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 as of April 8, 2012. Jeff and Sam, two characters from that story, re-appear in this chapter.
The Colonel sent the sergeant to the door. When it opened, there stood Jeff and Sam, best friends for life but now master and slave.
Jeff exuded confidence, standing there on the top of the three doorstoop steps in his jeans, cowboy boots, long sleeve western shirt and wool cowboy hat with his cowboy length hair poking out from under it. The hat had once belonged to Sam, but now like all his possessions (and Sam himself) it belonged to Jeff. So (for that matter) had the shirt, the belt and the rodeo buckle.
Sam stood at ground level, below and behind his college roommate and owner. He also wore jeans but the rest of his attire reflected his downgrade from cowboy to slave. He wore sneakers, a plain belt, a UW t-shirt and (over his shaved head) a UW baseball cap. To anyone who didn't know Sam before his humiliation, he looked like just another student.
"Hello, Jeff," sang out Kevin, "come on in!"
"Thanks, Kevin, we're glad to be here. So what do you and the Colonel have for me?"
"Take a look," said the noncom, waving an arm toward the pair of naked boys kneeling on the kitchen floor.
Jeff stepped inside, motioning Sam to follow him, then turned back to look at the boys and did a double take. "You're kidding me!" he blurted out. "That can't be Nate the Snake, can it? By God, it is! I hate that snotty bastard! How did you get him here?"
"That," said the Colonel drily, "would be my doing, Jeff. Surely you know by now that I take what I want."
Jeff chuckled and grinned. "Oh, yeah, I know that. But Nate? Great job, Colonel! Too bad I don't get to have him."
"Actually, Jeff, that is why I invited you two here. I figure Kevin, you and I can have some fun this weekend."
"Together, Colonel?"
"No, Jeff, I was more thinking about each of us acting separately. Here we are, three Masters with three slaves, two of them barely broken in. What say we divide them up, one apiece, go our own ways, and reconvene here on Sunday afternoon?"
"Great idea, sir!" said the sergeant enthusiastically. "But who gets whom? Or, should I say, who gets what?"
The three confident Dominants chuckled at the joke while Sam stood there unemotionally and the new slaveboys did their best to disappear into the floor.
"I figured we would do it the old-fashioned way," said the Colonel, and with that he reached into his pocket and pulled out his silver dollar. "The only rule is you can't win your own boy, just someone else's. Agreed?"
"Agreed," said Kevin and Jeff in unison.
The Colonel flipped the coin into the air and said "Call it, Jeff." While the silver disc rotated downward, Jeff said "Tails!" And tails it was.
"Take your pick, Jeff: Nate or Rob?"
"Well, Colonel, I don't know Rob, didn't know his name until you just said it. He does have a hard body, and I am tempted, but like everybody else who works out at Half Acre Gym I would love to get my hands on Nate the Snake. So, Colonel and Kevin, if it's okay with you two I pick Nate."
In the kitchen the once proud stud visibly slumped, cringing at the thought of Jeff commanding him for two days and nights. None of the masters even noticed.
Said Kevin, "That means I get to have Sam, which I've wanted to do for a long time now."
"And," said the Colonel, "that means I get to use Rob and train him properly while you two guys have fun at your places."
There were handshakes and shoulder squeezes all around as the three Dominants congratulated one another. Without further ado, the sergeant said his goodbyes, walked past Sam with a sideways order for him to follow, and out the door the two of them went.
"Boy Rob," commanded the Colonel, "crawl after me!" The officer strode through the kitchen past the kneeling slaves and down the basement stairs, not bothering to look back to confirm that Rob was indeed crawling his way behind his new trainer.
For a long deadly pause there was silence upstairs. Jeff just stood there contemplating his options while Nate trembled with dread. Unbidden, thoughts flooded the ex-stud's head, memories of all the nasty comments and sneers he had made to Jeff in the weight room, all the barbed insults about Jeff and Sam being a gay couple, and all the many times Nate had bragged about lifting more weight than did Jeff. Now those chickens were coming home to roost, and Nate's chicken salad was about to turn into chickenshit.
"Where are your clothes, SLAVE?"
"I dunno."
OOPH! The pointed toe of Jeff's right boot made contact with Nate's left ribs, sending him reeling across the floor and causing him to wince in pain.
"Try it again, SLAVE. Where are your clothes, SLAVE?" Jeff stood there, his right leg poised to swing again.
Nate cautiously looked up, saw the impending swing and quickly said, "SIR, this slave does not know for sure where his clothes are but asks permission to look, SIR!"
"Do so, slave," said Jeff, relaxing with confidence, and with that Nate crawled -- more correctly, scurried -- into the back bedrooms.
"I found them, sir," he called out.
"Put them on, slave, we're heading over to my place."
"Sir, yes, sir."
Nate tossed his clothes on, crawled back into the kitchen (where Jeff had helped himself to a cup of black coffee from the Colonel's pot) and, as taught, displayed himself by rising up on his knees with his hands clamped together behind his head, chin up and eyes facing forward. Jeff acted as though he had all the time in the world, saying nothing and doing nothing except sip his coffee from time to time. Finally, and languidly, he raised his left boot up to the vicinity of Nate's face and ordered: "Lick."
Without moving his knees the formerly cocky college kid leaned his chest forward, stuck his tongue out and licked the boot toe from one side to the other, silently absorbing the humiliation of it all. This went on for several minutes until Jeff set down his empty cup, stood up, ordered Nate to do the same and then walked out the door and to his truck (formerly Sam's pride and joy) while Nate tagged along.
