By Jackson Amacher
[Earlier that day…]
At Dawson Military Academy, before graduation seniors take part in a massive wargame. What it involves, no one knows. Only that it is an honor to be picked.
There are three teams, each led by three cadets with the three highest scores on an exam. Those cadets pick the other players. Less than half the senior class is selected. Anyone who makes it through gets a silver medal on their graduation uniform. Anyone on the winning team, gets gold.
One cold morning the senior class reported to duty, as instructed, in the school’s parking lot.
They all wanted gold.
Good friends Dylan and Mark laughed and nervously chatted with each other.
“I can’t believe you didn’t make the cut for captain. So unfair,” Mark told Dylan.
“Yeah, it sucks. No prize for fourth place, though,” Dylan said.
The lists of students on each team were posted.
“Aw, sucks, man. We’re on different teams,” Mark said.
“Are we? My team is huge, man. That’s a long list,” Dylan said.
“That’s me, in that tiny team, the Red team,” Mark pointed out.
Dylan looked at the names on his team. Lots of strong, powerful guys, top graduates of the military academy. Basically every jock was on Dylan’s team. Then he looked at Mark’s team. Nice guys, but lots of weaklings. Sucks for Mark, Dylan thought.
They said goodbye and split up, joining their new teams.
“Excellent job picking teams,” Dylan said to Ryan, his captain.
“Yeah, I was able to pick first, and I got to pick the most people, and the best,” Ryan said.
The referees showed up: All of them recent alumni, wearing bright orange uniforms.
“Before the competition, each of your captains picked an advantage. White team, your captain, Ryan, chose the advantage of numbers,” a referee said.
Dylan and his team nodded and high-fived each other.
“Blue team, your captain, James, chose the advantage of position. You get the best fort, on high ground,” the referee said.
The blue team didn’t look as excited by that. Their captain, James, nodded and assured them that it was a great advantage.
“Red team, your captain, Rex, chose the advantage of equipment. You get the best supplies,” the referee said.
The Red team was so small Dylan almost couldn’t make them out. Rex, their captain, was tall and athletic, but the others on his team weren’t very imposing at all. In fact, Dylan was sure his team could just overrun them.
Dylan watched as crate after crate of supplies were wheeled over to the Red team. Then a crate or two was rolled over to the Blues.
“What about us?” Dylan asked no one in particular.
Several referees came up to the White team. They set up temporary white cotton screens, like you see in field hospitals, shielding the Whites from the rest of the parking lot. Then, they walked up to the Whites, carrying empty brown paper bags.
“Each of you, take one bag, and write your name on it with a marker. Then put inside it everything you brought with you,” the referee said.
Dylan’s heart sank. So this was the price of having so many men, and the best team. He slung off his backpack, and emptied his pockets into the brown bag he was given.
“Didn’t you listen? We said everything you brought with you goes into the bag,” the referee said.
Dylan looked around and was shocked to see his fellow Whites slowly taking off their shirts.
“Are you fucking kidding me?,” Dylan said, adding his voice to the surprise and shock of his teammates.
“Hurry the fuck up! Everyone strip naked, in sixty seconds, or I’m booting you from this game right now!,” the ref shouted.
“Men! Calm down. I agreed to this. Don’t worry,” Ryan said.
Dylan knew there had to be a catch to the Whites getting so many men, and such strong, powerful men.
“Not here, in the middle of the parking lot!,” Dylan said.
“If you’re shy about people seeing you naked, then I’ve got some very bad news for you,” the ref said.
So Dylan had no choice. He stripped, yielded his clothes, and covered his junk with his hands. Referees moved around them, collecting the brown paper bags, and walking away with everything the Whites had.
Meanwhile, the other teams had gathered on the other side of those white screens. The screens were only about four-and-a-half feet high, so anyone who stood close enough could see everything.
“Hey Dylan. You’re kind of underdressed for the situation, aren’t you?,” said Rex, the captain of the Red team.
“Laugh it up. You’ll all be our prisoners soon,” Dylan said to Rex.
But Dylan felt vulnerable, and deeply uneasy being naked in front of his fellow cadets. And being teased by Rex really got to him.
Dylan and Rex had been rivals for a long time. All through the academy, they had been neck in neck in competition after competition. In fact, Dylan and Rex had both tried hard to become captains in this wargame. But Rex had scored just a few points higher; Dylan had fourth place.
