Hi, folks! My name is Nobby Clark and I think of myself as a lowly speck of humanity doing his bit for Queen and country - like shit, I am! I joined the RAF just to get away from the dirty minded freak who ran the kids home I'd had to live in for the past sixteen years. Things had not been too bad at first and I thought I was starting to make some progress towards becoming a useful member of the community and not an unwanted encumbrance and burden on the State. Somehow I had managed to get through the initial stages of square bashing and all that jazz and was posted to this big operational station known as RAF Reiversholt, where I was assigned to the Engineering Squadron - which is where I am now. Things were fine until the day the squadron was lumbered with Corporal Elldon Rimmer. When I woke up that morning I walked straight into the worst living nightmare I'd ever experienced! That was nearly two months ago now and I have learnt to keep out of Rimmer's way as much as possible but on this occasion, just as I'd finished sweeping out the Engineering Office down at the big hangar, the phone rang. I muttered curses as it was coming up 22.00 hours and I'd hoped to get back to the NAAFI bar before Lights Out. That bloody phone was still making enough noise to waken the dead and I'd have to answer the fucking thing as everyone knew I was on duty that night. There was no way I could ignore it and get away with some feeble excuse this time. I snatched up the receiver and growled into the mouthpiece.
"Yeah, who's that?"
"Is that you, Clark?" I cursed again. Fucking Rimmer. He's had it in for us ever since the day he arrived. What the fucking hell did he want now?
"Yes, Corporal." I'd better get it right this time, I've had my ass chewed off so many times for calling Rimmer "Corp". I've even been threatened with a disciplinary charge next time.
"Good. Are you finished down there?"
"Yes, Corporal."
"Get a late meal at the Mess, then come over to the Squadron. Report to me in the Discip Office. Got that?"
"Yes, Corporal." All of us had learnt very quickly that you did not mess about with this one. You simply did as you were told. No argument, just do it! If you'd already planned to do something else, tough shit. The phone at the other end went dead and I banged down the receiver.
Fuck the bastard, I thought as I cycled fast around the taxiway and up the main road through the camp to the Airmen's Mess. It was going to be beyond 23.00 before I could get back down to the squadron offices. What in fuck's name did Rimmer want with me at this time of night? Was the bugger up to something, or what? It was a Friday night, which made it worse. I had a whole clear weekend ahead of me and I had made plans. I'd planned on going to town, making a pick up and getting laid good and proper. I had not had a good fuck for almost ten days and I was feeling as horny as a goat on heat. Boy! Was I gagging for it!
I dropped by the barracks and discarded my tatty old vest, oil stained KD shorts and smelly ancient briefs after a quick shower. Normally, I wouldn't have bothered but I was not going to lay myself wide open for any of Rimmer's tricks. I was in enough bad odour with him as it was and did not want to add any more excuses for him to make my life even more miserable. The diversion nearly made me too late for a meal at the Mess, even a late one. When it finally appeared it was cold and looked almost inedible: congealed liver, onions and soggy chips followed by four days old tapioca pudding with a dollop of out of date raspberry jam - which I hate with a passion! Ugh! Still, I suppose it was better than going hungry for the next few hours until early breakfast. At least my mug of tea was hot and freshly made, so that cheered me up a bit. I did not linger over the meal and soon set off back down to the squadron to see what that mother-fucking arsehole wanted. On the way down I wondered if his bumboy Andy Taylor would be there, sucking away on the Corp's - oops, sorry - the Corporal's pole. It was an established rumour that cock and arse linked those two. They were always prowling round the barracks together, almost hand in hand. It was a wonder the squadron CO hadn't checked up on them by now. Still, we live in hope.
When I reached the squadron hangar, I could see only one light in a window, upstairs. He was there, all right. I parked my bike round the side of the hangar, where it would not be seen by the prying eyes of a security patrol, and went in through the small side door, which was kept unlocked when there was anyone there working late. I'd have to climb a steep flight of metal steps up to the Discip Office. I thought, what if I was able to go up those stairs without making a sound, creep up to the door and open it quietly. I might just catch Taylor and Rimmer 'at it', as they say. Yeah, that would be something, that would! I might even get a pat on the back from the Squadron Adjutant but - as usual - that little plan was scuppered the moment I put my feet on those fucking stairs. I was still wearing my work boots: they made one helluva row on those metal treads. Rimmer and anyone with him would have heard me coming up the stairs like a herd of cattle.
