Date: Sat, 23 Apr 2011 14:10:12 -0700
From: Rob Y <haverimseat4you@gmail.com>
Subject: 12 Days with Sgt Tate - Day 10

My eyes open from a long sleep alone in bed.  Sgt Tate is nowhere in sight.
I can tell that he slept next to me; the bedding on his side is messed up.

I realize that I woke up with a smile, but the reason for it eludes me.

I look out the window, and it is raining, not really a hard rain.  The
island out in the lake is barely visible.  The water rolls down the glass.

A flash of light startles me.  I wait for the thunder to crash, but it
takes a few seconds.  As a boy, lightning always terrified me.  Now, it
doesn't scare me.  I feel quite safe here in this lodge.

Wow, I cannot believe that "safe" is a word I just associated with Sgt
Tate's lodge.  After what happened the other night, I shouldn't feel safe
here.  The strange thing is that I do feel safe here in Sgt Tate's bed.

I know he is truly sorry for what he did.  And I know he is trying to make
up to me for it.  But the thing is that I cannot fathom allowing him that
close to me again.  I cannot trust him.

The aroma of coffee passes by my nose.  He must have made a fresh pot.

He enters the room wearing only a t-shirt carrying the table from last
night.  His movements are not meant to wake me up.

"Good morning Sir."

His body flinches for the briefest moment.  Turning towards me while
placing the table down near the window, he smiles.

"Good morning pup.  Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, like a narcoleptic jerking off in a dark room." He grins at my
adapting one of his lines.

"Breakfast is almost ready."

I start to get out of bed.

"No, no, no.  Stay put."

"I'm fine.  I have to take a piss.  Now, if you want to drink from me
. . ."

The grin is instantly replaced with the Drill Instructor steel stare.  "If
you are looking for some head, . . ." A quick nod to the side is followed
by "The toilet is in there."

I stand up.  The incredible soreness from yesterday morning is less, much
less.

"You're standing up easier."

"Yeah." I begin to walk.  My legs are unsteady, but after two steps I
straighten up.

"Take it easy."

"Sir, I will be fine." I walk past him into the bathroom.

A quick piss feels good.  I shake my dick not thinking of my balls.  I jolt
of pain shoots up my body.  It's nothing severe--nowhere near what Boris
did to me.  But it is enough to register their presence.

"Dan, are you all right in there?" comes from the next room.

"I'm fine Sir." I am beginning to tire of his excessive doting.

Looking in the mirror at my wounds only a day and a half after, I see
improvements.  The swelling of my eye has decreased.  It's beginning to
return to the size and shape it was before.  Unfortunately my balls also
have returned to their normal size too.  The scab on my chest clearly
indicates some healing.

I will probably have it for a few weeks.  I know the black eye will last
for a long time.  Fuck, what am I going to tell my dad?

Tate sticks his head in, "You hungry?  I'm going to bring up breakfast."

Actually yes I am.  "Yes.  That would be nice."

Looking at myself again, in addition to returning to my normal self
physically, I am beginning to feel a return to my previous self, from
before this trip in the sense that I am not under the control of Sgt Tate.
I still have to deal with my dad, but I have been doing that all my life.

Walking back into the bedroom I look outside.  The rain continues.  This
view is amazing.  I cannot see far, but what I can see feels alive.  The
sagging tree limbs slowly sway around from the wind.  Small waves roll onto
the shore of the lake.  So much energy is out there--so much growth, so
much life.

"I love looking outside during the rain too." Sgt Tate says as he comes
into the room carrying a tray with breakfast.  He places it on the table.
I am impressed.  He made French toast with powdered sugar, thin apple
slices, and chopped walnuts.  The French toast pieces are assembled on the
plate in a very organized manner; the slices are stacked in perfect
alignment.  The bacon strips are placed on their own plate along side.
Between the two plates of toast, are carafes of orange juice and milk,
beside two cups of black coffee.

We sit.  He reaches for a small cup of syrup.

"I hope you enjoy."

I pour the warmed real maple syrup on the toast.  Two bites into it and I
realize that this man is a phenomenal cook.  I have never had a breakfast
so good.

Except for a few compliments from me, we eat in silence.  He continually
looks outside.

He sits there only wearing the t-shirt; his cock hangs there on the chair.
For a brief moment I want to bend over and suck it.  I want it to fill my
mouth as it is being shoved down my throat.  But reality sets in, and I
cannot and should not have it.

Upon finishing, I put my fork down.  "Thank you Sir, that was delicious."

He pauses before responding.  His tone is somber.  "You're welcome."
Looking at me directly, his face is emotionless.  The DI authority is back,
but the psychotic intensity is nowhere on his face.  "I have enjoyed your
company this entire trip, and I would like you to stay.  But if you want to
go home early, I'll understand.  I will take you home."

Staring at him, I don't move.  I am speechless.  My brain is trying to
react to his offer.  But as soon as the option is given to me, I realize
that I don't want to go.  One minute ago, I was ready to leave, but the
first moment that he doesn't want me around, I want to fight to stay.

"I think that . . . you don't have to." That is all I say.  I am trying to
figure what else to say, but after a few moments I realize that what I said
is all that needs to be said.

He looks outside for a few moments.  The rain pretty much has cleared up.

Sgt Tate cleans up the dishes and the table.  I go back into the bathroom
to take my morning shower.  After drying off, I sit on the toilet and hope
my asshole has greatly healed.

There is some discomfort, but nothing like yesterday.

After leaving the bathroom, I walk to climb back into bed.  I see the
remote that Sgt Tate gave me yesterday.  I don't want to spend another day
in this room.

I walk downstairs into the kitchen.  It is spotless.  The dishwasher is
running.

The sound of movement comes from the office.  I walk in.  He sits behind
the desk, unaware that I have walked in.

The room cleaned up well. The furniture has been placed back in their
original positioning.  Gunny Valley's sword has been replaced on the wall.
The sling is gone.  There is no fire in the fireplace.  Outside the sun
breaks through the clouds.

Looking around I see small reminders of my night here with Boris.  There
are no pins in the map.  The gun case is missing its glass.  There is a
discoloration in the carpeting where the sling hung, probably from my blood
or my vomit.  Next to the wall near where the sling hung, a narrow brown or
black stain stands out.

"Dan.  You should be upstairs."

I begin to walk to the unidentified stain.  "I'm feeling much better than
yesterday.  I need to be doing things not just sitting . . . around." My
attention begins to drift off.  My focus is on the stain.

It is dark and long.  It looks burned.  Yes, that's exactly what it looks
like.

I get down on my knees to examine it further.  It is a burn.  The carpeting
has melted and formed a crusty substance.

My fingers trace across it.  It feels familiar.  I start to tear up, and I
initially don't know why.  Then I realize that it feels like the burn on my
pec.

I look down at my pec.  The burns are both the same size.  This must be
where the poker landed during the fight.

I start crying uncontrollably.  I don't know why.  It's a fucking piece of
carpeting.  It didn't have to get burned.  It didn't have to have a giant
scab like I do.  It didn't have to be permanently marked like I have been.

I reach up to my scab.  It still hurts; I feel it throughout my body like a
shock.  It feels like Boris is stabbing my balls again.

A hand touches my shoulder.  I spin around on the floor and expect to see
Boris towering over me.  I leap back from Sgt Tate.  They are the same
monster that did this to me.

"Get away from me you fucking bastard."

"Dan?"

I just want him to go away.  I don't want to hear what he has to say.  "Get
away from me.  I don't want you touching me." I don't want to get back in
that sling.  I don't want to be passed over to Boris again.  I know he
wants me to.  I need to say no.  I really need to tell him no.

Sgt Tate's tone becomes very stern and direct: "DAN!  Look at me!"

Looking at him, repulsion consumes me.

"LOOK AT ME!" He stoops down to me on the floor.  Calmly he says, "Dan, I
am not going to hurt you.  I am not going to hurt you.  I am not."

