[Note: This is the first of my stories to be re-submitted to this archive in revised form. The rest will follow over the next few weeks, and some new ones will be added. I hope you like them; I am grateful to the readers who have written with comments.]
The pants and underwear came down, and the pledges lined up "at ease." These were powerful guys, many of them wrestlers and boxers on the department teams, all hopeful of making it into the the policemen's fraternity. We gave them a minute to wait for their ordeal as they stood side by side, legs apart with their hands at their backs, just as God made them; what a fine bunch of candidates.
We were gonna paddle them good, but first there was the "Chain of Brotherhood" to be observed. We had the 16 rookies form a circle. Reaching between his own legs, each man grabs the hand of the guy behind him; at the same time linking paws with his foreman, right under the dude's butt. This is a good way to embarrass 16 nude policemen! Thus linked, they were now allowed to perform the "pledge March"--1 step forward, 3 steps back--while reciting the Pledge Song.
"We are the pledging Pi Chi Guards!
We are the _f_u_c_k_-ups and Retards!
We need our Attitudes Adjusted!
Now we get our Asses Busted!
They hollered these words while marching around the circle backwards like idiots, and everyone laughed uproariously. They did look stupid and--poor bastards--and believe me, we were about to grant their wish. When they were done, we told them to deserved a round of applause and to give themselves a hand. The pledges were grinnin' ear to ear, all ruff and buff in their hairy brawn. They shook hands and slapped each other on the back like this was gonna be fun. (Yeah, it was gonna be fun alright--for us. Well hey, WE had to go through it, and now so would they!)
"Alright Gentlemen, who would like to be first for the Reception Line?" I asked.
A few chuckles rippled through the packed gymnasium, because now it was time for the fun.
"In order to assess your courage, each man is going to be challenged," I said. To my right, I indicated a double column of officers with paddles; and the audience laughed to see what form this "test" was going to take! At the end of the column stood Sergeant MacCrae with the Big Stinger, his special hazing paddle for police rookies.
"You're a fine strapping fella," I challenged one man who looked surprised.
"Well, I guess I can take a couple licks," the rookie said and stepped forward.
He was a big man with thick shoulders, built like a tank. Dave "Meat" Carlson had sailed through the academy with the instincts of a born police officer, not to mention his physical prowess. He was already serving as a peer trainer in the weight room and had made many friends in the department. But even as the older officers acknowledged his work with respect, they thought about how fun it was going to be to haze him.
"Alright Mr. Carlson, it's time to welcome you into the department. Touch your toes!"
Dave stepped up and stood forward of the first pair of officers, impatiently tapping the varnished boards over their palms. His pals were watching intently, and his best friend and workout buddy Rob Westerberg yelled out "Paddle him good!"
"Don't worry," Officer James Juarez promised. He was Dave's partner.
Now the man on Carlson's right pointed his punishment paddle at the floor. Carlson spaced his staunch legs apart and grabbed his ankles. The officer had him lift his testicles out of the way and hold them up against his body.
WHHHAPP!!
_s_h_i_t_! The long, polished pants-warmer smacked Dave's bare butt like a canon, and it was soon answered by its partner.
SWWAATT!!
Carlson straightened up quick, his dick hanging elongated and thick. "_s_h_i_t_!" he panted, as he stepped up forward of the next two policemen, still grinning like a dope. The guys in line got a great view of Carlson as he gripped his ankles at the next spanking station. The first two swats were already bright red. CRAAACK! SMAAACK!! With vigor the officers smacked him with their paddles, leaving angry imprints on his ass.
"YEEEOOWCH!!" yelled Carlson. He jumped up. His face was beet-red and his eyes watered as he stepped up to the next position, his thick tool at full mast. This was really gonna hurt!
"Good old fashioned fraternity fun!" I heard one man in the front row say to his neighbor with a grin. Both were retired officers from our precint.
The pledges watched with rapt concentration as Carlson got the treatment. He'd taken twenty swats when he reached the end of the spanking line; and silent tears were running down his cheeks as he bent to receive the "Tattoo." That was MacCrae's specialty, with the paddle he'd drilled with holes in the shape of the Greek Pi Chi letters; it had been stingingly embossed on the bare heinies of most men in the department. It takes four or five days for the marks to disappear, too.
