Date: Sun, 17 Jun 2012 08:53:01 -0700 (PDT) From: jdr Subject: Sergeant Submits, chapter 9 The usual disclaimers apply to all chapters in this series. This is a work of fiction intended solely for the edification and enjoyment of adults of legal age. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. Mention or description of any institution is only for background purposes and does not mean or imply any connection with or disrespect to that institution. All rights reserved subject to Nifty's terms of use. First time readers can learn more about the Colonel, Jeff and Sam by reading "With a Flip of a Coin" posted in Nifty's Gay Authoritarian and Gay College sections as of April 8, 2012. Back at the apartment once shared equally by Sam and Jeff, but now belonging solely to the latter, Nate was feeling the worst pain of his life. So far. The once cocky stud on campus, the once cock-of-the-walk in the gym, the once arrogant jock in and out of the bedroom was now doubled up like a pretzel, on his back on a towel on the edge of Jeff's bed, his legs splayed out, his arms tied to them wrists to ankles, his eyes blindfolded, his mouth gagged with a plastic penis gag and his (until recently virgin) ass jutting out, the roseate hole vulnerable and exposed. Jeff stood in front of the doubled over stud, himself stripped to the waist but still in cowboy boots and jeans, a can of vegetable shortening opened and waiting. It was time to open up Nate's asshole and crush his defiance. Jeff pulled plastic gloves onto his hands, scooped up a glob of shortening, worked it all over his right glove, then pointed his first two fingers at the trembling target and thrust them in. An electrical shock could not have hurt as bad. Nate's back arched in pain, his head thrashing from side to side, his lungs screaming into the cock gag. Nor did the pain get better, only worse. A third finger joined its two friends, then a fourth, then the thumb, then the whole hand up to the wrist. Jeff was unconcerned about finesse or pleasure, only about accidentally ripping a fistula open. That alone prevented him from going any harder. Not that the impaled student had noticed, but the cowboy had actually hesitated after each insertion, allowing the stretching anus to adjust to the increased girth before another digit joined its companions. Jeff could feel small amounts of waste product as his glove pushed its way in. He knew in advance that would happen but had no interest in prepping Nate with enemas. Down the road he might, but for now he wanted to emphasize the inescapable nature of his enslavement of the stud. And with that happy thought he forced his forearm forward and into the college kid's colon, eliciting yet more muffled agonoy and screams. Over at the sergeant's quarters, Sam was enjoying a far more pleasant time than what Jeff usually inflicted upon him. The paratrooper's body was hard and compact. Kevin packed muscle into his short frame, making it easy to manipulate and massage. The cowboy meticulously worked each square inch of the soldier's skin, starting with the toes and ending with the temples, prodding everything in between. Then Sam started to lick, from sole to crown, saving for last Kevin's private parts. The sergeant was laid out like a beached fish, not wanting to move, savoring every flick of the slaveboy's tongue. Like soldiers throughout time, he had been to exotic spas and had experienced oil massages, light Asian women walking on his back, all the esoteric pleasures of the hamam. Nothing before, however, had prepared him for what happened next. Some guys love to be rimmed. Others could care less. Kevin had no way of knowing until that moment, but he was emphatically in the first group. Sam's tongue set off fireworks in the NCO's ass, and the more Kevin writhed with pleasure the harder Sam stuck it in. With the greatest of reluctance Kevin let Sam roll him over, only to be prompted into holding his legs behind the knees and exposing his pucker for yet more tongue. This Sam knew how to do well. He worked his slave mouth on the soldier's cock, then the balls, then the sweet spot behind them, then the anus, then one, then another, relentlessly reveling in first one pleasure point and then another. The sergeant was in noncom heaven. Rob was in officer-induced hell. He had given all he had and now had nothing more to give. Physically and mentally he was limp as a dish rag. The Colonel had reduced him to nothing, just as boot camp does to a recruit. Now the officer built him back up to the former's specifications, again just as drill instructors do in boot camp. Instead of building a soldier, the master was building a slave. And not a generic slave, but one to serve a sergeant. The Colonel began by shearing the voc tech student's reddish blond hair. He shaved smooth below the neck and clipped it militarily close on the top. The officer then drilled the student, not sexually but soldierly, teaching him the positions of attention, parade rest, and so forth, introducing him to Army calisthenics, showing him how to sit in the brace position. Next the homeowner trained the voc techie to be a houseboy, instructing him on how to make a bed with tight sheets, to clean surfaces thoroughly, to mop and scrub and polish. Both nights Rob reaped his reward, being allowed to bunk with the Colonel and refine his abilities to suck and be fucked. This time, however, it included cuddling, being hugged, being held, being kissed. No such soft life awaited Nate. He ended the first evening mostly upside down. His legs were strapped to the top shelf of an industrial storage rack, bent at the knees at the front edge of the shelf, the rest of his body hanging down, arms tied together elbow to wrist behind his back, his scrotum fully exposed to whatever Jeff would do to it. With a candle only inches above