It's weird, but I believe him.  Looking around the room, I feel very
disjoint.  Once again I am feeling that I don't belong here.  It's like I'm
observing myself.

Sgt Tate's voice echoes in the distance even though he is inches from my
face.  "Dan!  You are safe.  You are all right."

I don't feel all right.  I feel like I am not part of my body.

Sgt Tate's body becomes very large and consumes me.  I feel like he is a
boa constrictor in his grip.  My head is pressed against his chest.

"Dan!  Say something!"

I want to but I can't.  My mouth won't move.

Sgt Tate sits on the floor next to me.  I look at him, realizing that he is
hugging me holding me tight.

"You are OK Dan.  You are OK."

I don't know why, but I start hitting him.  My sense of the unreality of my
situation is brought back to a pissed off reality.  I shout at him, "OK?
OK?  Do you really think that I am OK?"

He releases his hold on me, effectively stopping my hitting him.

"I haven't been 'OK' since you gave me to Boris." I pull away from him.  My
memories come back with full feelings, "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry.  I know you are.  What was going on in your head?"

"Dan I thought you could handle him."

"You didn't think of what he would have done to me.  No you were thinking
of how you would benefit.  So, what did you get out of it?" I stand up.
"Just how much was I sold for?"

"I don't want to get into that."

"Why?  You want to keep that a secret from me?  Half of the shit I've seen
here has been shrouded with some sort of secret."

I don't know where this rage is coming from, but it is as natural as
breathing.

"No, I don't want to bring up something that will hurt you again.  What is
going on with you?"

"I am just trying to see you for the fucking cold bastard you are."

He stops.  He stands there completely still.  Only his eyes move ever so
slightly, barely squinting.  By clenching his teeth, I can now see his jaw
muscles flexing.  What I have said angers him.

Sgt Tate charges towards me.  I don't move.  With his hand on my chest, I
fall into a sitting position on the couch.

Towering over me, his finger points directly at my face.  He's as serious
as he was the first couple of days with me.

"You know? . . .  You have taken great pleasure in telling me that I fucked
up over and over.  And I have told you countless times that I'm sorry for
what I did.  It was a mistake on my part, a big mistake, but it is a
mistake that I am trying to fix.  I care a lot about you, more than I have
done with anyone else, and in ways that I have never done.  You have to
realize I'm giving you a great deal of latitude because of it, but I have
absolutely zero interest in repeatedly being told just how much I fucked up
the other night.  So keep pushing me, keep reminding me of things that I
cannot go one minute without feeling guilty on my own, and watch me snap.
And you DO NOT want me to snap.  I have made snapping into an art form.  I
will jump through your chest and come out the other side with your soul
clenched in my teeth.  I have the experience from thirty plus years of
snapping at young punks like you to make your life a living hell." His tone
calms slightly, "Now, if you want to know how much I made off your ass I'll
tell you." We stare into each other's eyes.  "So do you want to know how
much I made?"

I look around to gather my thoughts.  Swallowing whatever spit in my mouth,
I answer simply, "Yes" only to sarcastically add "Sir."

He backs away.  "I bought out Boris's half of the patent for one hundred
thousand dollars after paying his Russian partners fifty thousand to walk
away from their loan to him.  This morning I got confirmation that an offer
of three million two was made by a German company.  So you got me a little
more than three million dollars.  What else do you want to know?"

"My cut?"

He seems completely caught off guard, "I haven't given it much thought." He
takes a few moments, "Next question."

Three million and I get nothing?  Wow!  And I haven't even been considered.
With all the plotting he had to consider, I was not even going to get one
dime?  Amazing.  I am shocked.

But then the thought crossed my mind that this couldn't have just
accidentally happened.

"How long have you been plotting this?"

"What?"

"How long have you been plotting giving me to Boris?"

He sits in the chair next to me.  "Boris contacted me the day before you
and your dad arrived.  I knew of his predicament, and expected his call
sooner or later.  Knowing that he and your dad didn't get along, I made
arrangements for him to come the night you two left.  It wasn't until we
were driving home from town that I thought of calling him to change dates."

"What did you think would happen between us?"

"I thought he would whip your ass, slap you around a bit, and fuck your ass
real good.  Pretty much what happened the night before.  Next question."

"Did you know about Katy?"

"Not that she got knocked up by your dad.  I should have known.  Had I
known, things would have been a lot different."

I wish that things had been different too.  "If you weren't expecting what
he did, then how did you know to come up to save me?"

"From the fire pit below, Tard saw something glowing.  I looked up at the
window, only to see Boris waiving the red-hot poker.  I knew that it wasn't
a good sign.  Next question."

"What happened to Boris and Tard?"

Sgt Tate looks at me.  I can see him thinking about his answer.  "Next
question."

"That is my question.  What happened to Boris?"

"Boy! . . . Next question."

"I want to know."

"You don't want to know; you want me to give in and tell you."

He's right.  I don't care what happened to Boris.  I just want him to cave
in.  He's being such a hard ass right now.  I don't like him much right
now.  I want to go back to the time before Boris showed up.  But then . . .

"You had this plotted on the drive home?"

"Yeah."

"So during all that time with you--in here talking about Gunny Valley in
this room, you fucking me afterwards, taking me to hunt, and going out to
the island--you had this in your mind that you were going to pass me on?"

He pauses.  Now the hard ass disappears.  I caught him.  He responds with
"Yes."

So it was all part of his plot.  I get up.  "So if this makes you snap then
so be it.  You are a fucking asshole!  I thought you wanted me for me, not
so you could prepare me for the moment you just hand me over to Boris."

"Now wait a minute!"

"No! Every time I begin to feel that you are being truthful, there is
always some sort of hidden agenda.  Something that I am not aware of,
something that I'm not prepared for, something that I have to react to
immediately.  I'm really tired of it."

He shakes his head, "I'm really getting tired of this bullshit too."

"What bullshit?  Are you tired of me telling you that I'm really over your
bullshit?  Because I am."

"No I'm tired of you complaining about my 'Bullshit' and yet you don't do
anything about it except complain."

What?  Now this is my fault.  I am the one that is recovering from his
fuckup.  Sarcastically, I respond, "I'm sorry that I have been complaining
that my eye was used as a punching bag, my chest was used as a thermometer
to check the temperature of a red hot poker, and lastly I am truly sorry
that my balls were used as a pin cushion.  I'm sorry that I had to complain
that I was almost killed by a friend of yours."

And his quick sarcastic tone matches mine, "And I'm sorry that I rescued
your sorry ass."

My jaw drops.  He realizes that his attempt at a joke has a completely
different result.

"Fuck you old man!  You go to HELL!"

I want to be alone, away from him.  Running out of the office, I look
outside, and the rain has completely stopped and the sun has begun drying
things out.

I don't know why I do it, but I decide to go outside.  So what that I am
not wearing anything.  I haven't worn clothes here while at the lodge.  It
does feel liberating to do so.

I realize that I need something on my feet.  Walking into the house, Sgt
Tate stands in the living room.  Walking past him to grab my shoes, his
eyes follow my every step.  I speak not a word, but my message is sent.

The sliding door creates a screech that echoes in the room.  Sitting on the
deck furniture, I put on my shoes.  Tate stands in the door, filling up the
door jam.

I head down the step towards the woods where he and I went hunting.

Sgt Tate shouts at me, "Dan!" Out of instinct I look back at him.  "Don't
go too far." I shouldn't have looked back; I should have kept on going.  I
resume looking forward, but he still yells at me, "If you should get lost,
walk downhill to the nearest stream.  Follow it until you get to the lake."

I do want to get lost; it seems to be better than being with him.  I want
to get out of here, so far away.  And running from the lodge is the best
way to do feel away from him.

It doesn't take long before I reach the hide where I shot the buck.  It is
familiar to me--a much needed comfort.

The rag that Sgt Tate put down to lie on when he had me lick his ass is
still on the ground, undisturbed.  I wonder if there is any of his dried
pre-cum on it.

