The usual disclaimers apply to all chapters in this series. This is a work of fiction intended solely for the edification and enjoyment of adults of legal age. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. Mention or description of any institution is only for background purposes and does not mean or imply any connection with or disrespect to that institution. All rights reserved subject to Nifty's terms of use. First time readers can learn more about the Colonel by reading "With a Flip of a Coin" posted in Nifty's Gay Authoritarian and Gay College sections in March and April 2012.
This was the moment that the Colonel foresaw from the instant he espied Sergeant Kevin Knoyle in the ROTC parking lot yesterday morning. Like most difficult tasks it seemed easy to do, but the officer knew how many decades of experience, how much trial and error, how much thinking and plotting went into his supposedly effortless taking of the young soldier. First the retired officer used his former field grade rank to take control of the conversation. Then he ferreted out two key facts: the sergeant's love of hiking and all things outdoors; and his inability to resist a challenge to his physical and mental invincibility. The invitation to a challenge hike, picking the sergeant up so he was dependent on the Colonel for his ride home, stripping the soldier of his t-shirt, weighing him down with the preposterously overstuffed field pack, isolating him in a secluded wooded clearing far from the rest of the world, wearing him out physically with windsprints, pushups and wheel barrow races while wearing the pack, ordering him to set up his own tree chains, all of it led to this moment.
Here was the former high school shortstop, the soldier who maxed every PFT score, the paratrooper, the buck sergeant E-5, wearing nothing but boots, socks, a jockstrap, dog tags, a blindfold and a head harness with a tight fitting penis gag. His arms and legs were stretched out into an X with no room to wiggle or lessen pressure on his aching extremities. His legs were joining his arms in protesting the hour long hike, the runs up and down the steep slope and all the other forced exercises. His lungs were pumping in and out, trying to push enough mountain air through his nostrils to replenish his red blood cells with oxygen.
And yet, for all that, SGT Knoyle was strangely at peace. He had no control over the situation, exactly what he loved most about serving in the Army. He was in the hands (literally and figuratively) of an officer with higher rank than anyone who had commanded him directly before. He was the sole focus of this full bird colonel's attention. He had already shown how tough he was, and was ready to show even more. Above everything else, he wanted to please the Colonel, to impress him, to keep his sole attention, to earn the older man's admiration. He was ready to do whatever it takes.
The Colonel put on a pair of leather gloves. He stood in front of the helpless sergeant and pinched the young man's nose shut. After twenty seconds or so he let go. There was no need to repeat it, for he had made his point. The buck now knew that the officer had full and complete physical power over him.
Next the Colonel pulled the jockstrap pouch out and down, catching it under the sergeant's balls, both exposing and jutting out his genitals. Again the point was reinforced: the officer could do whatever he wanted and the NCO was physically unable to resist.
Without further ado, the Colonel picked up a single tail whip, stood a couple of arm lengths behind the sergeant, and laid a full hard stroke onto the sweating naked back. The buck reacted by bracing himself just the slightest bit. His military discipline kicked in, preventing any further movement. The officer pulled the whip all the way back and lashed out yet again, flicking his wrist to make the leather tail sing. Another angry red welt streaked diagonally across the soldier's back. Again the whip lashed out, again the soldier gave no reaction, again a red line appeared on the white skin.
Every soldier expects to be tested. Some fear it. Some accept it with a shrug. Some embrace it with enthusiasm. Kevin definitely belonged to the last group, the gung-ho types who take whatever their chain of command orders with a grin asking if there was more to come. The whipping pushed the sergeant's brain back into time, remembering that soldiers had always endured floggings while physically restrained. This was true soldiering. This was the Old Army. This was great!
Instead of flinching away from the lash, the noncom pushed his body back into it, welcoming it with an arched motion that exposed his torso more fully. The Colonel picked up on the body language and laid the whip on even harder. Just for added pain, the officer stepped up closer so the tail would snake around to the soldier's abs and pecs.
The pain was exquisite, then unbearable, then mind numbing as as the sergeant's endorphins weighed in and swept him away and awash in pleasure. His soldier cock stuck straight out. His tongue gripped the penis gag. So overtaken was he that he did not even notice when the Colonel stopped whipping him. Instead, he felt the leather gloves caressing and massaging him, starting with his pecs, then his abs, then reaching behind him to work his back. He bent his head back with desire as the gloves worked his ass and then roamed around the sides of his cheeks to his crouch. One gloved hand started working his cock while the other unfastened the harness buckles and withdrew the gag from his mouth. A water bottle brushed against his parched lips, letting him greedily gulp it down.