I stood for a moment in front of the door to the Discip Office, my hand on the handle. I could see there was a light on through the frosted glass panel let into the door at eye level. I stood still and listened. It was eerily quiet. Not a sound came from the office, not even the clack of his keyboard; like everything else he did, he was a first-rate touch typist, the bastard. Why couldn't he just use two fingers like everyone else? I had a bet with myself that the son of a bitch had made me come back here on a wild goose chase. I thought, "He's not even here. The c**t has deliberately left the office open and expects me to go in and switch off the light and clear up. Hang on, though. He's been very specific about my coming back here. He must want something - he would never go off and leave everything wide open. That would be against regulations! He'd be the last person on earth to breach regulations!" I made a fist and knocked on the door.
"Come in, Clark!" His voice rasped from behind the door. The bugger was there, all right. I opened the door and stepped into the room. I halted in my tracks, holding on to the door handle. I could see nobody, at first. I simply stood there, the room apparently empty. I was about to back out, pulling the door closed behind me, when his voice came from over my right shoulder.
"Don't stand there like a lost prick at a wedding, Clark. Come in and shut that blasted door!"
I obeyed, spinning round to where his voice had come from. He was half sitting on the edge of the big desk, dressed in immaculate fatigues, with big, shiny boots on his feet. The shirt of his uniform was undone to just below his tanned pecs. His arms were folded across his stomach, one foot resting firmly on the floor, the other swinging idly from the knee. Neither of us spoke for a moment or two, we were just sizing each other up. I knew I looked a sight, not having changed after my late meal but come straight back down to the squadron offices, as per orders. My boots were covered in caked oil and dust, scratched beyond belief. They were my working boots, not my parade ones. His boots, on the other hand, reflected the light beaming from the desk lamp like a pair of heliograph mirrors!
"Have you eaten?"
"Yes, Corporal." I sprang to attention. It would not do to be caught out now. Careful, I thought, be on your guard. Do it by the book and he can't get you.
"Hmm. I reckon you are wondering what I want you for, aren't you?"
"Yes, Corporal."
"I know from your officer that you have been hard at work all day so I do not intend commenting on your appearance." The cheeky bastard, he was not going to ball me out for standing in front of him in stained and dirty working fatigues and boots because he knew I had the upper hand, for once. "However," he continued, "I do want to discuss your improvement since I first came here," he continued. As he spoke, he tapped a forefinger lightly on a bulky green manilla file lying beside him on the desk. I could see the heavy black print across the top and bottom of the cover. It read CONFIDENTIAL and although I could not make out what was scribbled underneath, I knew it could only be something to do with me.
"Stand easy, Clark." He waited until I had gone through the drill movements. He gave me a sideways look, a faint grin flitting across his tight, thin lips. "You see, it is not so difficult, is it? It makes life so much easier for all of us when you do it properly. Sit down." I hesitated. His hitherto benign manner disappeared in an instant. "I said, SIT DOWN!"
I fell into the only chair available, positioned immediately in front of him. My crotch was fractions of an inch away from that swinging leg with its booted foot. I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. The booted foot swung in a slow, lazy but relentless rhythm, never faltering, mechanically inching itself closer to the crotch of my fatigue trousers. The corporal gazed down at me, in the way I had come to hate - and to fear. I could see his eyes gleaming like points of black light, boring in to mine. I tried to tear my gaze away but I was as helpless as a rabbit mesmerised by a weasel. I could not help giving a tiny whimper as that sinister foot pressed lightly against my balls. His leg stopped swinging and his booted foot dropped to the floor to join its companion with a thud. He stood up, flexing his back. The movement thrust his pelvis forward and I had a glimpse of a crotch containing a large male organ in the preliminary stages of hardening. He turned away and walked round behind the desk, pulled out an executive style chair he used, and sat down. He moved the green file towards him and opened it. My brow was damp with a fine film of perspiration. He tapped the cover of the file once or twice then looked sternly at me and spoke. I had not realised until that moment just how scared I was of this man.
"This file contains every known misdemeanour, indiscretion and instance of bad behaviour you have committed since the day I arrived. Everything has been recorded meticulously: date, time, place and nature of the offence. Most of these offences I have been able to correct on the spot, as you well know. There are, however, a number of other breaches of discipline which I can deal with only in private, away from the prying eyes of witnesses." He stopped, still gazing severely at me.
I had a nasty, oily feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had heard people say that NCOs had unofficial ways and means of inflicting punishments as a means of enforcement and correction at their disposal, but until that precise moment I had not believed such stories. Anything like that would be bound to get out, someone would inform the authorities and the perpetrators would be done for and probably court martialled. Now, I was not so sure. It was dawning on me that I was alone, at dead of night, in a building supposed to be locked up, with an NCO who made no secret of the fact that he hated my guts with a passion. If he did anything to me, I would never be believed, not with my record. It was all there on file, wasn't it? I was not to know, until much later, that the green manilla file was entirely made up of discarded sheets of paper with long out dated Station Standing Orders and the like printed on them. He, the devil incarnate, had fabricated the entire thing. He has such a creative mind, our Corporal!