This is a good place as any to sit down.  My ass sits directly on where his
cock would have been.  Nearly sitting on my recovering balls elicits a
gasp.

The crisp air feels refreshing.  Wind races through the treetops, but the
briskness at the top is only a gentle breeze.

It's been a few days since I was here in this same spot with Sgt Tate.  I
was bored then, but I am not now.  I was anxious for something to happen,
but now I am anxious for something not to happen.

Damn.  What the hell is wrong with my life?  Or rather, why is it that the
people that I cling to are destroying me one bone at a time?

My dad can't stand what I am, so I hide it.  I can't stand what he does,
but he doesn't care for my opinion.  He wants to shape me into something
god awful--something like him.

Joe is truly good to me, but he is completely unattainable.  He's happy
with his wife and daughters.  He sees Sgt Tate for who he is, but he
doesn't understand me.

Randy and Boris are in my life just to complicate it.

Sgt Tate.  He means well, but he has an awful way of showing it.  Every
time I begin to get close to him, he does something to piss me off.  Every
time I pull away, he does something so tender that pulls me back to him.
Three days ago I was here with him thinking that I wanted to spend my life
at his side.  Now, I don't know how I could.

What am I going to do?  Go home to my dad and return to sucking cock at the
mall?  Stay here with a man I don't trust that is hell bent on breaking me
in two?

I wish my mom were still here.  She would have the answer.  Hell her answer
would be to tell Sgt Tate to fuck off.

Ma, I did just that.  Now what?

I lean back and look up.  The tops of the trees sway, revealing and then
obscuring the blue sky.

I see two birds flying together around their nest.  One will fly away only
to be chased by the other one.  Then, they fly back to the nest.

I lay down on the ground with my arms behind my head.  I look up and find
so much that is easily missed by looking straight ahead.

Those birds keep flying around a clearing of the trees to my right.  Their
dance is rhythmic as they fly free but still confined in all directions.  I
wonder if they would have that enthusiasm towards each other if the
restricting trees weren't there.  It seems that the clearing nearest their
nest provides them with everything they need to be happy.

The tall trees sway in the wind.  The branches are sparse, and the birds
could fly though them.  Really, the restricting trees surrounding the space
between has nothing to do with the happiness of the birds in it.  They just
create the form for the empty space that provides for the opportunity.

I don't know how long I have been watching these birds.  I know it has been
a long time, seems like hours.  Not wearing any clothes, I am starting to
get cool.

I get up to move to that clearing and sit in the warm sun.  Now this feels
really good.  The grass's coolness slightly offsets the sun's heat.
Between the birds above, the sun warming me, and the grass swaying from the
breeze, I feel that I am a part of this clearing.

Watching the birds from underneath is a delight.  That is until they fly
off through the trees, but not towards their nest.

In the opposite direction, the direction of the hide, I hear something
approach.  I look over and see Sgt Tate walking calmly in my direction.  He
doesn't say anything, and I don't respond until he is standing over me.

"Hey boy, I thought you would be cold.  I brought you a blanket."

He hands it to me.

"Thanks.  How did you know I was here?"

"You wouldn't be able to walk much farther along the path before you hit
the other hide.  The terrain, beyond the second hide is quite
uninhabitable."

It is strange just how quiet this conversation is.  I am exhausted from the
previous arguments.  I sense that Sgt Tate is feeling the same way.

Spreading the blanket down, I lay on it.  He turns away and walks away with
his head down.

"Want to join me looking at the birds?" Why did I just ask that?  After
what he said to me back at the lodge I should be pissed.  But I know that
he didn't mean the literal word that he was sorry for rescuing me, that he
wanted me dead.  I know he was sarcastically reminding me that he was the
one to rescue me.

He turns back.

"Dan."

There is a pause.

"Let's not say anything.  Just sit here and enjoy the sun with me."

He comes over me and sits on the blanket next to me.  Yes, he shows some
concern for me, and I, once again, allow him in.

I can tell that he is not comfortable sitting on the ground cross-legged
like I am.

Strangely, I am not really pissed off at him like I was in the office.  I
am more numb than anything else.  But watching the birds has calmed me.

As he sits next to me, he doesn't say anything for a while.  The tension
between us is gone.  The birds return.

"Dan, I'm sorry for what I said.  I . . ." He stops what he is going to
say.  It seems better that he leaves it with the apology.  I nod at him.

He leans back on his elbows.  After a few minutes he rolls over on his side
facing me.

As the sun moves behind the trees, it starts to get a bit cooler.  A huge
amount of time elapses without a word being spoken.  The silence is more
soothing than anything he could say.

I am caught off guard when he begins "I'm going to say this.  You may hate
me for this, but I need to." His tone is very calm.  I do not sense that he
is putting on some faŤade.  "I like you, Dan.  I like you a lot.  More
than anyone I have ever been with.  I love how I feel when I am around you.
I feel like myself, and I feel like I get to be myself, that I don't have
to change for anyone.  I thought I had this feeling with many others, both
men and women.  I see now that I was wrong about them.  But you are
amazing.  I can't begin to describe the positive impact you have had on
me."

"Sir, . . ." I begin to say thanks, but he holds up his hand to stop me.

"I'm sorry Dan for what I have done to you or said to you.  I didn't mean
to hurt you that way.  I love you boy."

Wow.  He says the words unprompted by me.

"And I want you to be a part of my life." Once again, he is winning me
over.  I cannot believe that his words and actions are working on me.  They
shouldn't.  I should be cold and immune to him.  "I want you to share the
rest of my life with me."

Is he proposing to me?  Now?

He looks me in the eye and says, "But I can't be with you anymore."

My jaw drops as I look at him puzzled.  He sees it.

"I can't be around you.  I always seem to cause you harm." His eyes begin
to tear up.  I don't get it.  He tells me that he loves me in one breath
and then tells me that he can't be around me.  This doesn't connect.  "Even
right now, I know that your ass is still sore from Gunny's sword.  But that
doesn't stop me from thinking about flipping your naked body on your
stomach and shoving my cock into your cunt before even thinking about if
you want it.  Knowing the extra pain you would experience would add to my
busting a nut in you."

That would feel wonderful about now.  Being pushed away from him makes me
want more.

"But I don't think I can control my emotions.  I have worked so damned hard
to suppress them for these many years.  I am doing everything I can to
ignore what my cock desperately needs at the moment."

He is working me to no end.  But while I want to yell, "Fuck me" the
reality sets in that that would be the absolute worst thing that I could
do.  He is absolutely right.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore, and yet, that's all I seem to be doing.
I shouldn't have someone like you in my life.  You deserve someone who will
treat you better.  I love you so much that I have to tell you no.  So I
need to just control myself around you.  Treat you like the son of one of
my Marine brothers." He clarifies, "While you are one, I need to treat you
like one that I don't want to fuck."

I look at him as a strong breeze descends on us both.  I start to shiver.
"Sir, can we head back." I find it strange that I still call him Sir or Sgt
Tate.  I don't know what else to call him.  Lennox, Len, or Lenny seems
wrong for me.  So I stick to the formal.

We walk in silence back to the lodge.  As it comes into view, he asks, "How
is the recovery?"

"I can still feel a little soreness in my balls, kinda like a bruise, but
different.  My eye is not throbbing anymore, and I can see out of it.  The
scab itches."

"And your hole?"

"Better.  How does my eye look?"

He glances at me.  "Good.  You're right, the swelling has gone down."

"Sir, can I ask that we be civil with each other? You know, don't do
anything that will make us argue?  I just can't do it anymore."

"Sure boy." We approach the lodge.  He stops and turns to me.  "Can I ask
that you don't remind me of the mistakes I have made?  It really bothers
me; it shouldn't, but it does."

I nod.  I ask, "Can I also ask you not to surprise me with your out of
nowhere surprises?"

