SATURDAY DETENTION PART 2
It was 3 o'clock on a bright and sunny Spring afternoon, and Tommy stopped
at his locker just long enough to throw his books in and take off for the
weekend. He couldn't believe his eyes when he opened the locker door and saw
the pink slip hanging inside. "SATURDAY DETENTION," it said in big
bold letters. "Report to Coach Cunningham at 9 am tomorrow for Saturday
detention. Failure to comply will be grounds for suspension."
Tommy instinctively grabbed his abs as he remembered the beating he received at his last Saturday detention. Instead of detention, four of the biggest, brawniest seniors in the school had worked his gut muscles and put him through an hour of pure torture. What did he do to deserve another round of that? But Tommy knew that skipping detention and getting suspended would mean he'd be cut from the wrestling team, and with it his dreams of a scholarship and a good college.
Tommy got to the gym at 9 pm the next morning and was surprised to find three of his friends waiting outside the door. All sophomores like himself, there was Jack from the swim team;
Rory, the only sophomore to make varsity basketball this year; and Devon, the class president and pretty much the most popular kid in their class. "Anybody know what we're doing here," Tommy asked. "Got me," said Devon. "All I know is that I got a detention slip," added Jack. "I never get detention," said Devon. "This has got to be a mistake. As soon as they open the door, I'm going to get it straightened out."
Jack - Rory - Devon
Just then the door opened. Tommy was not that surprised to see it was Bob, the captain of the wrestling team, and one of his tormentors from his first Saturday session. He was shirtless in his wrestling sweats and perspiring heavily. "Get in the locker room and get changed, pukes," he barked. "Something's wrong with the heat, it's like a sauna in here, so no shirts, just shorts, jocks, and gym shoes. Now beat it!"
Devon started to say something but Bob cut him off before he got a word
out. "You too, Mr. President. No favorites here!"
The boys hustled into the gym, quickly changed, and came back into the gym. It really was hot and humid in there, like a steam pipe had broken or something. Tommy, Rory, and Jack were shirtless, as told. Devon was wearing a wifebeater.
Tommy looked at the other guys. Not bad, he thought. In fact, he realized that they were probably the three handsomest guys in their class. Jack had a long, narrow swimmer's build, with firm pecs and narrow hips, and long, muscular legs. Rory was a beanpole, a good six inches taller than the other guys, with wide shoulders and muscular arms, but a long, skinny frame with flat pecs and a tight stomach. He could see that Devon had a nice build too, although none of them were as cut as Tommy, who worked out religiously and prided himself in his rock-hard eight-pack abs.
Bob came out of the coach's office with three other seniors in tow. "Line up!" he barked. The boys quickly shuffled into a straight line. Bob walked over to Devon. "You don't hear so good, do you?" he growled. He grabbed the front of Devon's wifebeater and ripped it off his chest. Devon looked startled but quickly pulled the shreds of shirt off his back and shoulders and threw them on the floor. Tommy looked over and was surprised to see that Devon's abs were the equal of his own, a tightly knotted eightpack of rippling muscle under firm, grapefruit sized pecs. "That's better," said Bob. "Do what you're told and there won't be any trouble. Now each of you will be assigned a mentor - that's one of us - who will put you through a series of exercises. That'll be your detention."
The boys each paired off with one of the seniors, who quickly put them to work. Devon was told to start doing situps, Tommy had to do squat thrusts, Rory did pushups, and Jack started to do pullups on a chinning bar. The boys worked up royal sweat until their muscles ached and they couldn't do anymore. Then they switched places and each did another exercise. This continued until all four had done the complete set of workouts.
When they were done, the boys were told to line up again; they were soaked in sweat, their hair matted to their heads as if they'd been swimming. Each sighed heavily, trying to get his breath. The four seniors huddled as if comparing notes and then Bob turned to address the boys. "You all did okay except for the chinups," he said. "You're all a bunch of pussies, not one of you passed that test. So we're going to give you a little extra training." But first I want you to take some water. I don't want anybody passing out from the heat. Water bottles were passed around and each of the boys took big gulps. The water had a strange metallic taste, but they were all so thirsty that they barely noticed.
The boys were marched to the center of the big gymnasium, where two sets of gymnastic rings had been lowered from the ceiling. On each of the four rings was some sort of apparatus. "Go stand by a ring," Bob barked. The boys did so and had their wrists shackled by leather manacles, so that each boy had his wrists attached to one ring. Slowly the sound of machinery could be heard as the rings were raised back toward the ceiling. The boys wrists were lifted over their heads and then lifted off the floor by several inches. "Now we'll see what kind of balls you little sissies have," Bob said. With that, he and the other seniors walked off to the coach's office, leaving the boys dangling by their wrists.
At first, hanging there was merely uncomfortable. But soon their muscles started to ache. The dull aches soon turned to searing pain. Time ticked away slowly, the pain growing in intensity to a throbbing agony. Tommy didn't think he could take another second and was about to cry out and beg to be let down, but then a strange thing happened. Just as he reached the edge of his endurance, the pain turned into a bright white light and then disappeared into a miasma of colors. Tommy felt like he was floating above the gym floor. He looked down and saw himself standing there naked, his skin shimmering with sweat. He was surrounded by dozens of other boys, all naked like himself. He realized it was the entire sophomore class. They rushed him, but as if in a kung fu movie, Tommy deftly tossed them aside, taking each one on with a perfectly executed kick, punch, or wrestling move, until he had decimated the entire room.