Now that the greenhorns had seen what was waiting for them, it was time to start the party. "Alright, pansies," I yelled, "get your butts in line for discipline!" They weren't quite as jovial now, but those strapping fellows queued up behind each other in their birthday suits, sure enough; and soon the police gymnasium was filled with the ring of deep, hearty guffaws and stinging whacks as the big naked guys were paddled through the gauntlet! O-ho, what a sight! I don't know which was redder, their faces or their BE-hinds! Throughout my years on the force I've always thought there's nothing like the sight of a man getting humbled with a hard swat--it just does the heart good. I've had the pleasure of blistering many a fine man's fanny with my paddle, too!
The audience really ate it up; of course, most of them were guys who'd had to go through the ordeal themselves and knew exactly what it felt like. You heard plenty of encouragements for the paddlers like "Get to the Seat of the problem, Sarge!!" and "Put the Pine to the Bare Behind!!" Yup, hazing is alive and well in our department!
Whop! Craack! Yeeeowch!! Those officers taught the pledges what the paddle's for! They took it with yelps and curses a-plenty, and more than a few honest tears. When it was done, we lined the men up with their stinging butts and gave them the bad news.
We told them now that they had experienced the Swat Alley, they knew the punishment for failure. We explained then that to prove their skills as police officers, they were now going to demonstrate their prowess in some "Feats of Strength and Agility." Any pledge who _f_u_c_k_ed up would get paddled. We led them around a screen to another part of the gym, where we had rigged a long pole over top of a pit. The heavy pole was fastened across two high towers, thirty feet apart; and the deep pit below was full of embarrassing Jello and shave cream!
"The pledge will now exhibit his physical ability," I said. They chuckled in approval of the embarrassing consequences of defeat, eying the the penalty tank. It had a sign on it that said "Failure!" and a drawing of a bawling recruit rubbing his bare red heinie. As I've mentioned, most of these were athletic guys, and I imagine they felt pretty confident about their success. Of course, they didn't know we had greased the pole right over the Jello and cream!
"Ok, show your big brothers what you can do," I said. Carlson gave his buddy Westerberg a little swat on the seat. "Go for it, Robbie-boy!"
Westerberg didn't have to be asked twice, he darted up the tower, then leapt out to grab the pole like a big bare-butted ape with his dick hanging down. His buddies cheered him as he tore across, swinging from hold to hold as he exercised his powerful arms and shoulders--but oops, he sure wasn't expecting that slick spot, though--what's this!? his grip keeps slipping off the pole! Oh no! Oh please, no! Frantically he grasps and slaps with both hands at the curved, greased surface, but not a one will hold! None of his pals can forget the shocked, quizzical look on his face as the big man slipped from the pole and went bare ass in the humiliating penalty pit. Splurrch!!
You should have heard the roar of laughter. It was a dirty trick. We didn't feel too bad about it though! Even his buddies held their sides haw-hawing at Westerberg's expression as he realized what he was in for. The officers lined up with weapons ready, out front where everyone could see. The punishment was swift and sure. "Welcome back!" chortled the policemen as they heartily spanked, Swat! Swat! Swat!! Jello and shave cream flew as the officers put their long paddles to the seat, to the tune of Westerberg's angry grunts and yells. Smack!! Smack!! Smack!! It was a true punishment, and the officers took care to make him very, very sorry!
Next up was Connors, one of the three black officers getting hazed. He hopped up and gripped the pole, trying his hold as he hung. Geez, what a guy. A powerful build like that was a credit to the department. Hell of a nice fellow too. There he went, testing his grip with every advance. When he got to the grease, he was smart. He reached and swung himself forward, but got his hold slowly, closing his grip like a vice. Ha, he held! But what now? Two husky officers are grabbing the ends of the pole! "Hey, I think this fella needs a bath!" calls one. Now they're bouncing it, up and down as hard as they can! "One, two, three--!" they cry. Oh no!--boing, boing, boing! Connors' face wears a look of horror! Uh oh, slip--drop--Splatt! The humiliation pit has claimed a black and glistening victim!
Connors was furious as he climbed from the tank, digging goop from his armpits. Those officers were happy as clams to welcome ol' Connors back to the Swat Alley.
"Ready for a lickin', Connors?" taunted one.
"Board of Education!" yelled another, as Connors bent and held his ankles. Har, har, har; the spectators and department personnel are loving this!