He laughs as we climb the stairs to the deck of the lodge.  "Boy I have
spent my whole career building Marines by constantly thrusting them into
situations that they are caught off guard.  It's in my blood, my very
nature.  It will be rather difficult for me to go cold turkey." Sgt Tate
stops to open the door for me, smiles, and says, "But we'll see.  Go
upstairs and clean up.  You are quite dirty.  Meet me back down here for
dinner."

I go upstairs and wash up.  Sitting on the toilet, I take the second dump
of the day.  My hole has only a small amount of discomfort.

After flushing, I take a shower.  He doesn't join me.  In fact, I don't
hear him at all.  When I go downstairs I see him finishing making us some
rather large chicken sandwiches.  He too is naked.

He sets two large sandwiches in front of me with a giant glass of milk.
His fingers have some mayonnaise on them; a quick lick, and it is gone.

A phone rings.  That's a sound I haven't heard in a long time.  He walks
into his office to answer.  I hear in the distance, "Hello . . . Hi, yes I
remember you." He comes back to the dining room with his cell phone.  "Yes,
my boy and I were just talking about you."

We were?  Who the hell is that?

"Yes we would love to meet you again." He walks back into the office.
"Yes, I can make sure you get fucked again.  This time you don't have to
worry about who might be lurking around the next tree . . . Sure . . . Let
me give you the directions here." Sgt Tate gives some long directions that
I couldn't follow even if they were printed out.  "When could you come
over?  You are about an hour away.  How about tomorrow? . . . No?
. . . Sunday doesn't work for me either; I have to take the boy
home. . . . He lives with his dad.  No, I'm not his biological
father. . . . How about next weekend? . . . How long would you be staying?
I have plenty of room." He's already making plans for his next conquest.  I
want to know who it is.  I wonder if it is Randy.  No, this conversation
sounds too much like they barely know each other.  "You don't have to pack
much, as you are going to be naked most of the weekend.  Don't worry; my
property is extremely private.  See you soon.  Bye."

Sgt Tate comes back into the dining room all smiles.

"That was Daniel, the baseball executive we fucked on Monday, the one with
the huge cock.  I told you he would call.  He wants to fuck again.  He
asked if you would be there, I told him that you are going home on Sunday."

Sunday, two days from now, seems so long off, and yet right around the
corner.

"Too bad, he couldn't be here now.  I would love to share him with you
again."

I don't know how to respond.  I just eat my sandwich.  He does too.  We
don't say anything more until I pick up the plates to return to the sink.

To break the tension he asks, "Why don't you go upstairs and get that
remote I gave you yesterday.  I would love to show you the system I put
together." He bounces his eyebrows and smiles.

I go upstairs to find the remote.  I am so confused.  This morning we were
civil to one another.  Then he sets me off with a simple comment. Then he
tells me he loves me, only to follow it up with that he can't be around me
in order to protect me.  I don't know what to do.  I don't know if I can
take any more.

Looking out of the window in the bedroom, I see that island.  That island
always calms me.  I wasn't on it for more than an hour or two, but it is so
comforting, so calming, and so real.

I grab the remote and climb down both sets of stairs.  Sgt Tate is nowhere
to be found.  I proceed to the workshop.  He isn't in there either.  He
isn't in the butcher room either.

I hear a noise coming from the gym.  Walking into it, I realize that the
sound is coming from the dungeon.  As I am about to enter, Sgt Tate comes
out.  A cigar hangs from his mouth.

"Oh there you are." He looks at my hand and sees the remote.  "Come here
let me show you."

I follow him into the dungeon, confused as to why we are not going into the
workroom.  It is quite dark.  Red light illuminates the space.  It is then
when I see him.  A hooded man's body is tied to the fuck table--the same
one Tard was tied to a couple nights ago.  This man's legs are tightly tied
to the ceiling.  His arms and torso are tied to the table.  It is then I
see the twisted tattoo on his shoulder.  This tattoo belongs to Boris.

I take two steps back and look at Sgt Tate.  "WHAT THE FUCK?"

"You wanted no more surprises.  I debated telling you, but decided that you
can handle this."

"Handle what?  This mother fucking bastard nearly killed me."

"And he's not going anywhere."

"When I asked you not to surprise me anymore, THIS is what I was talking
about.  What the hell is the point of bringing me here under the guise of
your invention and springing this on me?" I look at the remote.  "Oh no!
What does this remote do?"

"Push it and find out."

I look at the button.  "There is no fucking way.  I am not going to
participate in this."

"It's not going to kill him."

"I don't care.  I am not going to be like this monster.  I am not going to
get consumed with revenge."

"Dan, this man nearly killed you.  He needs to know that every time you
needed me, he was the cause.  He was the cause of you hurting.  He was the
cause of your soreness.  He needs to begin to realize just what he did to
you."

"What the fuck is with you?  You think that this is meant to impress me?
What were you thinking?  What ARE you thinking?  I thought that we were
finally on the same page, that we wouldn't do anything to upset the other."

"What did you think happened to him?"

"I don't know.  But I am not going to push this button.  I am not going to
be like him.  I am not going to stoop to his level."

Boris's laughter fills the room.

I walk over to him.  He is tied down quite extensively with several arm
restraints, a restraint around his torso, a collar made of different
material than the leather.  I yank off his hood to reveal a dried blood
covered face.  He has two black eyes.

"I'm not going to have any part of this."

Boris speaks, "I knew it.  The faggot will never be a real man."

I look down, "No, a real man doesn't engage in revenge bullshit."

He spits on me.

Wiping the spit from my cheek, I vow that I will not become this revenge
filled hate machine.  This is so not me.  It feels wrong to inflict pain on
a helpless individual.  Even though I want to resists seeking vengeance on
the helpless individual caused me pain and permanent physical and
psychological damage, I push the button anyways.

Boris's body tenses causing him to thrash about on the table.  I release
the button and he stops.  I push it again and see that his thrashing comes
from his neck.  That collar isn't a normal looking sex collar.  This is an
electrified dog collar, designed to go through fur to shock dogs when
barking gets out of control.

I watch him convulse on the table.  I wonder if this is how I looked in the
sling.

"What the hell?  You mean this has been on him since the other night?  I've
been torturing him all day yesterday?"

"Pretty much." Boris is gasping for air.

"This is just fucked up."

"No, he hasn't been fucked . . . yet."

I turn to walk away.  "I am not going to participate in this shit.  I don't
want any more fucking surprises."

"Yes you do.  I saw your face when you were pushing that button a minute
ago.  You loved it.  You kept pushing it over and over.  My little
surprises keep showing me your true nature.  This one impressed me.  You're
doing well."

"I don't want to be constantly tested."

"You are doing as good as any of my best Marines."

Boris interrupts, "Blasphemy!"

Sgt Tate responds, "If I wanted your opinion there, I would have taken my
dick out of your throat first." Even though Boris is bound up, his fingers
move free.  He slowly flips off Sgt Tate, who then smiles at the bound
Marine.  "Atta boy."

Sgt Tate approaches me.  I take a half step back.

"Stay.  Have some fun."

"My idea of fun is completely different than your reality based on hidden
agendas and secrets."

"But it's a lot of fun." He puffs on his cigar a few times, smiles, grabs
Boris's balls and squeezes.  The bound man screams, followed by something
in Russian.  It has to be a curse; his tone was very combative.

"If it's so much fun, why is he cursing you?  By the way, why don't you
translate for me what he just said?  You do speak his language fluently;
don't you?" Let's see how he likes surprises.

Boris gains strength to snap his head towards Sgt Tate.  "What?"

He takes his cigar out of his mouth and stares at me with his ice-cold
stare.  Then with a bare hint of a smile he says, "Very gooooood." Looking
down at Boris, he makes his smile bigger and more maniacal.

Boris asks Tate, "The cunt is lying; isn't she?"

Boris screams in pain as his body tenses, a result of the button being
pushed.  I don't realize that my thumb pushed it down.  His voice breaks
off into a garbled scream and his body begins to convulse against his
bonds.  I'm standing with my arm extended with the remote in hand.  I look
past my arm at this quivering man; it seems strange to witness such pain
and not care if it stops.