During the drive over, Jeff pried out of Nate the story of his fall, from winning both boxing bouts to being invited by the Colonel to share as a fellow Dominant in the spoils of victory, to having the most wonderful three-way fuck, only to come out of his reverie to realize that he was handcuffed and caught. Bitterly he recounted all the events of the rest of the night and how the officer broke him down into a slave. By the time they arrived at Jeff's house, Nate's telling of his downfall had reduced his spirits to as low as Jeff's basement apartment.
Jeff knew from Kevin and the Colonel that Nate so far had been fucked and face fucked, had serviced feet and had learned to be a houseboy. He was broken but not completely, trained but not fully, submissive but not servile, controlled to a point but potentially still able to turn the tables if Jeff were not careful. Jeff would not give Nate a chance to rebound and break free. Instead, the confident cowboy led the way into the downstairs unit, reaching casually to one side and stealthily picking up the baseball bat that stood as a security measure next to the door.
Nate never saw it coming. He was walking down the stairs into the basement apartment, thinking heavily about how he would manuever his way back into control, maybe even make Jeff his slave (and Sam along with him). Lost in thought he absentmindedly walked through the door and into the swinging baseball bat aimed at his gut. He was doubled over and down on his knees before he knew he had been hit.
From there things only got worse. Before Nate could pull his arms away from protecting his abs, Jeff showered him with fist after fist after fist, on the college stud's head, face, sides, arms, everywhere. Nate fell to the floor, tried to crawl away, got nowhere as the cowboy's boots hit him here, now there, now here again, now somewhere else. The whole time, Jeff rained down insults and orders as fast as the blows.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, slave, and where the fuck do you think you are going? You are mine for the weekend, asshole, so get used to it. Slaves don't wear clothes in private, so strip, dickhead, get out of those clothes. Hurry, goddammit, I don't have all afternoon, you pissant slaveboy douchebag jerk." And so on and so on. After what seemed a lifetime Nate stripped naked again, his nudity revealing bruises all over his skin except where his masculine body hair concealed them. Pushed and prodded with one boot hit after another he quick crawled into the bathroom and over the tub side, hoping the porcelain walls would shield him from more kicks.
Instead, he felt then smelled Jeff's piss showering over him, from his head to his back. "Turn over, bitch!" he heard and, when he hesitated only a second, his right wrist was yanked out from under him and back, flipping him over and exposing his face and manly hairy chest to yet more piss.
"Open your mouth!" Jeff commanded. Again Nate hesitated. Again he paid the price as one forceful slap after another hit him in the face until he complied. For the first (but not last) time, the ex-stud tasted another man's piss.
As part of Jeff's training of Sam, the college age master had modified the apartment with several inobtrusive bondage points. He now took advantage of one in the tub area, a ceiling hook with a chain secured to and wrapped around it. He pulled Nate's arms straight up, unwrapped the unsecured chain end, and wrapped the chain around the new slave's wrists, exposing the sub's arms, armpits and chest while making it impossible for him to rise up from the bathtub floor. To increase Nate's feeling of helplessness, Jeff taped his ankles together. For the next half hour Jeff methodically denuded Nate of his man fur, first with clippers, then with razors, until Nate was as smooth skinned and vulnerable as a newborn babe. Nor did Jeff spare anything but the eyebrows, shearing Nate of his dignity and his head hair alike.
Jeff then twisted Nate's upstretched arms by half a turn, forcing the college stud-turned-sub onto his stomach with his shoulder sockets in a painful position. Jeff completed the shave job up Nate's ass crack and along the back of his legs. He concluded by turning on the shower, washing all the hair into the drain's strainer basket, which he then emptied. Next he placed the rubber stopper over the drain mouth while keeping the shower running.
As the tub slowly filled, Nate began to realize his predicament. Only his painfully stretched arms kept his head raised, and then only a few inches above the tub bottom. The water kept creeping up, covering first his abs, then his back, next his neck and then his chin. Unless Jeff did something, or he convinced Jeff to do something, his mouth and nose would soon be under water. Damn, he hated to beg, but what choice did he have.
"Uh, sir?" he hesitantly said.
"Yes, slave?"
"Uh, sir, the water is getting kinda high here."
"So what, slave?"
"Uh, sir, if it keep rising I won't be able to breathe."
"So what's your point, slave? You want me to stop running the shower?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"I will only do so if you agree to obey me, slave, and submit to me for the rest of the weekend."
Nate was stuck. He had always disliked Jeff, mostly because Jeff had a quiet confidence that Nate could never muster. Nate's attempts at showing confidence somehow came out as too harsh, too much braggadocio. As does any phony, he disliked the genuine article. Yet here he was at Jeff's mercy, dependent on his rival for movement or even breath. He finally reached the point of no return.
"Sir," he choked, partly from reluctance and partly from water up his nose, "I agree, sir, I will obey you and submit to you this weekend, sir."
"Smart choice," said Jeff with a smirk, turning the water off and removing the stopper. He unhooked the chain, allowing Nate to lower his arms and reposition them behind his back before snapping on a pair of handcuffs. Then the master helped the slave to his feet and let him stand there drying in the air.
Hard as it was to believe, less than twenty hours earlier Nate was full of himself, pumped from a light gym workout, dressed so as to show off his muscularity, heading to the fights where he would win both of his bouts, and yet here he was. A slave. A shaved slave. A shaved naked slave submitting to his rival. The situation was unbelievable, inexplicable, unacceptable and intolerable.
So why was his cock so hard?