"Do you understand me, Clark?"
"Yes, Corporal," I said in as near a normal tone of voice as I could manage.
"What was that? Speak up, you are supposed to be a man, not a whimpering child!"
I cleared my throat. "Yes, Corporal. I understand, Corporal."
"Good. Now that is cleared up, let me say I have noticed a marked improvement in your work and personal appearance in the past few weeks. I am pleased that you have made a noticeable effort. Despite our differences, I have made it my business to make certain this improvement has been noted in other quarters. The Squadron Adjutant has indicated to me that my observations concur with his. Well done, Clark."
To say I was astounded would be an understatement. Jnr Tech Taylor had told me a while ago he thought I was misjudging the new Corporal, that he was hard but very fair and to give him a chance. At first, I hadn't taken much notice of Taylor, especially when stories about him and the Corporal began circulating round the barracks. Now, though, all my theories and ideas about them seemed to have been blown sky-high. He said he was pleased - with me and with something I'd done! I stuttered a "Thank you, Corporal" as he riffled through some pages of the bogus file and appeared to be reading something very intently. He looked up at me, and that nasty, oily feeling returned to the pit of my stomach. "However," he continued, his voice returning to the old, familiar harsh sound, which always made me tremble, "you must know that I deal strictly with persistent offenders." I forced myself to look him straight in those fathomless black eyes. "I refer to certain rumours concerning my behaviour to, and relationship with another airman. These rumours have been reaching my ears Clark and always, somewhere, lurking in the background is your name."
The oily sludge in my stomach swirled and heaved. So that was it! He was going to dump this on me, make me the scapegoat for the stories which had been circulating for weeks, which had been getting more and more outrageous with each repetition. I could not, dared not, open my mouth.
"Have you nothing to say, Clark?"
"Please, Corporal. I swear I have had nothing to do with the stories. I have heard them, yes, and may be I have repeated one or two, but I did not start them. I swear, Corporal."
"You admit to have repeated some of them?"
"Yes, Corporal." I paused. "Only the funny ones, though." He leapt to his feet, his swivel chair crashing back against the wall, his hand slamming down on the table with a crack like a rifle shot.
"There are NO funny stories about me. Only unsubstantiated untruths. Do you hear me? Stand to attention when I am talking to you, airman!"
The suddenness of his loss of temper, the order to resume standing to attention, the steel in his voice, all made me leap to my feet, quaking. I blurted out, hardly aware of the words in my fear, "Please, sir..." with only the faintest hint of emphasis on the 'sir', "please don't report this. I'll do anything you want. Anything. I swear it." I could see nothing, I was only aware of the Corporal's eyes staring long and hard at me, through the fog of fear blinding me.
"Anything?" His voice had dropped to a near normal level. Neither of us moved a muscle.
"Anything you want," I replied, with the merest hint of stress.
I could scarcely control the trembling of my limbs as I continued to meet his stare. I felt my pupils widening as I gazed at his broad shoulders, square jaw, spiky haircut, and then into those eyes. He had me, and he knew it. Impulsively, I dropped to my knees in front of him, my arms still rigidly at my sides. I kept my gaze on his face, looking up into that expressionless void.
"Please, Sir."
I had broken every rule of Service etiquette by calling him "Sir". The moment the word passed my lips I inwardly groaned. My mounting terror increased still further as he turned away from me and went behind his desk. In that moment, I knew I was lost, frantic to please him, wanting him, needing him. He stood, silent, behind the desk as the mutation from man to abject slave took place before him. Then he spoke. "Heel!" was all he said.
I crouched on all fours, like a dog, and crawled. Yes, I crawled. Round the side of the desk to where he stood behind it, I crawled. I took up a position slightly behind his right heel. He pointed to the well of the desk. He did not utter a word. I knew instinctively what to do. I crawled to that confined space, turned round and backed in on my hands and knees. He reached behind him, pulled his chair forward and sat down.
"I still have an hour's work to do bringing these reports up to date. When I have finished them, I will decide if you are required longer. If I keep you, it will be for the duration of my posting here. You will fear nothing further from me. But I still need to be sure of you."
