Cadet 3 Read Online Free Page A

worst of it. The NCO instructors were issued
leather riding crops, and were instructed to discipline us by
beating our bare asses with them. They were allowed (allowed? encouraged !) to enter the showers while we were bathing to look
at the cadets in the nude. They were permitted to pull open our
uniforms and fondle our breasts, vulvas and rectums, as if we were
domestic animals, while we were under standing orders to remain
still they handled us. The officers were permitted to do the same,
and more. They were permitted to use us sexually in any way that
suited them: vaginally, orally, anally. If any cadet protested or
failed to satisfy any order, no matter how perverted it was, she
was punished. They brutalized us in various painful ways, with
canes, whips, metal clamps and other devices, which they used on
every part of our bodies, and they humiliated us as well. It should
go without saying that we were not permitted to communicate any of
this to our families or anyone else outside the Academy.
    The cadets were provided with some minimal
protection by General Cafferson. (Considering that he was
responsible for us being there in the first place, it was the least
he could do.) If any instructor or visiting officer went too far in
mishandling a cadet by risking serious or permanent injury to her,
the General’s wrath would fall on the malefactor. The General knew
everything that went on at High Point. (As we found out later, the
entire campus was loaded with optical and audio bugs and hidden
recording devices.) But that still gave them plenty of leeway to
abuse us sexually in all sorts of imaginative ways. This, of
course, was the whole point. We were being readied to service the
high-ranking officers to whom we would be assigned after
graduation.
    I learned how to relax my throat muscles
enough to swallow an officer’s appendage, however long it might be
and breathe through my nose, while being taken up the ass by
somebody else. We all picked up those kinds of valuable skills. All
the cadets acquired the ability to masturbate ourselves to orgasm
on command, and learned the best way to bring another woman to a
climax with our tongues, as part of the “personal services”
training at our dear old alma mater. The above brief narrative
doesn’t really do the experience of High Point justice. I could
just summarize it by saying that it was something like an eighteen
month gang-bang, with academics and drill thrown in. But I believe
the full story of the inhuman way we were misused by the Army has
been covered up long enough, so I am going to devote a full chapter
of this book to it. The next chapter will describe the program of
the NWMA in detail, and for the first time, name names. If the Army
doesn’t like it, I can only say they should have come clean on
their own a long time ago.
    The day we arrived, moments after we had
gotten off the bus, we were lined up at attention and ordered to
watch as one of our classmates was beaten nearly unconscious…
[there follows an account of the sexual and physical abuse of the
cadets at the National Women’s Military Academy at High Point
]…
    … After reading all that, you will probably
think that the Academy was the worst experience of my life.
Actually, the NWMA was the best thing that ever happened to me,
because if I hadn’t gone there, I never would have met
Robin.
    My relationship with Robin Bransom is so
notorious by now that it may be hard to believe that before I
enlisted, my sexual orientation was strictly heterosexual. I liked
boys, and I didn’t try to hide it. The night before I ran away to
join the Army, I let my best friend Bobby Arnett pop my cherry in
the loft over his garage. It was a mildly pleasant experience,
although at the time I didn’t see what the big fuss was about. I
didn’t have another sexual experience after that until I got to the
Academy, when I was double-teamed (orally and anally) by my Company
Commander and my Platoon Sergeant as an example