And now, Dylan thought, that few points meant the world. It meant that Dylan was naked and shivering in the cold morning air, while Rex was smiling, wearing a comfortable uniform, and seemingly holding all the cards.
Mark, with Red stripes now on his uniform sleeve, tried to comfort Dylan.
“Maybe this is just for the beginning of the game. Like, maybe you can make yourself a loincloth, out of an animal skin or something,” Mark said.
Buses and trucks pulled into the parking lot. Two sleek black SUVs pulled up near the Reds. A modern minibus pulled up near the Blues. And an old yellow school bus pulled up near the Whites.
“Get in!,” the referees shouted.
“What the fuck? Get into the bus naked? Where are our uniforms?,” Dylan asked.
“Your captain chose the advantage of being able to pick the largest team, and the best players,” the referee said. “That happens every year, and by the way, the biggest and strongest team usually wins. Although, your captain went further than any captain ever had before. He gave up the right to you guys taking any equipment at all into the park. That means you all head in naked.”
Dylan watched as his fellow naked Whites, their heads bowed, their face cheeks red with embarrassment, boarded the sad yellow school bus. He bowed his own head and began to follow. But as he turned he felt a spank on his bare, unprotected ass.
“Have a good ride, Dylan. See you in the game,” Rex said, and blew him a kiss.
The White team boarded their bus. But they didn’t leave first; their better-equipped Red and Blue rivals took off first. Then, slowly, their bus pulled out of the parking lot. The driver announced at the beginning that the ride would be two hours.
The gigantic White team was packed into the school bus. Dylan sat uneasily next to a large naked cadet, their sweaty and hairy legs uncontrollably pressed against each other. Within minutes, the heat that radiated off a bus full of naked, muscular men built up. There was no air conditioning and the windows did not open. The stench of sweat floated through the stagnant air.
Dylan felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. It was his friend, Charlie.
“This is bullshit,” Charlie said, as sweat dripped down his forehead.
“Ryan screwed up. He traded away too much,” Charlie said.
“No shit,” Dylan said, motioning to his own naked body.
“Did you see how Ryan was walking around, laughing and enjoying himself? He gets off on this,” Charlie said.
Dylan was actually amused to see Charlie naked. Anyone who had been to a swim meet had seen most of Charlie’s body, already. A photographer who was covering one of the meets took a photo of Charlie once, and it went viral. The light caught Charlie just right, and accentuated his abs. It also accentuated a bulge in his speedos. In fact, it kind of looked like the photographer caught Charlie at… a moment of excitement. Something lots of people on Instagram noticed. Charlie hated the whole thing. But, Dylan knew from experience, swimmers hated being naked. In the locker room, they even showered with their Speedos on. It’s as if keeping their dicks to themselves was the one frontier of modesty that they preserved.
The driver/referee began speaking into the intercom. For the first time, the cadets were being told the rules of their wargame.
It turned out, the rules were simple. The exercise lasts two days. Each team has a fort. Each fort has a prison. The winning team is the one that has the most prisoners in its prison at the end of the two days.
“There’s a medical clinic if you get injured,” the driver mentioned.
Dylan thought about what that meant. That meant this would be brutal. Men grabbing each other, wrestling, even beating each other into submission to take captives.
Dylan looked around him again. He saw a huge group of muscular men. Dylan was on the wrestling team, and had been training to learn MMA. Dylan was starting to feel better.
Now their captain, Ryan, was speaking. Ryan stood at the front of the bus, one hand hanging onto the bus shelf and the other holding the microphone, his dick casually swaying as he stood and talked.
“Men, we are going to pulverize them!” Ryan said.
The Whites cheered.
“We’ll take the Reds first. We outnumber them almost ten-to-one. We’ll surround them. Smash them. Steal their superior equipment. Strip them naked, and take their clothes!,” Ryan shouted.
The Whites responded with even louder cheers.
“Then, with those arrogant Reds tied up naked in our prison, we’ll turn our superior numbers and superior equipment on the Blues, trapping them in their own fort. We may not take any of them prisoner, but they won’t take any of us, and that means we win!,” Ryan shouted.
More cheers. The guys in the bus were totally pumped.
Charlie tapped Dylan on the shoulder again.
“You know that plan is fucking insane, right?,” Charlie asked Dylan.
“You know we have to do something, right?,” Charlie asked.