I scarcely heard more than the first few words. I only knew I had a chance to prove myself. I had to seize that chance, make the most of it. As he had pulled the chair forward and sat down, I was forced to the very back of the well, right under the desk. The desk surrounded me, except in front, where my suddenly constricted world was inhabited only by a pair of highly polished black boots and the legs of sharply creased fatigue trousers. The legs swung apart. I knew what was required of me and I leant forward, putting my hands to his knees to steady myself. His own hand suddenly appeared and unzipped the fly of his fatigues, groped around and pulled out his cock. There had never been any reason for me to believe so, but I had always imagined this man's cock would be perfect. Everything else about him was perfect, so why not his manhood? It was a firm, meaty club but not fully erect. It was at that stage the sex books describe as being 'tumescent'. It was, however, showing signs of becoming harder. I lunged for it, hardly noticing the sharp crack when the back of my head struck the underside of the desktop. I hardly heard him as he growled, "Remember, anything."
For a few moments, as my lips closed round that shaft, nothing happened except for the play of my tongue on his slit. Then I was made to realise just what he had meant by 'anything'. A strong flood of warmth immersed my tongue. For anyone else, I could never have taken it, but for him - even without the threats hanging over me - anything was possible. It was only right, only just, I thought as I clamped my lips tight and swallowed ... and swallowed ... and gulped. I was drinking at a seemingly endless fountain of the golden liquid of eternal youth. I only knew that if so much as a drop stained those immaculate fatigues, that was the end of it, the end of me; I kept on swallowing and gulping and it was only when the flow began to diminish that I managed to take a breath. I realised my own prick was as hard as stone. I had never imagined before I could drink piss, not like this - but for this man I had promised ... anything!
The flow gradually dwindled to a trickle, then stopped. I tested the end of his penis with the tip of my tongue and few final sweet drops leaked out. Now was my moment to begin working on him. The oily sludge that had previously eddied in my stomach gave way to a gentle gurgling of the fluid I had just drunk; constrained as I was in that ungainly imprisonment it threatened to regurgitate. I disregarded it, licking and sucking until I had him throbbing hard, fully erect, standing to attention. I continued licking and dribbling spittle over and down his rampant, pulsating shaft as I cleansed and washed it. I licked down the rod to the bush of warm, slightly sweaty pubic hair, prickling my nostrils, scratching my lips. I licked at the loose, hairy ball sac but could not reach the globes themselves, restrained by the material of his fatigues. Working my way back up the steel-hard cock, I found the head producing that salty-sweet, sticky fluid presaging an eventual pouring forth of his sperm. I began to hear faint sounds from above as he worked on his documents. I settled to serious work of my own - cock sucking work. I sent my tongue dancing around the helmet, tickling the ridge and working it in to the damp cock slit. My teeth gently nibbled the soft, tender flesh of the edges of his cock slit, making him move in his chair. "Fucking great," I thought, "I'm beginning to get to him." I nipped his fleshy helmet and chewed gently on the soft fold of skin that was all that remained of his foreskin after circumcision. I heard a grunt; his legs parted further, his backside slid forward on the seat of the chair. Enveloping my teeth with my lips, I fastened my mouth around the shaft, just below the helmet ridge, and began gently pulling while my tongue skated all over the hot smooth cone of his crown. I was building up the speed now, deepening the intensity of the vacuum I had created. I lost control as I had suddenly realised where I was, trapped under that desk with the hated Corporal's cock between my lips and half way down my throat. I opened my mouth, depressed my tongue and swallowed that dick as far as it would go, grunting and snorting like a hog. A hand appeared under the table, at the limit of my field of vision, and smacked me hard across the ear. "Keep it quiet!" he hissed. I resumed my work, stifling my grunts as best I could. I froze. I had caught the soft click of the office door opening and closing. A quiet voice spoke but it was not loud enough for me to recognise who was speaking or to make out what was being said. The Corporal's knee nudged me and I resumed venerating that big prick in the only way such a prick should be revered. I stayed as quiet as possible, the subdued conversation going on above my head masking the few noises I could not help making. I heard the door softly close again and the Corporal murmured, "Not bad, cocksucker."