WHHHACKK!!
The officers are miffed that he tried to outsmart them, and so they paddle him extra hard! "THANK YOU SIR!!" hollers Connors at every swat.
I guess I don't have to tell you every last man went in that humiliating dunk trap, and every one of them paid the penalty! They were one group of sad and messy guys when they had all had their punishment; and now we told them it was time for the Feat of Skill.
"We now test your grace and agility," I announced. We led them--dreading every step before them, if I remember MY initiation--to a roped off area with two rows of chairs on opposite sides. Each stool on the nearer side had a raw egg placed on it.
"Hands on your heads!" I ordered. "Anyone taking his hands from their proper position during this exercise will lose his bid for the fraternity. Each pledge will now select a chair!"
The glistening eggs were held upright in little cups, and now, with groans of dismay, the men could see that each had been coated with vaseline.
"Gentlemen: these sacred, mystic eggs are the honor of the Pi Chi Guards Fraternity! To uphold this honor, each man will transport one to the finish line without dropping or breaking it and deposit it on one of the chairs." Many of the subjects now turned red as they caught on to the idea: they were going to have to use their bottoms.
With evil grins, the police officers were already lining up with their paddles. Then I dropped the bomb.
"But," I said, "time is short; and to move things along, we invited Warden Buckman from the state penitentiary to provide a little motivation. Warden?"
A stocky balding man with glasses now stepped in front of the pledges with a wide, thick strap on a wooden handle.
"When a prisoner _f_u_c_k_s up in my jail," began the Warden, "he can expect a whipping."
Groans and expletives from the pledges. They recogized him as the Warden who had whipped a group of convicts in the prison gymnasium for trying to escape.
"We bring him to the Punishment Room for this," the Warden explained. "Our Punishment Room has a gallery that seats about thirty people. He gets a public whipping!"
There were sounds of hearty approval from the crowd at this declaration, and the men of the hour were starting to look mighty worried.
"We bring him out to the Punishment Stool, and make him strip. The prisoner is then fastened over the Stool for his paddling with the Strap! The usual punishment is 30 swats. As I paddle, I do my best to discipline and humiliate him in front of the witnesses. All officers in training at our facility have to take a turn over that Stool in the Punishment Room in front of the other guards, to learn about the Strap. Today I'm honored to give our new police officers a taste of this fine tradition!"
I blew the whistle then, and the spectators were treated to the sight of the sixteen big gangly gents with their hands on their heads, gingerly squatting to take their cargo. Ho ho, several had gotten it; now they were all on their way, waddling toward the line of waiting chairs. What a sight! The contorted postures were something to see, due to the great care they were taking. In any case, it certainly provided a line of perfect, slow-moving targets for the Warden! Whoosh...Thwwaaak!!
The first swat landed square across Carlson's butt. His eyes popped wide in alarm, but he kept his balance and kept going. The thickset Warden, a gleam in his eye, now began swatting the big man across the course; and he had the beefy dude waddling at top speed with his thick boner slapping his belly, tears streaming down his face, as Buckman encouraged him on with the ol' Prison Paddle! Swwat! Swwat! Swwat! Turning his attention to the other contestants, the Warden applied himself to the task, and many an over-confidant pledge suddenly found himself on the hot end of a paddling with the Strap! When the smacks met bare bottoms, even the toughest guys busted their eggs, and soon every one of those unlucky contestants was a candidate for the disciplinary committee!
You might have thought we would go easy on them the third time round. But no, police initiations are tough. We paddled them harder than ever, and berated them severely for their failure. If you want to know how to make a tough policeman cry, we've discovered that a good bare bottom paddling in public will do it! Come on over, my fine fellows; come and take a turn in the ol' Hot-Seat Hotel!!
Now is when we get our class of sad, rueful rookies with their sore behinds, and lead them to the Pledge Dunk Tank. Guys, this contraption is a thing of beauty. It's built for one thing only: public humiliation. I love this thing, it's my favorite part. Perfect for Initiation Night fun, and absolutley indispensible for instilling a proper sense of unworthiness! We built the plexiglass trap with a dunk mechanism and a little round "contemplation-seat" for the subject. The backboard is painted with illustrations of team sports, because this gets used a lot in inter-precinct athletics. The sign up top says "The Agony of Defeat." After sweating out a tough victory, there's nothing like getting to see your opponent lose his pants for the Dunking Booth! Sometimes there's licks involved too--according to tradition, bad sports get paddled by the winners. Man, it sucks to lose!