Tate's eyes meet mine, and he shows a glint of surprise and delight.  "Boy,
. . . ease up there, . . . " He chuckles.

My eyes narrow and my jaw clenches as I look down my arm length at him
fixing a steel stare.  Pressing harder, the knuckles on my right hand going
white from the force.  It feels good.  My focus is solely on the connection
between my thumb and watching him squirm.  Nothing else around me matters.
I am running on instinct--instinct based on adrenaline.

"Boy!" he shouts.  I do not pay him any notice.  "DAN!" Tate's voice rises.
He stands to his full six-four and in his loudest DI voice barks
"AH-TEN-HUH!"

Instinctively my hand lowers as I snap to in perfect posture, hands by my
side, thumbs in, heels together feet spread by a 45-degree angle, chest
filled and out, and eyes looking a thousand feet ahead.

Sgt Tate walks over to me.  He takes the remote out of my hand and uses it
to push upward on my jaw.  "Head up and back a little."

Boris's head turns to me "What the fuck is wrong with you bitch?"

I look him straight in the eye and say? "What's my name, mother fucker?"

He looks at me, "What?"

I walk along his side to his head.  "What the fuck is my name?"

"Cunt bitch douchebag fuckface shithead."

I go to Tate for the remote.  He doesn't give it to me.  I look up at him,
"You want me down here; you give me that thing."

He hands it to me.  I hold it inches from Boris's face.

"Humor me.  What is my name?" I am enjoying the reversal of the situation.

"Cunt bitch . . ." His voice stops repeating what he said a moment ago, as
I have reinstated my shocking him, albeit for a few seconds this time.

Upon stopping, I say to him, "Hi, I think we got off on the wrong foot.
Dan.  My name is Dan.  And that man over there is Sgt Tate.  Did you know
he speaks and understands Russian?  Reads it too."

Boris says something in Russian, obviously to test Tate.  As he stares at
me, Tate's response is in English, "Yes, for about 35 years or so.  Learned
it in college."

Boris responds again in his language only to have Tate say, "Oh yes I was
the one who contacted Alexei on Wednesday.  It was easy to convince him to
ditch your sorry ass."

The veins in Boris's neck bulge as he starts shouting at Tate, who holds up
his hand to tell the bound man to stop.  I decide to push the button to end
the yelling.

Sgt Tate acknowledges my action with a quick glance and eyebrow bounce.
Boris does shut up.  Sgt Tate stoops down to talk more directly to his
captive.

Sgt Tate speaks fluent Russian for two minutes or so.  Boris during this
time goes from aggressively resistant to panicked to pissed off.  He spits
on Sgt Tate, who stands up.

Boris yells, "Fuck you bastard!"

"No, it is not me that is going to be fucked." He runs his hands down
Boris's stomach, past the cock and balls in order to stick two fingers in
Boris's crack.  From my vantage point, I see Sgt Tate spread his two
fingers effectively showing me the rosebud.

Sgt Tate looks at me.  "You ever see a virgin hole?"

"Sir?"

"Ever see a man's hole right before it is going to be fucked?  It twitches
like crack whore in rehab.  Boris here is about to become a big pussy."

I am unsure where this is going.

"Come here Dan."

No longer angry at the situation, I am curious what he has planned.  I step
forward.

"Look at his asshole; what do you see?"

I look.  But then a thought that he wants me to eat it crosses my mind.
"There is no fucking way that I am going to eat his ass."

Sgt Tate starts laughing.  "Boy, I wouldn't even consider such a vile
thing, even for you.  I don't want you to eat it.  I want you to fuck it."

What?  He wants me to have sex with this man!  How the fuck can I do that?

I don't want to be here.  I don't want to be next to Sgt Tate.  I don't
want any part of this set up.

Yet, I do not respond to Sgt Tate's statement with 'No'.  I instead process
everything before me.

Boris lays in front of me--the man who nearly killed me.  I have the
opportunity to turn the man into a pussy.  I would bring him down to my
level--not that I have any problems being the one who gets fucked.  No this
would destroy his self-esteem.  He could no longer look down his nose at
me, not that I would want him ever around me again.

I recall what Sgt Tate did to the biker, how he played on the biker's own
hierarchy of masculinity.  By letting the biker think that he was beat up
by a gay man, the biker's own view of his self was completely destroyed.

I have the opportunity to do the same to Boris.

I now want to be here.  I now want to do this.

Sgt Tate and I have promised to be civil to each other, and yet he is
fucking with my head again.  I don't care.

I ask, "By me fucking him, will that make him a faggot?"

Sgt Tate turns to look at me, and gives me one hell of a smile.  He knows
why I am asking, "Why yes it would."

"With me fucking him, that would make him lower than a shit eating faggot?"
It is awkward to hear me say those words about myself, but this is more for
Boris's ears.

"Absolutely!  The lowest of lows."

Boris speaks up.  "I know what the faggot is doing, it ain't going to
work."

I walk up to him and look down.  "It will."

Sgt Tate says proudly, "That's my boy!"

Damn him!  I should hate him for how he is manipulating Boris and me, well
me primarily.  But it feels really good not to be fighting.  The ease I
feel with him seems natural again.

Earlier, I wanted to tear him apart, but now I feel the connection with him
I felt before Boris came to complicate my life.  Granted this connection is
based on our feelings toward Boris.

I should walk away; that's the logical thing to do.  Instead, I would
rather take this moment with him.  So I walk over to Boris's ass.

I look at Sgt Tate.  "How do I do this?" He grins and starts with a quick
hug and a kiss on the forehead.  I state, "Now, this doesn't change
anything between us." I know I am lying as I say this.  Something, albeit
small, changes here.

Pulling away, Sgt Tate offers, "Get your dick hard and stick it in him." He
takes a step back and looks at me.  "You've never fucked anybody, have
you?"

Boris chimes in, "Of course he hasn't; he doesn't have one ounce of man in
him.  He's 100% pure nelly."

I respond quickly, "Shut up piece of shit.  You're going to be my bitch in
a few minutes.  Then we will find out who the nelly one really is as my
spooge pours out of your ass."

"So what?  No one will ever know."

"Yes they will.  Sgt Tate, will you do me a favor and videotape me fucking
him?"

"Absolutely my boy!"

"Ox, don't you dare."

Sgt Tate walks up to him and punches him in the gut.  "Don't you fucking
ever address me like that again!  You have lost all rights to calling me
Ox.  Whatever friendship we had is gone.  It ended the moment you shoved
that first pin into Dan's balls."

"You mean Jack Stevens's faggot son?"

Sgt Tate punches him again.  "Dan, you want it filmed?  You got it." He
walks over to a discrete panel in the wall, opens it.  I cannot tell what
he is doing, but he seems to know exactly which buttons to push.  Closing
the door, he says, "The recording has begun."

I stand at Boris's shaven meaty ass.  His legs are spread upward.  I can
see his ass cheeks part to barely reveal the hole.

Sgt Tate walks up to me, "Why don't you start jerking off.  If you are
going to fuck him, you will need to be hard."

I reach down and grab my cock.  It feels weird to hold it like this.  This
past week was filled with so much sex, and yet, my cock has been completely
ignored.  It doesn't respond.

Boris ridicules me, "Can't get it up?  Only real men get it up."

"You go to hell."

"Dan listen, seeing this is your first time you are going to fuck, I need
to offer you some suggestions.  First is to realize that there are two
kinds of fucks--the one where you fuck for his pleasure and the one where
you fuck for yours.  When you fuck for someone else's pleasure, you are
concerned with really insignificant things like how they feel, if they are
enjoying it, and if everything is erotic and pleasurable.  That's bullshit.
When I fuck, it's for my cock, and only my cock.  The hole that is in front
of you is for your pleasure.  Nothing else matters.  It is all about how to
use that cunt in front of you to get the most pleasure for your cock."