"Are you enjoying all this, sergeant?" asked the Colonel, his leather glove continuing to work the horny soldier cock.
"Sir, yes, sir!" replied the buck.
"Ready for more, soldier? Or do you want to quit now?"
"Sir, the sergeant is ready for whatever the colonel has in store!"
"No regs, no limits, correct soldier?"
"No regs, no limits, correct sir!!"
The Colonel stopped stroking the young man's cock, leaving it hard and unsatisfied. He removed the gloves and took the blindfold off. The sergeant blinked at the return of daylight while the Colonel unhooked his right wrist from its chain, leaving the cuff on. He ordered the soldier to unhook himself at the left wrist and both ankles. Just as the noncom started to relax his muscles, looking forward to working out the stiffness in them, the Colonel barked a one-word order.
"Attention!" Immediately the former private braced in the position drilled into his subconscious in OSUT, his eyes staring into space. The Colonel stepped in front of him. "For the next phase you will be testing yourself, sergeant, understood?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" came the snappy response.
"Fall out!" The soldier relaxed slightly, knowing another order was coming soon. Sure enough, the Colonel ordered him to remove his boots, which he did. Then his boot socks, which he did. Then his jockstrap, which he did. Then stuff the strap pouch into his mouth, which he did. Then knot the two boot socks' toes together, which he did. Then position the knot at his mouth and tie the free sock ends behind his head securing the jock gag in place, which he did. Then use the bootlaces to tie each boot off of a testicle, with his right boot hanging from his right nut and his left from his left, which he did. Then naked jumping jacks, hundreds of them, the swaying boots yanking his balls on every bounce, his dog tags swinging up and down, the cloth jock drying out his mouth, his lungs screaming more and more for sea level air. Finally and gratefully he heard the command he wanted but refused to beg for.
"Attention!"
As the soldier stood in verbal bondage, hyperventilating for air, the Colonel untied the boot socks, pulled the jock strap out and tossed all three items to the blanket. He untied and tossed to one side the left boot. Then he untied the right boot and held it in his left hand while picking up a water bottle with his left.
"Display!" he ordered, and the naked sergeant scrambled to his knees, hands fingerlocked behind his head, arms out displaying his sweat-soaked pits and chest. "Eyes on me, soldier!" he heard, and swiveled his eyes to the Colonel while keeping his head motionless. He watched incredulously and thirstily as the officer held the bottle over the boot, tipped it horizontally, and poured the precious water the noncom needed into his filthy hiking boot.
The older man held the boot top to the younger man's lips and ordered, "Drink!" No second command was required. Locked into the kneeling slave display position, the sergeant drank the boot dry.
The officer's next order reinforced the noncom's humiliation and obedience. "Bend down and lick my boots clean, soldier." And so he did, hands, still self-bound behind his head. After he worked both boots with his tongue, the Colonel ordered "Display!" to return him to kneeling upright.
"Open your mouth, sergeant!" He did so, only to have a plastic bag top stuck between his teeth. "Bite down on it, soldier, and don't let it drop! Fall in!"
With that the buck scrambled to his feet and retook the position of attention, the plastic bag hanging from his mouth. "Parade rest!" His hands flew behind his back so his right palm could clench the back of his left hand while his legs spread apart to shoulder width. He then received his next assignment.
"Sergeant, in that bag are one hundred wooden clothespins. You shall hold the bag in your mouth so both your hands are free to fix the pins at one-inch intervals on your skin. I will tell you what areas to cover. The pins go on in pairs, first one on your right side then the second on the same place on your left side. Start with your nipple NOW!"
The sergeant was a stranger to tit torture, or for that matter to any other kind of BDSM, but an order is an order and a challenge can always be overcome. One instruction followed another as he blanketed his torso with clothespins all over his pecs, abs and the bottoms of his upper arms. The next instruction removed the one-inch restriction and required him to clothespin his own ballsac and cock while the Colonel watched from a humiliating one foot away. The pins mostly stung, and a few of them actually hurt, but this was nothing to the combat vet.
The next order sent him into the bushes with a knife to cut and trim a proper switch. He did so, returned to the clearing, and presented the shorn bush branch to the Colonel. On orders he blindfolded himself and assumed the standing display position, identical to kneeling display except he was standing upright with his feet shoulder width apart.