The Dunk Tanks's purpose in our Pi Chi Initiation to test the contestants' knowledge of police history. It's the perfect thing for this. Each candidate has to wear the dunce cap, and then "sit" for his examination. Of course, he is dressed in his best birthday suit for this interview!
Now we grill him with questions. Meanwhile, a stool is waiting on a wooden platform in the audience where MacCrae will administer a "Tutorial" in case of failure. The rule is, every rookie who gets dunked has to get turned over the Sergeant's knee, and be spanked there nude until he cries. Plain and simple. As long as it takes. Not until the candidate is openly and obviously bawling does the next rookie get on the dunking-booth. The rules are very specific about this, and the job is taken seriously. And fellows, the Sergeant's hand is so big and heavy, it never takes him more than 30 swats! Oh, he keeps a little paddle handy for emergencies; but he hasn't needed it yet! This is the Captain's specialty, and his favorite part of the initiation. He loves to turn big, tough men over his knee, and spank their butts till they bawl!
Westerberg was the first man for the hot-seat.
"Up you go, Westerberg!"
Juarez and Stevens helped him up with enthusiastic pokes. Ho ho, there he squats, over the middle of the tank. (It varies what we put in it--sometimes cow_s_h_i_t_, sometimes axle-grease; this time a thick white 'dunking-paste' had been prepared for the unsuccessful candidate.) If it was anything like when I had to take my turn up there, Westerberg felt like crying already. Singled out in front of everyone like this, for a public dunking and a paddling!
"Gentlemen of the Pi Chi Brotherhood," I announced, "it's time to try the first candidate. Will we be able to welcome him into the bonds of fellowship, or will we have to administer a dunce lesson?" There was a hearty round of applause in favor of the latter; then a retired detective with close cropped gray hair stepped up with his list of questions.
"Limber up your arm, Sergeant!" instructed the man. There was no need for that; MacCrae had been working out in the police gymnasium for months for just this purpose.
"Pledge," said the detective sternly, "name the three Founding Fathers of our Police Department!"
Rob was relieved that he had put in a little extra time studying the pledge materials. "Sir," he answered, covering his genitals, "the Department's Founding Fathers were Mayor Hyrum Walton, our first Chief of Police, William Calhoun, and Commisioner Halsey J. Smith."
Murmurs of disappointment rumbled through the gym.
"All right, fair enough," said the detective with slight irritation. "Question two. What is the purpose of the Pi Chi Guards, what does the Paddle represent, and where must it be kept?"
Westerberg replied confidantly now, for he was prepared for this question also. There was a chance he might very well get off dunk-seat scott free.
"Sir, the purpose of the Pi Chi Guards is to foster..." Rob trailed off, suddenly acutely and keenly aware of his bare bottom on the slippery seat under him, and squirming slightly, was about to get instantaneously and enormously hard.
"...and strengthen the bonds of fellowship between brother officers and to support them through the trials of their job," he finished quickly, trying not to think of his predicament. It would be bad to get an erection now!
"The Pi Chi brother's paddle, Sir," he swallowed, "represents his commitment to the force and his willingness to undergo hardship for his fellow officers." Grumbling in the audience was becoming audible.
"Sir, the swat paddle is displayed prominently in the brother's home or office, for use on his own person by a ranking brother officer, or for use in his own home for lessons in manhood and good citizenship."
The signs of annoyance and unrest were now unmistakable in the gym. Who did this punk think he was?
"It seems we have a smart-ass on our hands," said the detective, "Perhaps this pledge needs a harder question! What's my wife's maiden name, son?"
"What!? Ah, this wasn't part of the---"
"I-I-I-I'm sorry," retorted the detective, "BUT WE ARE NOT ABLE TO ACCEPT THIS RESPONSE AS A VAILD ANSWER! CORPORAL!?"
"Yes, SSSIR!" said Juarez, grabbing the lever on the dunk-machine.
Westerberg may not have ever tasted the agony of defeat before, but now he surely did.
