Date: Wed, 28 Mar 2012 10:05:34 -0700 (PDT) From: jdr Subject: With a Flip of a Coin, Chapter 6 Jeff unshackled Sam by removing the leather cuffs from the wrists and ankles. The Colonel told them to leave the cuffs clipped to the chains, which they did. Jeff instructed Sam to go upstairs and get dressed while he thanked the Colonel. Then the two men walked upstairs where Jeff retrieved Sam and the two college students left the house for the pickup truck. The Colonel's cock was throbbing with pleasure from having been sucked by Sam, but it still needed release. For that very reason the Colonel had made arrangements before the two college students showed up that evening. Knowing that he would end the session at midnight, regardless of who was the trainee, the officer had set something up with his own military slaveboy. Kevin Knoyle ("rhymes with hole") was the perfect soldier. Growing up he always knew that he wanted to make a career in the Army. In high school he was active in the Boy Scouts and on the baseball team; because he was only 5'8" he played shortstop. He graduated on a Friday, spent the weekend celebrating with his friends and then on Monday reported to the nearest military entrance processing station to take his oath as a United States soldier. Recruit training was a breeze for Private Knoyle. Infantry was the only branch he considered, so he took the combination of basic and advanced training (OSUT, for One Station Unit Training) at Fort Benning. He maxed the PFT (Physical Fitness Test), sailed through his Blue Phase and graduated at the top of his training company. His drill sergeants pushed him hard, but the tougher they treated him the better he responded. Following Jump School he was assigned to an Airborne BCT in Afghanistan, where he acquitted himself well in combat operations. He rotated back to Fort Bragg, served a stint there, then earned his sergeant chevrons. At only twenty-one years of age he was already a combat veteran, a paratrooper and a noncommissioned officer in the United States Army. One of Sergeant Knoyle's instructors at NCO School encouraged him to take a tour as a staff member in an ROTC unit, using the opportunity to get a taste of college life and even earn some course credits. Kevin loved rappelling and rock climbing (thinking about Ranger School down the road) so he looked for university units that included that in their schedules. The Cowboy Battalion (named for the University of Wyoming Cowboys) went rappelling every October and was between two mountain ranges, which was just what the young sergeant wanted. He applied, was accepted, and received orders to report to Laramie for duty. As a retired Army officer, the Colonel had easy access to the local ROTC program, including staff and cadets. He wasted no time ensnaring the young sergeant and making him a military slave. As soon as Jeff and Sam left his house, the officer sent a text: "Report ASAP." Within seconds the response came back: "Wilco, Sir." The Colonel's cock was happy all over, knowing that it was going to get satisfaction repeatedly before sunrise. Jeff and Sam knew none of this, of course, and besides they both were preoccupied with their own thoughts and situation. As soon as Jeff started up the pickup truck, Sam (now a passenger in his own vehicle) said, "We gotta talk." "I agree," said Jeff. "This master slave crap is silly," said Sam. "Then," retorted Jeff, "you should never have brought it up. This was your idea, remember? You made the dare." Jeff knew two things about dares between Sam and him. One was that Sam never resisted a dare or backed out of one. Jeff planned to use that fact right now to ensnare Sam into slavehood. (If Jeff had thought it through a bit more, he would have remembered the other fact: that he, Jeff, never resisted a dare or backed out of one either.) "Yeah," Sam reluctantly admitted, "but I didn't think it would go this far." "I hate to tell you, ole buddy, but it's going a lot farther." Sam gave Jeff a shocked look and said, "Jeff, we're best friends! You've always been there for me! Why would you do this to me?" "Because," Jeff said with a touch of venom, "you asked for it. We have made hundreds of dares, Sam, and neither of us has ever backed out on one. Is that what you want, Sam? Do you want to back out on your own dare? Are you a pussy, Sam?" "Hell, no," spat Sam, "I ain't no pussy!" He thereby missed the unintended irony, since by his answer he would indeed become a pussy soon. "Then man up," Jeff responded, "and stick to the dare." "Okay, I will. But I have a dare right back for you." "Go ahead," said Jeff aggresively. "Since I lost the coin flip, the dare says that I have to be your slave for the rest of freshman year, correct?" "Yeah, that's the deal." "Then here's my reply dare. If I make it through the whole damn school year as your slave, if I do anything and everything that you say, and if I never back out or ask you to let me out of it, then you owe me a dare." Jeff almost lost it while driving. It hit him hard. He had walked right into that one and could not back out now any more than Sam could. "Okay, and what dare is that?" "Same deal, equal time limit, you serve me as my slave after I serve you as yours." "Deal," said Jeff, extending his right hand to his best friend and shaking hands on it. "Deal," said Sam. This was the moment when everything changed between the two best friends. Even as master and slave their underlying protectiveness of one another was present. The hallmark of their friendship was that they never competed with one another, never even thought about doing so in all the years of sitting next to one another in class, participating in the same rodeo events and playing on