Boris interrupts again, "If that's what matters, why don't you have a wife?
Or a girlfriend?"

Sgt Tate responds immediately, "I would, but Katy is damaged goods." Damn,
he really knows how to sting.  He must have been paying attention to what
was said in the video.

Boris thrashes about, but this time without the shock.

"Shut up!" Sgt Tate barks.  He looks at me, "How are you doing down there?"

We both look down.  My cock is not hard, even though I have been tugging at
it for the past few minutes.

"Here let me help you." He reaches down and grabs my shaft.  It feels
strange to have him holding my cock in his calloused grip.  Starting to
jerk it, he begins a rhythm.  It feels good, but nothing to get my cock
going.  I guess that it is not ready to get back to where it was.

Towering over me Sgt Tate looks down at me.  "You are going to need this."
With his foot he pulls out a riser from under the table.  He wants me to
stand on it so that my cock lines up with Boris's ass.

I do.  Now my cock is at the right height, but again it isn't getting hard,
even with his jerking.

He says, "Aw, hell!  If you ever repeat that this happened, I will kill
you.  And that's not an empty threat." I have no clue to what he is talking
about.  That is until he drops to one knee, leans over and takes my cock in
his mouth.

His mouth feels so warm and wet.  Shocked, I look down at his head bobbing
up and down on my shaft.  I am not the only one shocked, Boris adds, "Ox,
have you no shame?  You are giving head to a cunt?  What the fuck is wrong
with . . ."

He doesn't finish his sentence, as his body tenses up.  Sgt Tate pushed the
button.  I have no clue how the remote ended in his hand, but he shut Boris
up.

His tongue focuses on my piss slit.  It tickles, but the tickle is not like
a feather on the bottom of the feet.  Rather, it is an electric intense
pleasurable tickle, and it feels good.  Hell, it feels great.

My cock starts to get hard.

Sgt Tate runs his hands up my legs so that he can grip the base of my cock
and balls in his hands.  However, as his hand roughly handles my balls, a
shock of pain runs down my leg.

I jerk back.

He pulls off my cock to look up.  "What?" His hand still pumps my shaft.

"My balls Sir.  They still hurt."

Sgt Tate pauses his jerking.  With his free hand he backhand swats Boris's
balls only a couple feet away.

Boris shouts, "What the fuck?"

Sgt Tate slowly starts the pumping motion, "If his balls still hurt; so
should yours!"

I ask, "Why don't you gag him?"

"Oh no.  I want to hear him.  I want to hear him scream when his cherry is
popped.  I want his screams to echo in this room.  He needs to hear his own
suffering." As soon as he finishes what he is saying, his mouth returns to
blowing me.

It does feel good.  I can't believe that Sgt Tate is doing this.  I haven't
cum since last week, and I am ready to cum again.

Sgt Tate grabs my ass and pulls my cock deep into his mouth.  I can feel
his moustache against my skin.  It tickles, but more like a regular tickle.

He starts gagging, but he doesn't pull off.  My cock remains in his mouth
for a long time as he continues to heave.  I can feel a lot of his spit
covering my cock.

Coming up for air, he looks up at me.  One strand of spit hangs between my
cockhead and his lip.  Smiling I can see that he is really enjoying blowing
me.

Turning his head towards Boris, Sgt Tate starts snorting and hocking.  With
a jerk of his head, he spits an enormous wad that lands directly on Boris's
ass crack.

Sgt Tate holds my cock in one hand and an ass cheek in the other.  He
pushes me to turn towards Boris.  As I turn, he uses my cock head to
slather the spit on my cock and the gob in the crack.  With a few up and
down motions of my cockhead, the crack and hole are covered in his spit.

Sgt Tate stands up next to me.

I don't know if I want to do this now.  "Sir?"

He ignores me when he moves a few inches from my cheek and whispers
directly in my ear, "Now boy . . ." I can see his stone cold stare in my
periphery.  A firm slap on my ass, is followed by a booming command, "
. . . FUCK!"

I pause for a moment, terrified not knowing what to do next.  Looking down
I see my cock at Boris's hole.  I know it needs to go in.  But having Sgt
Tate standing next to me is nerve-racking.  It's like not being able to pee
with someone watching.  That must mean I am fuck-shy.

"Fucking usually involves a cock going in a cunt." I slowly look over at
Sgt Tate, whose tone changes.  "Use your pelvis to thrust forward." As he
says this, he thrusts his own cock forward into the air, making it flop
around.

Looking forward, I see Boris clamping his eyes shut for the eventual pain.

I go for it.  My first thrust doesn't go in; instead my cock rides the spit
in the ass crack upwards.

Looking down at my cock, the head is repositioned.

Sgt Tate offers, "See if you can get the tip in, then thrust it."

My cockhead is right at his opening.  After a little nudge, my piss slit
nestles in his hole.  Closing my eyes allows me to focus on my cock.  I
take a deep breath, and with all the concentration on my cock, I start to
shove.

It goes in.  I keep shoving.  Boris screams out in pain.  For a split
second, I want to alleviate his pain, but I remember two nights ago, and I
keep shoving.  His body tenses up.  His asshole ring constricts around my
shaft.  It is that ring that I focus on.  I know that I want it around the
base of my shaft.  I've seen that in porn.  After a second or two of
shoving forward, it is there.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Boris shouts.  "TAKE IT OUT!" He screams.

I open my eyes to see Sgt Tate looking back at me surprised.  "Dan is
taking no prisoners tonight!"

"Am I doing it wrong?"

"Ah, well, . . . no." Boris continues screaming.  "You didn't just pop his
cherry, you took a Browning .50 caliber machine gun to it."

I pull back.  My cock falls out.

"Don't pull back so far.  Once you go in, start the fucking motion.  You'll
get it."

Boris stops shouting enough to say, "Hell no!  FUCK NO!"

Sgt Tate responds.  "It's either his cock or a hot poker on a fuck machine.
The choice is yours." That makes me smile.

I thrust in.  This time there is less resistance, due to a second layer of
spit.  I start fucking.  Oh man does this feel strange!  Inside his hole,
my cock feels the moist soft walls of his hole.  The best way to describe
it is that it feels like my cock is going into a pile of warm jell-o.

The feeling switches from being strange to feeling really good.

"Atta boy!" Sgt Tate stands to the side looking over at me.  His arms are
crossed, with legs apart.  The red lighting really makes him imposing.  I
can barely make out his cock, as it is rigid pointing out in front of him.
His campaign cover sits on his head.  I don't know when he put it on, but
there it sits with the brim perfectly horizontal.  I notice that he isn't
wearing his dog tags.

He takes a drag on the cigar, the end lights up.  In this red light, the
embers appear as if it is white.

"Ox!  I get your point.  I get it."

Sgt Tate breaks his pose and walks over to Boris.  "I don't think you do."
He stoops down behind the table where Boris is bound to reach for
something.

I don't stop fucking.  Seeing Tate's cock makes me want to pull out and
climb on top of it.  But for now, I need to focus on Boris's hole.

Sgt Tate cantilevers over so that he stares into his eyes.  "No, you say
you understand.  That's bullshit.  Everything you say is nothing but
bullshit." He stands up.  Now I see what he has in his hands--the same
rimseat I was under at the rest area.  "Yes, everything that comes from
your mouth is shit.  That's about to change." The rimseat goes over Boris's
face.

Tate jumps on the table.  It is surprising to see a man of his size and age
jumping up on the table.  He stands facing Boris, without much room for his
feet.  His meaty ass is only a few inches from my face.

"Now listen here you Russian shithead, I'm going to plant my sweaty ass on
your face." I lean over and smell his ass musk.  I want to taste it so bad.
"Your job is to lick it.  Now, shut up; don't say a word.  Your tongue is
going to love licking my hole.  I know it likes ass; don't forget that you
told me that you eat out your ex-girlfriend's ass all the time.  Now it's
time for you to eat a man's ass--a REAL man's ass." I inhale deeply.  I
miss eating his ass.  I want it so bad now.  "If you should stop licking my
hole at anytime, . . . well, . . . I will be sitting on a toilet seat."