the studboy's balls, the cowboy master coated them with hot wax, then used his fist to break the wax off blow by blow, then repeated the cycle again and again. Jeff next took a rubber mallet and, isolating a ball with his left hand, used his right hand to tap away, keeping Nate in agony. Then the cowboy switched balls for yet more agony on the other side. He used the mallet on the gym jock's abs, then back to the balls, then again on the abs. Nate spent the night tied face up lying on the middle rack shelf, the metal wiring imposing a checkerboard pattern on his back, their unyielding steel making it impossible for him to sleep in comfort. The next day was one of unending pain. Jeff used the flogger and bull whip remorselessly, uncaring about the welts, the cuts, the flecks of blood. He applied his bare knuckles to the stud's gut, balls, pecs and face. When the jock went limp, the cowboy cut him down, let him slump on the floor, then used both boots and knees against the exposed testicles and abs. Saturday night was more of the same. Every sadistic act that Jeff had used on Sam, he used on Nate. Every mental trick, every manipulation he had learned online he used on the once proud stud. Long before time to return to the Colonel's house, the cowboy master had accomplished his goal. Nate was now a slave, owned by Jeff. As dawn broke Sunday morning, the cowboy and his new property went to the former stud's apartment and cleaned it out. While Nate watched helplessly, Jeff separated everything into two piles, then forced the slave to bag up both. One set of garbage bags went to the clothes collection bin at a local church. The other wound up as additions to the cowboy's wardrobe. The college jock had no chance to mourn or think, for his new master kept the pain training going right up to time to reunite with the other guys at the Colonel's place. Kevin took Sam back also, but with the greatest of reluctance. Over the two nights and days the cowboy slave had educated the sheltered soldier in the entire panoply of gay male sex. The sergeant did not just fuck, but learned how to do so with maximum pleasure. The sub did not just suck, but initiated the NCO into the many uses of a compliant mouth and throat. Satiation never felt so good. Along the way, the noncom pushed the college kid physically with twice-a-day Army calisthenics, daily runs and regular stretching. They engaged in arm wrestling, in gut punching competitions and in pushup contests. Through it all, Sam became yet more comfortable with his role as a straight masculine male in total servitude to his straight best friend. Sunday afternoon all assembled as planned at the Colonel's house. Sam was beaming, knowing what a thorough job he had done for Kevin. The sergeant, in turn, let Jeff know just how well his lifelong friend had performed. Nate was broken and looked it, as bedraggled and woebegone as one could imagine. Even the Colonel was taken aback a bit by how completely Jeff had mastered the once cocky stud. The biggest surprise, however, was the Colonel's gift to the sergeant: his own civilian soldier to own and use as much as he wanted. Rob's transformation was total, from a happy but unfocused automobile mechanic in training to a sharp disciplined recruit ready to serve unquestioningly. Kevin was pleased, very pleased indeed. What had started as a hike in the woods for the sergeant had resulted in coming under the Colonel's control. What had begun as a night of boxing had turned into hell for Nate and purpose for Rob. What had commenced with stopping by the officer's quarters had led to Sam exploring his sensuality as a straight sex slave to men and to Jeff displaying the depths of his sadism. Now it was time to sort out who stayed with whom. By the time the sun had set, Jeff was back home with his two slaves. From now on Sam and Nate would sleep crammed together on the bare mattress on what once had been Sam's bedroom floor. From now on Sam and Nate would serve Jeff together. From now on one would service Jeff while the other one watched, or they would service him together. From now on Jeff was the sole proprietor of Sam, of Nate and of all that the two of them had previously owned. For Jeff (if not for Sam or Nate) life was good. At the other household, matters fell into a military chain of command. The Colonel was in charge, not as a master but as a commanding officer. The sergeant was his right hand man, assisting him and assuring that all ran smooth. Rob was a private, a submissive, the low man on the totem pole, but for the first time ever truly happy in his place. Kevin's supervision ensured that Rob went on to complete his classes at the I with top grades in all areas. He then found work (with the Colonel's help) that kept him in Laramie. Days found him up to his elbows in grease and grim, enjoying his job. Nights found him in bed with Kevin or the Colonel, serving them both. His life finally had structure. He finally had purpose. He finally was home. Kevin had earned his chevron in combat but only now did he appreciate the responsibility that comes with rank. With the Colonel's tutelage the NCO decided to move up in the Army and the world. He took his SATs, filled out his paperwork, was accepted in the Green to Gold program and became a proud ROTC cadet in the Cowboy Battalion where once he had worked. In four years he could expect to be a college graduate and a newly butter-barred Second Lieutenant. A few months after the boxing bout night, the Colonel received a text on his phone. It read, "Sir, we have not met you but my friend and I hear that you like to train guys. We are students at the U. Can we come over to discuss at your convenience, sir?" The Colonel read the text and smiled. Then he laughed. Then he typed his response. "Sorry, gentlemen, but my training area is closed." THE END