so recently streaked with tears during the punishment, was wet again with a new flow of them. "S-so why did you save my life, if you think that?"
I closed my eyes. "I don't know. It was a mistake. It's too late to take it back. I think I was thinking you could be the best Hanging Boy ever, but you can't. You're the best in our class right now, but others will get better while you coast on the plateau."
Maverick thrust out his jaw defiantly. "I will be the best ever!"
"No! Because you keep yourself totally outside the process, the learning process. I know you won't ever be as good as Marshall. He kicked for thirty-one minutes! You'll never get there!"
Maverick's eyes flew open wide. "Thirty-one is impossible!"
I poked my chest with three fingers. "I was there, remember? I watched him do it! And you know why he could do it? Because he shared with everybody around him. He taught the other boys, he learned from them — from his roommate and everybody else. That's what you don't do, and that's why you'll never be the best. All you're going to do is bring the Academy down. It's going to crash and burn because of you."
Maverick shook his head. "You're overstating it so much..."
"Am I? What happens when our class graduates, and they do crappy shows because you shot down their confidence in themselves and their trust in their partners? What happens when people don't want to pay for Academy Boys because they just aren't as good as they used to be? You know how much it costs to train us for three years, feed us, entertain us, do everything they do for us? How can they do that if they can't sell us at the end?"
Maverick was shaking. "That's not going to happen!"
"Don't tell me! Tell them!" I waved my arm to indicate the dozens of heads visible from where we stood. "What's going to happen to them when the Academy closes? When everything they died for is gone?"
I was about to go on, but I suddenly realized I had finally said something that got through. Maverick was whipping his head left and right, his eyes blinking rapidly, his breath rasping.
Maverick suddenly threw his arms up to his face, covering his head as if the ceiling was collapsing on it. He sank to his knees, saying shakily, "Stop looking at me! Stop looking at me!"
I wasn't sure what was going on. I opened my mouth to remind Maverick I'd already seen him naked dozens of times, but realized that Maverick wasn't addressing me.
Maverick was talking to the heads.
Maverick curled up further against myself, into an almost fetal kneeling position, shouting in a steadily more panicked voice, "Stop looking at me!! Stop looking at me!!"
I was glad to finally see some sign that Maverick could be reached. I reacted instinctively, reaching down to pull Maverick into a half-crouch by his armpits and pulling him at a stumbling run farther down the back corridor of the room, past the last occupied aisle and into a not-yet-used area. I stopped and Maverick sank back down to his knees, still repeating the "stop looking" litany, I knelt in front of him and, with an effort, pulled his arms away from his head. "Maverick! Look at me! They can't see you from here! It's okay! Open your eyes and look. They can't see you!" I slapped gently at Maverick's cheek, then harder until he finally jerked back, opening his eyes and looking around and his hyperventilation gradually came under control.
I held Maverick's eyes for a moment. Then his face crumpled, he threw his arms around me, and buried his face against my shoulder, his body wracked with sobs. I let him cry for a long time.