When he spoke those words, I could have swollen with pride, if I had been able to in that restricted space. I resolved to show my gratitude by clamping my lips around his shaft, emptying my mouth of air to intensify the vacuum I had created and pulling without moving my mouth. My reward was to hear a moan of pleasure from somewhere above me. I worked that throbbing pre-cum producing man-meat for a long time. I had no way of knowing how much time had passed. In the world of Cockspace that I inhabited, there was no time. The great bar of hard, hot flesh surrounded by the rough material of his fatigues, became the centre of my world. There were so many ways to stimulate it, to electrify it. I licked the head. I licked the shaft. I sucked the helmet. I sucked the shaft. I tongued the cock slit. I washed the cock hair. I jammed the whole beautiful missile into my mouth and down my throat, as far as it would go. The underside of the desktop forced me to pull downwards, at bizarre angles, to avoid striking my head whenever I had a good rhythm going. He knew I loved what I was doing to him. I felt the firm muscles of his powerful thighs and upper legs, through the cloth beneath my hands. From time to time they quivered. At such moments, I eased off. I had no doubt that if I made him ejaculate too soon, I would pay dearly for it. Besides, I did not want this to end. After a while, he leant back in his chair, forcing me to reach forward after him to keep his rocket firmly docked between my lips. I leant out of the backbreaking space which had become my world, my heaven. For a moment or two, I was light-headed; my lips uncontrollably caressed that great instrument of pleasure I had been sent there to honour. As my head cleared, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a second pair of polished boots on the floor and rising from them was a pair of bronzed legs. The sod of a corporal laughed, hoarsely. One of his strong hands seized my hair by the roots and yanked me off his cock. Even in my terror, I moaned softly at being dispossessed of my god. "Stand up!" he commanded, pulling upwards on my hair. I struggled to my feet, catching my arse a hard crack on the edge of the desk. The pain in my scalp was making my eyes water so much I could hardly see.
"Guess who's come to visit us, cocksucker," my tormentor growled, "it is my very good friend, Andy."
My vision clearing to some extent, I began to make out the naked body of Andy Taylor, standing beside the Corporal. His boner was as hard as granite, springing from a wilderness of cock hair, a full and hairy ball bag hanging between his legs. He stood with legs apart and his arms behind him, in the Stand Easy position. The rumours were true, then! He and Rimmer were bum buddies.
"Meet my ADC, cocksucker. If you want to make life a helluva lot easier on yourself, you will pleasure him as well."
Gratification washed over me as the fear receded. I understood I had at least pleased him adequately. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He released his hold on my hair and relaxed even further in his chair. I collapsed on the floor, still too contorted even to crawl properly, hauled myself over to Andy's boots. A mouth is designed for cock sucking, but a tongue has been well designed for boot licking. I knew what I had to do. Those military boots were made to be licked by a submissive, willing slave. I ran my tongue over the hard, shining toecaps, first one then the other, tasting the spit and polish of months of careful cleaning. I threw myself into the job, groaning my gratefulness for this second feast. Above my groans, I could hear Rimmer describing to Taylor how well I had done so far. Also, I heard something about being expected to service the pair of them all night. Before that had time to sink in, four eager hands were pulling at my clothes. I shifted to make it easier for them, but never let up on the boots. When I was naked, they had to haul me off those black leather candies. I only caught a glimpse of the naked Corporal before I was thrown over the desk, my arse in the air. I heard a belt being dragged through its loops, a hissing in the air, and the first stinging blow hit my butt so hard I just could not stop myself from crying out in pain.
"Yell all you like," came a grim voice behind me, "there's no fucker 'ere who's gonna hear your noise." These were the first words Taylor had addressed to me since his arrival.
"I'm sorry, Sir," I croaked, "I could not help it. I want to take everything the Corporal and you see fit to give me, Sir." By that, they both knew I was a devoted slave, willing to submit to whatever punishment they gave me. Whether I had committed a punishable offence or not it mattered not. I was there, simply waiting to satisfy every whim or vagary they could devise.
Taylor began the thrashing. At first, as each savage blow landed on my arse cheeks I hissed through clenched teeth. As the blows came harder and faster, I moaned. Taylor now began his serious work by increasing the rhythm and strength of his strikes. I sobbed. I could not stop the flow of tears from welling up in my eyes, burning my cheeks as the pain increased. It rapidly built up in layers from the first fiercely stinging lashes to an inferno so hot I could no longer tell the blows and gaps apart. I had never known such punishment like that - or that I could take it. Rimmer had sat back in his chair and was watching the thrashing I was receiving. He grinned maliciously as he watched, heaving his massive cock in his hand as he did so. He knew the severest torture was for me to see that cock meat and be unable to service it. After innumerable blows, I heard Taylor's breath rasping with the force of his activities. He slackened the pace but Rimmer was about to make up for that. He stood up and slowly brought his steel hard, pre-cum dripping cock towards me. I misread his intentions: I lowered my mouth to retrieve my prize but he pulled back and cock-whipped my face. I whimpered, I beseeched, I stuck my tongue out to attempt licking the sticky fluid oozing from his great shining globe as it passed. It just kept swinging back and forth, stinging my cheeks, sporadically leaving a trail of pre-cum over my smarting, reddening face, over my nose, eyes and lips, anywhere but where it should be - lubricating my arsehole ready for fucking. I was growing frantic with frustration and desire. I was barely aware that Taylor had dropped the belt and shoved two fingers up my arse. He was finger-fucking me hard and fast. I soon took notice, however, when he added a third finger - my arsehole is just the right size for a good tight fuck, but it cannot take anything much bigger than a good sized cock.