The old school bus couldn’t go faster than 40 miles per hour. But Dylan felt it start to slow down. He looked out the window and saw flashing red and blue lights.
The driver slowed the bus and started to pull over. He took the intercom back from Ryan.
“Everyone calm down, this is probably just about a broken tail light or something,” the driver said.
“Hell of a time to get pulled over,” Dylan said, to no one in particular.
“Think they’ll strip-search us?,” Charlie asked.
Dylan didn’t laugh at the stupid joke.
A second police car pulled up on the highway; now there was one behind and in front of the bus. The bus and cars drove for another mile, and then the police cars ordered the bus to take the next exit.
They pulled up into a large truck stop.
The policeman’s voice, strong and authoritative, blared from the loudspeakers mounted on the top of his patrol car:
“GET OUT OF THE BUS WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR. EVERYONE.”
Bright lights shone through the windows. The announcement kept repeating, blocking out all other sound.
“Get out? We’re naked, in here!” Charlie shouted.
Dylan was sitting toward the back of the bus. The emergency exit at the back opened, and Dylan saw a cop in full riot gear, complete with vest and helmet, waving a baton.
“Move! Get out of the bus!” he was shouting.
The Whites piled out of their bus as fast as they could, stumbling as they both tried to shield their dicks from view and also get off the steep bus steps. As they exited, bright lights shone in their faces, and the command on the speaker changed:
“DOWN! LIE FLAT DOWN ON THE GROUND!”
Everything was too sudden, too loud, too bright, too confusing, for Dylan to realize what was going on. He felt himself being pushed by hands to lie down. Then, a few minutes later, he felt someone grabbing his wrists behind his back, raising them to his shoulder blades, and tying them together with something.
Helpless, Dylan lay naked on the ground. His mind raced. Why would cops be doing this?
Then, as Dylan lay there, he felt a sharp, sudden, spank on his bare, helpless ass, and laughter. Someone was pulling him up now, and forcing him to kneel.
Soon Dylan’s entire team was like that, naked, hands bound behind their backs, and kneeling. The lights were still shining in their face, but they could hear the voice of their driver arguing:
“…completely outrageous… no right to do this… hey, what the fuck–!”
Then, suddenly, a baton. Someone was swinging a baton at Dylan’s helpless head. He braced himself for impact but the baton stopped short of his head. Whoever held it moved it under Dylan’s chin, and used it to lift Dylan’s head up.
Then the lights dimmed, and Dylan saw him.
“Hello, slave,” said Rex.
Before he could shout an insult, someone jammed a gag into Dylan’s mouth. Dylan saw a white box truck pulling up into the parking lot. Then he was blindfolded.
The ride in the box truck was long and miserable. Forced to stand like cattle, their dicks and butts rubbing against other guys, the naked Whites could barely breathe from the heat and lack of oxygen.
Dylan managed to rub his blindfold on some dude’s shoulder, and it lifted up off his eye. Didn’t do him much good, though, because it was still pitch black in the truck.
Dylan could feel that the truck was going off-road. The ride got bumpier. But then the truck came to a stop. All around him, Dylan heard the muffled, protested grunts of gagged Whites furious at their situation.
“Slaves in the truck, be silent,” came a voice on the loudspeaker.
It wasn’t Rex, Dylan realized. He recognized the voice. It was a cadet. He strained to think of who it was…
“One by one, leave that truck, prostrate yourself on the ground, and lick the boot of your master and Supreme Leader, Rex. Swear to him that you will obey and serve the Reds. And then, receive your reward,” repeated the voice.
The truck doors opened and Dylan gulped in the sweet, wonderful, cool fresh air. He realized that he was now standing fairly close to the back of the truck.
But as Dylan’s eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he was shocked at what he saw outside.
He knew now whose voice that was, commanding them to come outside and prostrate themselves before Rick.
Standing outside the truck was a line of cadets. Each was naked except for what looked like a jock strap around their junk. They stood nervously, clearly uncomfortable.
It was the Blue team. All of it. Enslaved. And the voice on the loudspeaker talking about “Supreme Leader, Rex” was none other than the Blue captain, James, his head slouched, his eyes defeated, his body clad in a tiny piece of humiliating underwear.
To be continued …
Metal would like to thank the author, Jackson Amacher, for this story, which is posted here with his permission. If you enjoy this story as much as I do, be sure to leave feedback in the comments section!