I lean in to get another sniff, but he takes a step away.  He stops his
motion forward and replaces his foot back making his ass come back to
exactly where it was when I tried to sniff.

"You going to take a whiff or not?" I look up and Sgt Tate looks down at me
smiling.  I lean forward and breathe in deeply.  It is the most wonderful
smell I can think of.

Now he steps away, and continues to turn around.  He sits on the seat.

"Good!  Now I get to watch Dan take your cherry and make you his bitch."

He holds up the remote.  A push of the button results in my cock being
strangled by Boris's tense asshole.  I continue to fuck.  The strange thing
is that I don't get it.  It feels good; my cock has never felt anything
like this.  But, at the same time, I want to be on the other side of this.
I want my face buried in Sgt Tate's ass right now.  I want to be the one
who is getting fucked.

"That tongue better get to work."

I look down between Sgt Tate's legs; under his hard cock I see Boris's jaw
wedged in Tate's ass.  His Adam's apple bobs up and down.  He is licking
Sgt Tate the way I want to.

"So boy, do you like being a top?"

"It's weird Sir."

"That's because you are cunt by design." He leans back and slowly strokes
his cock.  Boris is still licking.  "Dan, vary it up some.  Nothing is
worse than a cock that does the same thing over and over." How would he
know?  As if reading my mind, he adds, "Or, so I have been told.  Thrust
deep into him.  It will feel that you are hitting a wall, but you will be
hitting his inner sphincter.  It will feel so good, and he's not going to
like it."

I thrust deep.  I do feel his ass wall.

"Wiggle your cock around."

I follow his instruction, and my cock does find a spot that is tight.  I
shove the last half-inch of my shaft into Boris.  That spot encapsulates
the sensitive spot on the bottom of my head.  It does feel good.

"Now slam fuck him, aiming for that spot every time."

I give everything I can to hit it again.  The first few times I miss, and
then my cock finds it, then it finds it repeatedly.  Oh, this is feeling
wonderful.  Sgt Tate has picked up the pace of his jacking off.  His balls
flop around between his legs.  His left bicep glistens from sweat.  His
right hand works both nipples.  The sweat isn't solely on his bicep; it
glistens under all his chest hair.

"That's it boy!  Fuck him!  FUCK HIM!"

I slam harder and harder.  That spot is being hit every time.

"Oh yeah boy!  I want to see you cum.  I want to see you breed this mother
fucking Russian ass."

I maintain my speed and intensity.  My pelvis slams into his ass making a
clapping sound that echoes in the room.  As I slam, there is something
wrong.  I can't place it.  It is no longer completely pleasurable.  I still
fuck; I use his thighs to pull my body into his.  I pick up my speed as I
am nearing my climax.

"That's it, let's cum together." That's all I need to send me over the
edge.

Then I realize what is wrong, as my balls slam against his ass.  The pain
starts to grow and intensify.  I can no longer fuck.  I can't even focus on
cumming.

"What's up boy?  Did you cum?"

"No Sir.  This fucking made my balls slam against his ass.  They have
started being really painful."

He looks disappointed.  Standing up, I see a tiny drop of pre-cum hanging
from his cock head.  He hops down.  "Come here." I walk to him along
Boris's side.  Grabbing my waist, I am hoisted up on the table to sit on
the rimseat.  He stoops down to Boris.  "Remember, your tongue needs to
keep going, or else Dan will unload in your mouth."

"But Sir, I don't think I can shit.  I went before coming down here."

Sgt Tate stands up and looks at me in disbelief.  "Boy, if a threat is
going to be made, the last thing you want to reveal is that the promised
consequence is a bluff." Oh, I get it.  He hands me the remote, "So maggot,
I just gave Dan the remote control.  You stop licking his asshole; he
shocks the hell out of you."

Tate walks to Boris's ass.  He slams his hand down on Boris's balls.  Boris
shouts out.  Due the intensity of his scream, I recall my own scream from
the other night.  I can feel the heat of his breath on my asshole.

"That's for his balls hurting." He starts to fuck.  Immediately it is a
brutal slam fuck.  After two or three pumps, I can feel Boris's tongue
begin to lick my hole.  It tickles.

Sgt Tate brutally pile drives into him.  His eyes are closed.  I can tell
that he is getting much pleasure out of abusing Boris's hole.

"Oh man!  I have wanted to do this for years.  Fuck yeah!"

My asshole vibrates from the sound waves from Boris's screaming into my
hole.

"Dan, you opened him up good for me." He thrusts mercilessly, but never
takes his eyes of me.  "Why don't you jack off?"

"My balls are still sore.  I'll be fine Sir."

"Well enjoy that tongue.  He is still eating your hole?"

"Yes Sir." I shout down to Boris, "Yes, he's eating the asshole of a
Stevens!"

Sgt Tate laughs.  "Who would have thought that Boris Chtgheglovski would
eat the asshole of Jack Stevens's boy while taking it up the ass by none
other than Sgt Lennox Tate?" He laughs to himself.  I am amazed, but not
surprised, that he pronounced Boris's name flawlessly.

I like treating Boris like a piece of shit.  He deserves it.  My dad would
probably enjoy it too, but not all the gay stuff.

I know that Tate is really getting into it; he maintains his fuck strokes.
From my angle, I can see his mammoth cock sliding into Boris's muscular
ass.

Sgt Tate holds onto Boris's bound ankles for stability.  All I can focus is
on the man with the six foot six arm span in front of me.  His chest drips
with sweat, making his chest hair sparkle in this red light.

Some of it would drop on Boris's abs below making the very muscular torso
glisten as well.  Boris may be in his forties or even fifties, but his body
is amazing, not a hair on him except for his eyebrows.  With no evidence of
body fat anywhere, he must spend countless hours in the gym everyday.  With
how Sgt Tate secured him down, his muscles are strained.  His massive pecs
are unnaturally pulled up.  With each breath he takes, his abs flex.  His
cock . . .

I look up at Sgt Tate, catching his glance.  I indicate him to look down.

Upon looking down, he gleefully shouts out, "Holy hell!" He stops his
fucking and even pulls out.  Laughing he walks over to Boris's side.
Grabbing Boris's rock hard cock, Sgt Tate leans over.  "It seems that Ivan
here--Ivy--It seems that Ivy here enjoys being fucked and eating ass.  So
now it will be known that Ivy here is a natural born fuckhole."

Standing up and returning to Boris's ass grabbing a jar of lube along the
way, the fucking resumes at the same time that a handjob begins.  He
applies lube along both sides of Boris's shaft.  The squishing sound of the
lube fills the room.

"Work his nipples; brush your fingers across them; pinch them a little." I
don't know why we are working to please Boris, but I do trust Sgt Tate with
this.

I reach down and try to grab them, but they are tight and flat due to the
muscular strain.  I use my fingernails to lightly scrape across the top of
the nubs.

"His nipples are wired to his cock.  It won't take him long to cum."

So we are trying to get him to cum.  I don't get it.  I continue to rub,
scratch, and pinch the best I can.  I can feel his tongue vigorously
licking my hole.  He does seem to be getting close.

Sgt Tate intensifies his fucking and jacking, while I add grinding my ass
into his face.

Boris shouts out, "ARGH!" Three solid ropes of cum spew out of his cock,
followed by a few more partial spurts.

Sgt Tate pulls out and walks over to a roll of paper towels.  He begins to
wipe his hands clean of the lube.  Upon drying them, he removes his
campaign cover and sets it down on the table.

Boris twists his head, dislodging his mouth from my crack.  "Fuck that was
intense!  I haven't cum like that in a long time."