"We've gotta tight one 'ere," growled Taylor, his voice croaking with pure lust. "Needs a bit of a loosener, though."
"We'll find something in this place," Rimmer chuckled. He grinned wickedly. If that grin had appeared on any other face, I'd have been scared shitless. On him, though, it simply made him worthier of adulation. I made one last, desperate attempt to get my tongue around that congested, purple helmet as he forced his magnificent manhood back into his fatigues. He walked over to the door and opened it. "OK, Andy, let's take the lamb to the slaughter!" When they saw the look of fear on my face they both laughed, fiendishly. Rimmer led the way.
Taylor kept his two fingers up my arsehole, steering me out of the office as if I was some new kind of warehouse wheelbarrow. He took me along the narrow walkway towards the kitchen area at the far end. Various tins and occasional fresh fruit and veg were kept there for times when there was night flying and the hangar was full of men and machines. I was lurching about so much I barely noticed the cold concrete floor on my naked feet when we reached the area. My knees soon noticed it, though, when I was forced to kneel down; my forehead noticed it when they pushed my head lower, with my arse stuck up in the air.
First, it was a carrot - a big carrot. It went in nice and easy, thanks to Taylor's three fingered attention to my rectum. That vexed them, so they took turns in whacking my bum cheeks about a bit, with the carrot still inserted in my hole. However, this did not amuse them for long and they brutally pulled it out. While Rimmer used the limp vegetable to whip my buttocks, Taylor went on the search for something with more "staying power", as he expressed it. He soon returned, whooping with delight at his success, brandishing a hard, unripe straight cucumber. Without waiting for instructions from the Corporal, Taylor went round behind me and shoved the fucking thing right up my arse. All I can say is, it fucking hurt. They ignored my cries. I did not bother pleading for mercy - I knew I would not get any, even if it was on offer. My cock was so hard now that its condition told them all they needed to know on that score!
Once the cucumber was in as far as it would go, I was ordered to stand up. A yard broom was pushed into my hands and I was ordered to sweep the area clean. After all, as Taylor reminded Rimmer, one of my duties was to keep the hangar floor swept twice a day. Stark naked, unable to walk properly with that monstrous green dildo stretching my hole and insides, I pushed the broom around. Rimmer and his sidekick followed me wherever I went, swilling beer from some cans they found stored in the fridge. Taylor now and then flicked the end of his belt across my arse cheeks, just to remind me; Rimmer took it upon himself to push the cucumber back in whenever it threatened to slide out of my ravaged anus. I fell over a couple of times but they simply hauled me to my feet again, shoved the cucumber back in to me and on I went. After this had gone on for some time, they ordered me to stop.
By then my arse was numb; I could no longer feel the vegetable protruding between my buttocks. I was growing tired, my cock was beginning to wilt. They noticed that and decided to change the game. When they ordered me to stop sweeping with the broom, I thought they were going to let me rest for a while. I should have known better; they simply exchanged the broom for a smelly, soggy mop. On went my endless journey. I thought I was getting close to the end of my task but when I looked round I found that three rampant cocks had dribbled a trail of sticky pre-seminal all over the floor and I had to start all over again. If there was a particularly sticky patch, they would order me to lick it up. They let their own pre-seminal spatter the floor as they pushed the escaping cucumber back in or tickled my sore, burning buns with the leather belt. Rimmer had me going back and forth over the same patch of floor until I managed to cross it without leaving a trail of sticky love-juice. I was then allowed to do the next patch.
The firm vegetable had long since felt at home up my arse and my hole eagerly sucked it back in whenever it tried to slide out. We began the return journey to the Discip Office with the Corporal in front with his hand grasping my cock and balls pulling me along as if I was on casters, then me with the vegetarian dildo, and finally Taylor and his teasing, stinging belt. As we passed the urinals, Rimmer chuckled and said he wanted to take another piss. I knew what was about to happen even before Taylor took hold of the end of the cucumber sticking out of my arse and used it to steer me in through the doors. He did not need to push me too hard towards the line of porcelain urinals, where I was made to kneel down facing him and Rimmer. They pushed me back against the porcelain as far as I could go, with my toes hanging over the edge of the trough.