At that point, the world disappeared into darkness and Tommy suddenly snapped his eyes open. He was back in the gym again, still hanging by his wrists next to his friends. The four seniors were standing in front of them, all naked, and behind them was the Coach, clad in a black leather codpiece with leather straps crisscrossing his massive bare chest.
"You have been chosen as the most promising members of your class, and you have just experienced a vision quest," the coach said.
"The water you were given was dosed with a special chemical compound, a hallucinogenic drug mixed with another chemical something like Viagra. Now that you have seen your visions, you must decide if you wish to join us. If you do, your future at this school will be assured. The best grades, the best colleges, your entire future will be laid at your feet. But you must be willing to endure our tests. Now do you wish to continue."
Each of the boys feebly nodded their heads in the affirmative. They were still too dazed and in too much pain to speak, and their mouths were horribly dry.
"Good," said the couch. "Now you must be ready to reveal everything about yourself. As you can see, we hide nothing from each other - we share our minds, our souls, our bodies. Do you agree?"
The boys nodded again. The seniors each walked to one of the boys and pulled down their shorts and jocks, leaving them dangling naked. Each of the boys had a throbbingly hard, full erection, a side effect of the drug they were given.
"Now for your tests," the coach said. Someone turned on the winch and lowered the rings to the floor. The boys collapsed to their knees as their manacles were removed. They rubbed their arms, trying to restore the blood flow to their aching limbs.
"Jack, your test is to wrestle Bob. Winner by submission only. Begin."
Bob, at 185, outweighed Jack by at least fifty pounds and had several inches on him too. Bob lunged at Jack and threw his arms around his midsection in a vicious bear hug. He actually lifted Jack off his feet and squeezed with all his strength. Jack twisted and turned in agony, trying to gasp in some air and wriggle free. As both boys were naked and slick with sweat, Bob had trouble retaining a firm grip and let Jack wiggle free just enough for Jack to swing his leg up and kick him square in the genitals. Bob screamed and released his grip, letting Jack fall to the floor. Bob had both his hands cupped around his genitals, allowing Jack to throw a roundhouse kick directly into Bob's solar plexus. The big guy doubled over and Jack quickly jumped on his back, pinning Bob's arms with his legs and throwing a Cobra Clutch around his neck. Jack's strong swimmer's arms, sinewy from constant workouts, pulled on Bob's neck with devastating force and Bob submitted within seconds.
"Rory, your test will be to throw 50 free throws. For every one you miss, you will be paddled. Begin."
One of the seniors through Rory a basketball and walked him over to the freethrow line in front of one of the baskets that circled the gym. Another senior emerged from the coach's office with a wooden fraternity paddle. Rory gulped and dribbled the ball to get his bearings. Free throws were his specialty but he'd never attempted them in the nude before, especially with a raging hardon! Self-conscious and feeling awkward, he took his first shot and grimaced as it clanked off the rim. "Assume the position!" yelled the Coach. Rory bent over and grabbed his ankles, and Bob slammed his butt with the paddle. "Owww!" screamed Rory. He straighened up and focused, making ten baskets in a row. He started to relax and took his next shot, only to watch it slide around the rim and then dribble off the side. Rory bent over and took another paddling. This went on until Rory's butt was beet-red; by the time he made his 50th basket, he'd taken a dozen strokes of the paddle. But at least he was done!
"Now for you two," the coach said, looking at Devon and Tommy. "Line up with your backs against the wall and your arms fully extended to your sides." The two boys did as they were told. "Spread your legs and get yourself set." The boys complied. "Now," said the coach, "we're going to have a gutpunching contest. You will take turns being punched in the abs. The first one who lifts his arms away from the wall loses."
A cold fear washed over Tommy as he remembered the beating he'd taken last time. And how would Devon stand up to this? He wasn't even a jock, he wasn't used to having his body pushed to its limits. Bob stepped up to Tommy, made a fist, and threw a solid punch directly into his midsection. Tommy's tightened abs took the punch easily. Devon took his first punch with ease too. Another of the seniors stepped up and through a much harder roundhouse right into Tommy's gut. He abs took it but he felt it too. Devon took his punch and let out an audible groan, but kept his back flexed and his arms against the wall.
Each of the seniors took turns swinging into the sophomores' guts, sometimes bringing their fists in an uppercut into the solar plexus, other times driving a fist straight into the muscle wall of the boys' abs.
Six, ten, twelve shots. Tommy could feel his abs breaking down but he didn't want to lose this contest. He looked over at the gasping Devon, whose head was arched up to the ceiling, with vacant eyes lost in agony. But he had arched his shoulders and was keeping his arms flexed backwards to the wall somehow. Again and again, two more hard shots, and still the boys held their arms to the wall. But now Devon's head was drooping and he was gasping for breath. Tommy knew he was at his limit too. This one's gonna be it he thought, as he closed his eyes and tensed for the next blow. Sure enough, Bob swung a solid roundhouse into Tommy's bellybutton and the boy reflexively doubled over just enough to bring his arms off the wall. He collapsed to his knees and looked up to see Devon kneeling next to him, also undone by his last punch.
"It's a tie," the coach said. "You both pass the test. Congratulations. Now hit the showers."
Tommy and Devon smiled at each knowing, secure now that both would be in the school's secret society. And they also knew this would not be their last Saturday detention.