Sgt Tate walks back to Boris's ass, and uses the paper towels on the
spit-lubed hole.  "I hate to point out the obvious, but you were not
brought here so that we could jerk you off." He scoops up Boris's cum in
his hand.  Wiping it on Boris's asshole, he adds, "No, you were meant to
pay, and we cannot have you in any state of excitement.  The fact that you
came means that the fucking I am about to give you will not offer you one
moment of pleasure." With that he shoves his cock deep into Boris's
relaxing ass--right to the base of his cock.  "And that second sphincter
just loves my dick."

Boris yelps.  I am shocked on how well Sgt Tate used Boris's arousal
against him.  I just stare at him, with my body relaxing.  I do not realize
that getting rimmed for a long time produces a large amount of gas.  I
unleash a rolling fart on Boris's face.

An intense pain on my right cheek follows it as Boris is bites me.  I
shout, "Fucker!" I reach down for the remote.  I press it for two or three
seconds.  His body jerks around.  "Bite me again motherfucker and I won't
let up on the button."

Sgt Tate takes the cigar stub from his mouth and tosses it on the ground.
He corrects me, "No bite him again.  I want that cunt of yours to grip my
cock again." I laugh.

I add, "And I don't feel that tongue moving." He does start licking.  I
lean a little forward to get his tongue to lick away from the bite.

Sgt Tate's hands go back to Boris's ankles.  I can definitely sense that
Boris does not want this.  I don't care.  Right now, Sgt Tate is my focus.
His arms are just so huge.  His chest, still glistening in sweat, heaves
with each thrust.

I am leaning over only a foot or so in front of his chest.  Reaching out I
run my hands through his silver and black hair.  His sweat feels really
smooth as it covers my palm.  I play in his wiry hair for a moment, with my
hand moving upward.

He slows down his fucking as my wet hand moves up to his neck.  He stops
fucking all together as my hand reaches his cheek.  My eyes look above his
chin, above his mouth and its moustache, above his nose, and finally into
his eyes that have locked on me.

Neither of us blinks for a time that could have been one second or one
hour.  I don't know which one moves first--as it really doesn't matter--but
our heads lunge towards each other.  Our lips press firmly into each other.

Both my hands hold his cheeks, as both his arms wrap around me.  His left
hand reaches up my back and holds my head in place.

His tongue quickly invades my mouth.  I can still taste the cigar in his
spit.  I don't care.  I want to taste him.  I want his tongue to go
wherever the fuck it wants to.  My tongue responds by rubbing against his.
I start to push it into his mouth.  Retracting his, he sucks mine in.  He
continues to suck on my tongue like he did with my cock a while ago.

His firm moustache hairs tickle my nose.  Our noses switch sides.

Oh god, this feels so right.  I don't want to move from here.  I want our
tongues to move back and forth.  I want him to firmly hold me here for
eternity.

My hands move from his face to the back of his head.  I want to pull him
further into me.  I want to be joined.  I want him.

I do not dare open my eyes.  Why would I want to ruin everything here?  I
just let my five senses yield to touch.

My upper lip is folded in half as his pushes into my face.

I reach further down his back.  It's hard to get past his shoulders as his
arms block any ability to lower my arms down.  He senses it and releases
his grip of my back and head.  A shift of both sets of arms and mine are
under his.  Both hands run over his hairy chest.  He is one hairy beast of
a man.

Our tongues continue to do their dance.

Both his hands hold my head.  I feel so secure being held by him.  A bomb
could go off, and I would be protected in his arms.

My hands wrap around his torso.  They just start rubbing all over this
sweaty back.  The sweat makes it quite slippery.  I lean forward a little
more in order for me to reach down to his ass.

Those globes of perfectly shaped man meat are finally in my hands again.  I
would normally want my tongue buried in the crack, but I do not want to
interrupt the action it is receiving at this moment.

I squeeze his ass and relax.  Again, I squeeze, but this time it is longer.
After relaxing my hands, he begins to contract his muscles without my
prompt.  He does this a few more times with regularity.  I realize that he
has started up fucking again.

My hands travel up his back again.  He is using his whole body in his
fucking.  The kiss still remains uninterrupted, but our mouths move
slightly to compensate his strokes.

It is only when my hands reach his head that I begin to cry.  This is the
Sgt Tate I fell in love with.  Over the past few days, he has tried to make
up with me.  I have pushed him away from me.  Now I want him back.  I want
to be in his arms all the time.  I shouldn't trust him, but I want to.  I
want this man.  I want this man!  This is why I am crying.

His fuck strokes have intensified.  Now his slam fucking causes our bodies
to jerk in unison.  His breathing is heavier.  I can feel the intensity as
he exhales through his nose.  My lips feel the warmth of his breath.

He must feel my tears.  I hope that he doesn't think that they are tears of
pain.  I want to tell him they are tears for finding joy in his arms.  I
dare not separate myself from this kiss.

I want to help him to get off.  His cock getting off seems to be my top
focus.  I start to fuck his mouth again with my tongue; that is the only
thing I can think of at the moment.

I sense that he is getting closer to the edge.

He snorts.  I can feel some snot on my cheek.  I don't care.

He starts to grunt.  Leaning into me, my body shifts weight and I balance
myself by putting my hand down on the table behind me.  I know that he will
hold me, but still I instinctively extend my hand.

I feel the remote control.  Grabbing it with the one available hand, I have
to flip it around in order to use it.

I press down on the button knowing that his cock will be squeezed just like
he likes it.

Boris tenses up under me.  I do not know if he has been rimming me during
this kiss, and I don't care.  My only concern is that his asshole
constricts around Sgt Tate's cock.  With my eyes still closed, I cannot
tell.  That is until Sgt Tate tries to smile.

I know that Boris's hole is doing what it needs to.

Tate violently grabs me and squeezes me.  It is his turn to tense up and
convulse.  Grunts indicate that he is dumping a load into Boris's ass.

This cumload seems to go on and on.

Finally he pulls away form me.  Now I open my eyes to see a very happy Sgt
Tate.  His grin is filling his face.

He's the first one to speak, "Oh fuck boy!  FUCK YEAH!"

"Yes Sir.  I love you Sir."

Sgt Tate responds, "I love you too, boy."

It's when he says the last few word that his grin begins to fade.  I see
that he is thinking.  As he thinks, his grin turns to a look of dread.

Pulling out of Boris's ass, he takes a couple of steps back.  After staring
at me for a minute and minimally shaking his head, "This is wrong." He
begins to turn towards the door.  "Get down from form the table.  Leave
Boris there and get upstairs." With that he leaves the room.

What the fuck?  What the hell happened?  Is there something wrong?

I hop down.

Boris looks ragged.  Good.  As I start to walk out, Boris asks, "Hey Dan,
how about untying me?"

I look at him.  I realize that I still have the remote in my hand.  "Go to
hell . . ." I then add, "Faggot!"

I push the button.  He tenses up, causing some of Sgt Tate's cum to pour
out his ass.  In another situation, I would have gone over there and
cleaned him up.

I go upstairs, and Sgt Tate is nowhere to be found.  I go into the bedroom.
Sgt Tate comes out of the bathroom wearing a Marines T-Shirt and shorts.
He grabs his pillow.

"What's happening Sir?"

"You can sleep in here tonight.  I won't bother you."

"What happened?"

He stops what he is doing and looks at me, "Dan, we shouldn't have done
that.  I shouldn't have allowed that.  It was wrong.  I shouldn't be
leading you on anymore."

"You're not."

"Yes I am.  As much as I enjoyed what we did to Boris, I shouldn't have
allowed that to happen.  I will take your dad's old room.  If you need me,
I will be there for pretty much the remainder of the night."

He begins to leave the room, but before he leaves, he turns to me and adds,
"Dan, tomorrow, I want you to wear clothes again.  You shouldn't be naked.
Your old room is open if you want your clothes."

He leaves.

I don't get it.  We were connecting so well downstairs.

I climb into bed early, and for more than an hour I try to figure him out,
but I can't.  Everything changed so quickly.

I feel like I've been punched in the gut.  It takes me a long time to go to
sleep with this unresolved.

______________


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