the same sports teams. Now, however, they were in a grim competition that came up just short of life and death. Neither would ever kill or maim the other but, other than that, Jeff had to do everything he could to break Sam completely, and Sam had to do everything he could to hold out until mid-May. The stakes could not be higher. "Here are some rules," said Jeff. "For the rest of the school year you will never call me Jeff. When we are alone you will call me Master, understood slave?" "Yes, Master," said Sam, comfortable in the knowledge that he could and would take or do anything until the tables turned and he owned Jeff. "When any one else is present, you will call me Boss. If anyone askes about it, we'll just say that it's a private joke. Understood slave?" "Yes, Master." "There will be no public stuff. No one will know about this setup except you and me, not while I own you and not if you own me, agreed?" "Yes, Master." "There are more rules but I'll tell them to you when we get inside," said Jeff as he pulled up alongside the house. "But one starts right now. Give me your hat, cowboy. A slave doesn't get to wear a cowboy hat." "Shit," thought Sam. No cowboy would go without his hat, but no cowboy would back out of a deal, either. Reluctantly he took his hat off and handed it to his roommate. They walked together up to the basement door, opened it and stepped inside. There, standing at the top of the basement stairs, Sam hesitated expecting an order. Jeff stopped to give three: "Hand me your wallet," the new master commanded. Sam did so. "Strip." Sam complied, stuffing his clothes into his boots. "Crawl," the master ordered. Sam dropped down to his hands and knees and followed his owner (who had retrieved the clothes-filled boots) down the stairs and through another door into his apartment. Except it was no longer his, not even halfway his. Sam craned his neck as he scurried behind the fast walking Jeff, noting first that one kitchen chair was gone, then seeing that the couch and recliner chair had swapped places, and then almost tripping over his own hands when he crossed the threshold to his bedroom. His bed was gone, or so he thought at first. Only the bare mattress lay on the floor where his bed had been. Then he looked at the wall and there was his box spring and bed frame, one nailed inside the other and both attached upright to the wall. "Get up and stand against the bed frame," Jeff ordered Sam, "with your arms and legs reaching for the corners." Sam did so, his naked shaved body pressed against the box spring. Jeff took rope and tied Sam tightly to the four corners. "You will repeat, 'Master, I am your slave' on every hit, got that slaveboy?" "Yes, Master." Jeff stepped back, pulled his wide belt out of his jeans and viciously attacked Sam's back, butt and lower legs with it. The young master threw his muscles into it, raising angry red welts all over Sam's exposed areas. Sam bit his lip so hard that it bled, but he was determined not to scream, much less beg for mercy. He tried to keep his voice level close to a normal range as he chanted "Master, I am your slave," and succeeded more or less. The beating was as hard and cruel as Jeff could make it. He was a ranch kid, had branded and castrated calves, field dressed bucks, slaughtered hogs, and hunted all his life. From now on Sam was just another ranch animal, just another piece of meat on the hoof. Breaking Sam was no different from breaking an untrained horse; emotionally, one act bothered Jeff just as little as the other. Jeff finally stopped, only because his muscles were getting a little tired. "Who are you?" he demanded. Sam could barely stand up but at least he hadn't screamed. Still, he didn't want to risk another beating if he could help it. "Master, I am your slave." "Does that mean I own you, slave?" "Yes, Master, you own me." "Does that mean I own everything you own, slave?" Sam pushed back a gulp and without hesitation stated, "Yes, Master, you own everything I own." Jeff sat down at Sam's computer and turned it on. "What is the password for your computer, slave?" Sam stood silent, finally afraid to give away the key to his privacy. To Sam's astonishment, Jeff jumped up (knocking the chair over in the process) and used the belt back and forth on Sam's two rib cages, alternating left to right and back again with each powerful swing: "Answer" WHACK "My" WHACK "Question" WHACK "Slave!" WHACK "What" WHACK "Is" WHACK "The" WHACK "Password" WHACK "For" WHACK "Your" WHACK "Laptop?" WHACK WHACK WHACK. The pain was excruciating. Sam feared that his ribs would crack. His sides hurt so bad that every breath was torture. He knew that he could last awhile but he knew that Jeff would last longer. He cringed in anticipation of the next blow and yelled out, "J-R-2-2-6-6-4-S-S. Master!" Jeff lowered the belt, picked up the chair, put it back in front of the computer, sat down and punched in the code. Immediately the laptop opened up. There was Sam's entire life exposed to view. Jeff started with the online bank account. He already knew that Sam's parents paid his tuition directly to the University, that they covered the truck insurance and that the pickup was paid in full. Jeff logged onto the bank website and, with a little more coaxing (using a chokehold on Sam while kneeing him in the nuts) the master extracted the user name, security question response and password from the slave. The account showed a payment (presumably set up on autopay) into Sam's bank every Tuesday in the same amount. Jeff retrieved his own account information, then set up an autopayment every Wednesday from Sam's account to his own. He then cleaned Sam's account out, leaving a mere ten bucks to keep it