Wham! Juarez yanked that lever as hard as he could. With a sudden Whhopp! Rob felt the seat fall away, and he dropped. SSSPLATT!! Rob's boner was red and hard as he went into the tank, and he grabbed his testicles to protect them as his butt hit the soft paste. The entire gymnasium was laughing and jeering as he heaved himself up the side ladder, pasty white from head to toe. Juarez and Stevens didn't wait for this, but seized him and pulled him from the tank. Rob had hardly had time to wipe some of the mess off himself, when the two officers grabbed him by the armpits and hauled him bodily to the Sergeant's platform. "Let's go, smart guy," one said furiously, "time to meet the Principal!" Over the knee and bottoms up went the lanky and hairy Westerberg with his bare behind raised high, as the disciplinarian prepared to spank.
"Grip his shoulders, Stevens; Juarez, spread his knees."
The Sergeant had taken off his shirt for a better swing. He reached his thick arm high and smote down as hard as he could over the middle of Westerberg's fanny.
WHHAACK!!
The sting of that swat must have shot through to China! Westerberg looked like an electric shock had hit him.
SWWAATT!!
A man in his mid-fifties, Sergeant MacCrae was in excellent shape and looked mighty imposing, hairy chested in his jersey as he spanked. Sweat was busting out on Carlson and the rest of the pledges as they watched!
WHHAACK!!
The audience looked on with fierce satisfaction as the smart-ass pledge was punished. The Sergeant was gonna teach him his place!
WWHHAAM!! SMMAACKK!! WWHHAAM!! SMMAACKK!!
It didn't take long; Westerberg was bawling freely after only seven swats! But that didn't stop MacCrae; he had no intention of letting up until the lesson had been soundly impressed.
"No hard feelings now, Westerberg!" he bellowed in a sing-songy scold, "Time to take your punishment!"
SWWAT!! SWWAATT!! SWWWATT!!
He spanked on with a will, with Westerberg bucking up and down as if on a pants-down roller coaster, a look of open-mouthed shock on his face. NINE! TEN! ELEVEN!! TWELVE!! The count was gleefully chorused. THIRTEEN!! FOURTEEN!! FIFTEEN!! The Sergeant finally stopped at twenty, allowing Westerberg to collapse over his thick knee with his shiny beet-red butt aloft, howling tearfully as the policemen laughed.
"Allright Connors, your turn. Get that black butt up there!"
I couldn't wait for this part, personally. Connors is a great guy, but that didn't stop me from wanting to see him on the spot. I knew that the Sergeant was planning to spank him good. Guys were starting to laugh at him already as he got up onto the machine; it was fun to see him suspended over the tank, on the hot-seat for a dunking. Oh, and it was worth the wait. Guys were starting to razz him as a balding man with a determined expression approached to put him to the test.
"Look at Connors," they said, "Ain't he handsome? He could star in a movie!"
"Yeah, 'Journey to the Center of the Dunk-Paste!'"
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!"
"Hey Connors! Are ya ready for a good spanking from the Sergeant? He's paddle you so hard, we're gonna fry hotcakes on your butt!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!"
"Hey guys, knock knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Info!"
"Info who!?"
"In fo' a WHUPPIN'!!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!"
I wish I could say Connors was a good sport, but I think our little hazing party was getting to him. That's okay, it's supposed to! We want to get these guys good, how else are they going to know that we give a _s_h_i_t_ about them? Anyway, with Connors it didn't take long; he soon found himself wiping thick white batter from his groin as it dripped from his long upthrust member. He hung his head as they hauled him over and positioned him, holding him fast by the wrists and feet. Sergeant McCrae raised his mighty arm.
WHHAAMMM!!!!
When the entire pledge class had been shamed by getting covered with goo and publicly reprimanded for their stupidity, then spanked hard till they bawled, we finally let them know they had passed; and the whole place cheered them with a standing ovation. For as much of a fuss as they put up before, you should have seen how happy they were now--shaking hands and hugging each other all over the place. It's just a good thing we hold the initiation on a Friday night so they have the weekend to recover, because there's no way any of them would be able to sit down at the office! I still remember the Monday after my initiation, how my buddies and me (all detectives in suits) ducked into the john on a break to check out the damage. Carefully laying aside our shirts and jackets, we dropped our pants and shorts to take a look in the mirror. They were our five bare seats, still quite red and sore, and covered with paddle-marks. We were so proud.