Inflatable Dateable (Part 1)

From 7:30-9:30 as a faculty officer, in my case a second lieutenant, after teaching all day, I rotated in for study hall duty. Study hall duty this night consisted of patrolling A Company, B Company and D Troop to ensure that the cadets were studying. Patrolling amounted to walking from building to building, up and down the hallways, opening the bedroom doors of the cadets and ensuring the cadets in each room were studying. After study hall came break. Break was a half hour of “down time” for the cadets before taps, a/k/a lights out.
I had been at the Military Academy for a couple of years and understood that I was a Mahoney Phony. General Mahoney, the founder of the Academy, assigned rank to every faculty member and those who were not retired or former military with real officer’s rank were known as Mahoney Phonies.
The Corp of Cadets was all male-middle school through Junior College in age. The Academy could be a crazy place, 600 hormonal, horny, sex starved teenage boys in one place. One night after lights out, I was knocking on each door, pushing the doors open, switching the room light on and doing a quick head count to ensure no one had gone AWOL, and bam, I push open the door of a two cadet room, switch on the light, glance quickly at the upper bunk-empty- fuck, I lost one; I glance at the lower bunk-fuck, the cadet from the upper bunk looked up at me in shock with the dick of the cadet from the lower bunk in his hand near his mouth, knob wet. The lower bunk cadet sensing and hearing the disruption in his blow job was startled to alertness. Both froze in disbelief, “Sir, you won’t say anything or turn us in, will you?” I stared into two sets of frightened eyes.
If I turned them in, their violation of the cadet code of conduct would earn them a dismissal from school and regular beatings from the remainder of the corp of cadets until their parents came to get them. I responded, “No,” flicked out the lights and went to the next room.
Another evening while doing bed check, I pushed the door open of a single. Singles were reserved for the highest ranking officers in the corp. This was a cadet captain’s room. I hit the light switch looked left just in time to see a jet stream of cum explode from his dick and land splat all over his face. The same frightened look on his face, with the pleading eyes. I looked at his terrified cum covered face, flicked out the light, said ” as you were,” and left the room. The next day when I saw him in the hall, he looked at me quizzically, concerned; “Good morning, Cadet, I hope you recovered from last night; everything is okay.” “Thank you, Sir,” he responded. He was not in my class; he was a great student, a senior, a corp leader, a hormonal teenager jerking off–dismissal from school, really?
On this night, I walked into the front door of A Company; I looked left and right; all doors closed and everyone quiet; the cadet warning signals had worked, but for me, too quiet. I shouted, “Gentlemen, you have until the count of ten to get to your own rooms. If you’re not in your room, when I get to your room, you will march tours at break time.” Marching tours is a form of discipline; the cadet is ordered to march back and forth across the main area for a specified period of time , in this case for the duration of his half hour break before lights out.
Doors flew open; kids scattering; one raced by me, “Evening, Sir,” as he bounded up the stairs to the second floor. Four kids raced out of one room to my left down the hall. “Ah, the action.” I walked briskly down the hall, pushed open the door, glanced quickly around rapidly counting, five cadets still in the room. I began to survey the room, up to my right, all at once we all saw a yellow braided, pig tail hanging from beneath the regulation, navy blue blanket. The cadets eyes all widened. They had failed to completely hide her. They realized I saw her. I glanced at each of them. I thought, “fuck, a gang bang.” I slowly reached for the corner of the blanket; all wide eyes in the room upon me. Should I, I wondered. I lifted and pulled the blanket back, a caucasian, swiss appearing plastic inflatable dateable complete with a mouth repository. I pulled her out from beneath the blanket, vaginal and anal repositories as well. “Really, guys,” I said, “consider Little Swiss Miss confiscated.”
The next morning I was approached before first period by three cadets and informed that the owner of Little Swiss Miss wanted her returned. “Who owns her?” “Sir, he asked that we not tell his identity.” “Gentlemen, you know me better than that; if the owner wants it back, he has to come and ask for it himself.” “But, sir, he’s afraid he might get into trouble.” “He might; how bad does he want it? Tell him, if he wants it, he has to come ask for it and then maybe he will get it back or maybe he’ll get in trouble.”

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