open. Next Jeff took control of Sam's credit cards, changing their passwords online (without, of course, giving them to Sam) and transferring the plastic cards themselves from Sam's wallet to his own. He also transferred the cash from Sam's wallet to his own. He left Sam's Facebook account and laptop password in place, confident that he had access anytime he demanded it. He then rummaged around in Sam's desk drawers until he found Sam's spare keys to the apartment and the pickup truck. Satisfied that he now controlled all of Sam's property, Jeff logged off the computer, stood up and picked up a long piece of rope. He stood behind the slave and untied both wrists, then brought them together and crossed them at a ninety degree angle. The master then tied both wrists together snugly. Sam's hands and fingers reached into air, unable to touch one another or the rope. Jeff then untied the ankles, turned his slave around to face him and pushed the boy to his knees. "Follow," said Jeff, and walked out of the bedroom headed to his own room, knowing Sam had to crawl behind. With his hands tied into an X, the slave had to make a three-pointed crawl: left knee forward, then right knee, then hands, one, two, three. By the time Sam managed to get to Jeff's bedroom, the master already had things set up for the slave's next trial. When Sam saw the wooden chair, he naturally assumed that he would be sitting in it. But Jeff had a better idea. He made Sam crawl behind the chair, then ordered the slave to stand. Jeff then took off the cowboy shirt he was wearing (Sam's former favorite) and the white undershirt he had slept in. Jeff twirled the t-shirt into a coil, then wrapped it over Sam's eyes and around his head, tying it firmly in the back. Jeff then tied each of Sam's legs (at ankle and again at upper calf) to the corresponding chair legs. Next the master tied a rope around the rope securing Sam's wrists. Jeff pulled on the other end of that rope, forward and down, forcing Sam to bring his upper body forward over the chair back and then down at an angle over the chair seat. Jeff kept pulling on the rope, bringing it under the front chair rung, then pulling it under the chair seat to the back of the chair where he found Sam's dangling balls and tied the stretched rope around Sam's ballsac just above the nuts. The blindfolded slave was now hunched over uncomfortably, his abs pinned to the chair back's top, his mouth, back and ass all exposed. Any arm movement caused ball pain. Jeff said nothing and made no noise, letting the foreboding power of silence and suspense work its way with Sam's churning (and now sleep-deprived) brain. The master quietly removed his boots, boot socks, jeans and jockstrap, all the while enjoying the view of his slaveboy restrained in immovable bondage. Sam expected a cock in his mouth but he got a hard slap on his face instead, causing him to jerk his hands involuntarily and compounding the cheek pain with ball torture. When Sam's head returned to the front position, Jeff spoke. "Did you suck on my cock tonight, slave?" "Yes, Master, I did," "What does that make you, boy?" "It makes me a cocksucker, Master." "Tell me how much you love to suck on my cock." "I love to suck your cock, Master, please let me suck on it now." "Okay, cocksucker, here it is." And with that Jeff shoved his hard penis into Sam's waiting mouth. The first thrust was to prove ownership, so it went in brutally and slammed against the back of Sam's throat, causing him to gag on it. Then Jeff pulled back, relaxed, and let Sam prove how well the Colonel had trained him in the fine art of sucking cock. Jeff had never felt such pleasure. Sam gave much better head than any girl, but in addition there was the aphrodisiac of power, the most potent drug known to man. Jeff owned Sam, of that there was no doubt. Jeff's cock had found a happy home in Sam's mouth, and there was nothing Sam could do except pleasure that cock to perfection. Jeff enjoyed running his hands over the stubble that remained of Sam's head of hair. He relished bringing his palms together behind the slave's head and shoving them forward, skull fucking the boy. He experimented with cock positions, now bringing it all the way out and bitch slapping the slave's face, now pushing it to the back of the throat, now pulling it out most of the way but leaving the circumcised head in place for a three hundred and sixty degree tongue worshiping. It felt so good that Jeff almost didn't want to stop, but he had something more important in mind than in cumming into Sam's throat. The master withdrew his rigid dick, stepped behind the slave and, without warning, spit or lube, rammed his cock up Sam's slaveboy ass. Nothing prepared Sam for it. The pain was the worst of his life, worse than when he was thrown from a horse, worse than when he was spiked sliding into home plate, worse than when he slammed a car door on his finger once. "AAAGGGHHH!!!" Jeff pulled all the way out, then piledrived again. "OWWW!!!" Another pulling out, another ramming back in. "OHMYGOD!!!" Jeff ripped Sam's guts apart, and Sam was helpless to stop him. "Tell me you're my bitch, slave!" the sweating fuckmaster yelled. "I'm your bitch, Master," cried the pain filled fuckboy. "Tell me you're my pussy boy bitch, slave." "Master, I'm your pussy boy bitch." "Say it again, bitch, keep saying it!" "I'm your bitch, Master, I am your pussy boy bitch. I am your bitch, Master, I'm your pussy boy bitch." The blubbering slave repeated the mantra, his sleep-deprived brain lulling into a trance despite the triple pain of the brutal ass fucking, the involuntary ball yanking and inescapable truth that, yes, he was real and truly his master's pussy boy bitch.