Slowly, tantalisingly, they got out their pricks. Both of them were still almost solidly hard, the veins standing out like thick cords along their shafts. It took a while for them to lose enough of their erections to be able to start pissing. Eventually the cocks softened a bit, allowing a dribble of piss to join the wetness of the floor. Then both cocks let fly with streaming, yellow piss. It struck my chest and flowed over my belly, my thighs, all over my rock hard prick, my neck, wherever they shifted their aim. Taylor was mumbling grotesque, barely audible balderdash about showing idle, lazy erks what was what; Rimmer was not trying to kid himself. He was just enjoying pissing all over a slave, sneering as he raised the stream to the slave's face and directed it to his open mouth. I would not have closed my mouth for all the world - not for this - but I could not swallow properly and most of the sacred liquid simply ran out again, all down my body. He did not seem to mind but was pleased when he jerked his cock and my mouth followed the stream as it moved, endeavouring to absorb every last drop.
It had to end, of course. Rimmer stood there, thoughtfully stroking himself. I knelt, my eyes locked on his, waiting for the next command. Taylor, meanwhile, filled a Fire bucket with water. He came over to me and tipped it over me. I scarcely noticed the suddenness of the cold water as one flick of Rimmer's eyes had me leaping to my feet, seizing the mop Taylor thrust at me and began shovelling the piss and water into the trough. The cucumber had slipped out of my arsehole unnoticed when the pissing began but Taylor plunged it back in, fucking it in and out as I worked. My eyes still locked on to the Corporal - both of us knew I was his now, no matter what happened. I belonged to him, utterly. I heard approving grunts from Taylor as my fuck hole welcome back that great, green educator. Without warning, Taylor's rough hands seized my arms.
"Tie him up," his voice rasped, "let's show this bugger what we do with the likes of him." He spun me round and I felt rope tied around my wrists, pulled tight, burning my skin. He held me while Rimmer began applying the belt to my body. He began teasing the leather across my chest, letting the edge and tip of the belt brush against my sensitive nipples. I squirmed with this new delightful sensation and my cock jumped up again, rigidly at attention. He ran the belt across my shoulder blades, stroking it down my spine and into the crack of my arse. Intermittently, he let the belt smack into my pecs, across my back, the top of my buttocks. Slowly at first, then with increasing power and speed, he laid into me until my body was on fire. My chest and nipples were blood red; fiery devils danced along my spinal chord, my buttocks were mounds of flame. "Just warming you up for the main event," said the Corporal.
They dragged me out of the toilet and into a small room used as a junk room, teasing and lashing me with the belt as we went. The room was small, full of discarded cardboard boxes, filthy oil-stained rags and other debris. They pulled me across the floor to where a rejected workbench stood. Throwing me across it like a sack of potatoes, they tied my wrists and ankles to the legs. They viciously pulled the cucumber out of me, forcing me to scream with pain. The vegetable and the exercise had loosened up my hole and I wanted to take it - I wanted to take much more than a cucumber - but it still hurt like hell. I writhed in agony, crying out with pain. They left me to twist and yell, then Rimmer's legs appeared in front of me. Without a word, he plugged my mouth with his massive dick, pounding it down my throat. I uttered a deep groan, partly with the pain where the vegetable dildo had been up my arse but mainly with the renewed pleasure of having his cock to suck on again. This game continued for a while until, that is, Taylor got bored. He strolled round to join in the fun in front. He tried forcing his cock into my mouth at the same time as Rimmer's. There was no way I could take two such massive cocks at the same time, so the Corporal pulled out. I went down on this new dick - not as perfect as Rimmer's but a decent enough size. And it was COCK. I was there to please it, to service it; I set to my new task willingly, drooling all over it to get it as slick as I could. I opened my throat to it as far as I could. I could tell Taylor simply wanted to fuck my face. Muttering verbal insults about filthy cock sucking airmen, that is just what he did. Hard, merciless, not giving me a chance to lick or dribble, to suck or nibble that near-perfect stick. Rimmer, meanwhile, had gone back round to my rear end and worked the cucumber in and out of my arse. They changed over, Rimmer's man-meat between my eager lips again, Taylor fucking the vegetable in and out of my hole. I began to delight in the change of pace as they worked in turn. First, the hard strokes of Taylor's face fuck as Rimmer stuffed that green dildo into me so hard my nose crushed into the flesh of Taylor's groin, the wire of his pubic bush scratching my lips with every stroke. Then came the joy of worshipping Rimmer's cock with my eager mouth while the cucumber twisted back in, then back to the face fuck again.