"Sergeant, it's time for me to know you better. I have a hundred questions for you. You will answer each one promptly, honestly and in full, understood?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" came the response, but the soldier's mind filled with trepidation. What would the Colonel pry out of him? What secrets would he reveal? How much internal privacy would he have left after all the questions were done?
"After each answer I shall knock a clothespin off with the switch and you shall thank me, understood sergeant?"
"Yes, sir!" And so it began. Blindfolded, sweating profusely, held verbally in a modified parade rest with hands locked behind his head, Kevin Knoyle started spilling his darkest secrets. After each answer the Colonel would hold a clothespin by its sides, pull the skin taut, then whack the pinched skin with the switch, freeing the clothespin and and inflicting pain on the sergeant.
At first the questions didn't seem like much, mostly background ones about where he grew up, his family, his friends, his Army career. Just when they started getting uncomfortably personal, the Colonel took a break in place. While maintaining the sergeant in the standing display position, the officer fed him lunch in the form of sandwiches, cookies and water.
After the field lunch the interrogation got serious. Before the sergeant could have a chance to appreciate the consequences of an answer, the switch would swish down, the pain would interrupt his thought and the Colonel would shoot another question at him. The result was far more intimate information than the soldier ever intended to reveal. By the time the last clothespin hit the ground the officer knew all about the buck's sex life, fantasies and desires as well as his finances, social networks and all his friends' names, both in and out of the military.
One answer gave the Colonel the key to taking down the sergeant and turning him into a gay sex submissive. It was one that the soldier would never expect to lead to that result. When asked about his proudest physical accomplishments, he replied that he enjoyed showing off by walking on his hands.
When the hundred questions ended, the Colonel commanded the young buck to show him just how good he was at handwalking. Thinking that this was a moment of relaxation, the agile paratrooper flipped upside down onto his hands and walked around the clearing until the officer ordered him to stop, then stepped up and used the soldier's upright ankles to guide him under the dangling chains.
The officer hoisted the naked sergeant's legs up first one chain and then the other, back and forth until he was well off the ground with his spread-wide crotch even with the taller man's collarbone his cuffed arms dangling straight down and his dog tags annoyingly draping his face. The Colonel retrieved first one tree base chain and then the other, resulting in the soldier hanging in an upside-down X, his manhood equipment fully accessible and exposed, and his upside-down mouth uncomfortably close to the officer's crotch.
Things got even more uncomfortable for the NCO when the officer peeled off his own long sleeve tee and dropped his shorts, revealing that he had gone commando and was wearing nothing but boots and socks. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that his junk was waving in the sergeant's face, the Colonel proceeded to work on the young man's family jewels. He moved slowly, deliberately, ever increasing the pressure and the pain. He concentrated first on one testicle, then the other, then both. He squeezed them, stretched them, slapped them, eventually punched them.
The sergeant's attitude slowly deteriorated. First he was confident. Then he was worried. Next he was scared. After what seemed like two hours, hours filled with unrelenting ballwork but which actually lasted not nearly so long, he was consumed by pain, incoherent from pain, robotized by pain, screaming for relief from the pain, begging for a stop to the pain, bargaining to do anything anything anything to terminate the pain.
"Did you say anything, boy?" the Colonel asked, subtly slipping in the demeaning epithet.
"Sir, yes, sir, anything, sir, please stop, sir, you win, I have had enough, sir, please stop, sir, I will do anything, sir, please stop punching my balls, sir."
"Tell me who you are, boy, tell me you are my bootlicker, boy."
"Sir, I am your bootlicker, sir, I will gladly lick your boots anytime you order me to, sir!"
"And my cock, boy, will you lick my cock?"
"Sir, mmmph!" the conversation was cut off by the Colonel as he shoved his cock into the soldier's open mouth and held it there by pressing on the back of the upside-down head."
"You said anything, BOY, and that includes sucking my cock. Now suck on it good unless you" and with that he punched the exposed balls " punching them again "want" and again "me" and again "to" and again "keep" and again "doing" and again "THIS!" and gave them the hardest punch of all.
The sergeant was trapped, panicking, fighting to hold down his lunch, but deep down realized that he was defeated for good. The Colonel had done something no one else had ever done. He had broken paratrooper combat veteran buck sergeant Kevin Knoyle.