It could not last. I had opened my throat as far as I could to Taylor, when I felt his rod convulse. He pulled out suddenly - I moaned desperately, but he took no notice. The first bolt of white lightning struck me between the eyes, running down my face to join the second as it struck my cheeks; I was blinded as more hot sticky cum hit me from the other side. If my fairy godmother had appeared at that moment to grant me three wishes, I would have used them all in wishing for that double jet of man cream to go on forever. Instead, I lay there stretched over the bench, suddenly profoundly conscious that all I could hear was the sound of their heavy breathing slowly returning to normal.
"Shit!" said Taylor, eventually. "We didn't get to fuck him." For one terrifying moment, I though he was going to lay into me seriously with his belt for making him and Rimmer cum too soon. Rimmer, however, laid a restraining hand on his arm and said, "Who says we've finished with him? There's always the morning." I began to panic. It must be well after midnight by now. Were they going to keep me tied up here all night? I soon had my answer.
"Andy, you know where that old kitchen trolley is?"
"Yeah. Oh, I get you!" shouted Taylor as enlightenment struck him. "I'll go and get it."
He disappeared, leaving me bound and alone with the Corporal. He waited until Taylor was out of sight, then slowly started rubbing the hardening cum from their two dicks all over my face with his slowly softening cock. Every now and again he allowed me to lick his sticky cockhead as it passed my lips. Taylor soon returned with the old kitchen trolley, which they overturned. They untied me from the workbench and dragged me across the trolley. My arms and legs hung over the ends, my wrists tied to the pushing bar and my ankles lashed to the wire at the front corners. They had forced the cucumber so far up my arse that it could not escape. Slapping my sore arse cheeks a couple of times, they just walked out.
I shall never know how I survived the remainder of that night. It was not being tied up to a broken down kitchen trolley with a huge green cucumber way up inside my arsehole. It was not even the fear that I would be found like that by the morning shift with a great green rod sticking up surrounded by the black and red bruises of my arse. It was not the fact that I was covered in cum, caked dry all over my face and body. No, it was waiting for them to return. Nothing they did to me was worse than this feeling of being abandoned, of being deprived of their mastery over me, of being refused the license to please them, especially the ecstasy I felt kneeling before the Corporal. Then, just as the first light of day was beginning to show greyly in the tiny skylight above me, they returned. They had both cleaned themselves up and put on pressed, clean uniforms. The material of their fatigues stretched tightly over their roaring boners. They left me over the trolley, extracted the cucumber from my arse. Opening their flies, they pulled out their rigid cocks, already sheathed in condoms, and simply plunged them into me at both ends. First one way round and then the other, then back again, until I lost all sense of anything but cock in my mouth and cock in my arse, and empty moments as they changed places. I knew the early day shift would be coming in to the hangar soon and tried to keep quiet. Once I started moaning my joy at this festival of cock, I could not stop. Someone must have heard something, but no one came to investigate.
Finally, just as I was about to lose consciousness, they both made one last thrust and held, shuddering, shooting their loads so perfectly in time with each other I knew, at last, that this was a regular thing for them. Taylor was behind me at the time and he simply pulled out of me and let go of my cheeks, whipped off the condom, emptied the contents over my back, zipped up and left, without a word. I found myself kneeling in a puddle of congealing cum - my own. I had no idea when I had ejaculated, or how many times. Rimmer's perfect cock was still in my mouth, softening slightly but still firm. As he pulled out he allowed me to lick his balls while he, too, emptied his full condom down my back, the cooling slime mingling with Taylor's on my skin. He rubbed the last of his cum off on my shoulder and hid the wand of authority from my sight. I moaned softly and he patted my head, as if he was releasing me from bondage. "Go and get dressed," he commanded. The voice was hard - it could not be anything else - but the tone said, "Well done!"
I staggered to my feet and returned to the Discip Office, where I found my clothes had been neatly folded and placed on the chair I had sat in all those millennia ago. He followed me and as I attempted to wipe off some of the hardening mess, he barked, "No, do not clean yourself. Leave it on." I pulled my clothes over the cold cum, feeling it gluing my clothes to my body. The first men had arrived downstairs in the main hangar. I would have to slip as quietly as possible down the stairs and out through the side door to retrieve my bike and get back to the barrack block to shower and change. When I got back to where I had left the bicycle the previous night, there was a piece of paper stuck between the handlebars. I pulled it off and read: WELL DONE. YOU HAVE EARNED YOUR PLACE IN THE TEAM. YOU WILL NO LONGER BE AN OUTCAST. YOU WILL BEGIN TRAINING TOMORROW NIGHT AT 22.OO HOURS. DO NOT BE LATE!
I slipped the piece of paper into my pocket. I no longer hated Corporal Elldon Rimmer. I was a changed man. I could follow him to the ends of the earth - and very nearly did. But that, as they say, is another story.
Laurie, 26.01.17