Twelve Days with Sgt Tate

I am dreaming. I know this because I am standing in a grocery store that I don't know how I got here, but I feel the need to be here. An old lady is ramming her shopping cart into the back of my legs and ass, while a little boy standing in the cart brushes the points of a tinfoil pinwheel on the back of my neck. The force of the grocery cart intensifies and I am being thrown into a shelf full of bags of potato chips. I try to regain my composure, but that damn woman keeps shoving that cart into me. The kid is hitting me with the pinwheel along my neck.

I turn around and shout, "Stop it."

Sgt Tate responds, "Bitch, I ain't a-stoppin' 'til my load's a-droppin'." I now realize that Sgt Tate is fucking me and has been for some time now. His tags are dangling on my neck.

I have no clue to what time it is. From what I can see outside, it is light outside.

I feel his entire weight slam down behind on me, thrusting his cock deep into me. I cannot move except to look over my shoulder at him. It is a stupid thing to do as his dog tags nearly hit me in the eye.

Remembering what he had me do last night, I start squeezing and relaxing my hole.

"Yeah boy! Squeeze the cum out of me."

My focus is on squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing.

Sgt Tate lies on top of me with his cock sliding in without the pile driving motion from his slamming on top of me. He leans over my shoulder.

"I hope you weren't sleeping there boy."

"Actually I was Sir. That is the best way to be woken up." I think about what he said last night. I just go with it.

"Atta boy."

He continues to thrust into my hole. His hot breath blazes on my neck. Picking up speed, he returns to pile driving.

"You ready for it?"

He doesn't wait for my response, as his grunts grow louder and coincide with each downward drive. His arms reach through my armpits and hook on my shoulders. Pulling me downward increases each stroke's depth.

He howls out, and pushes his cock deep into me.

This is how my day begins.

I get up with Sgt Tate. I make him breakfast as he works out downstairs in the gym.

I cannot believe that I have been fucked, have made breakfast, and ate it all before 7AM. It is way too early to be functioning.

As I am cleaning up our dishes, Sgt Tate tells me as he looks at the morning news on his laptop, "Go take your shower, make sure that your cunt and thing are shaved smooth. Remember, don't touch yourself."

I put the dishes in the sink and go upstairs to shower up. I fully expect Sgt Tate to join me like he has in the past, but he doesn't. I clean up and go to shave. My crotch has started feeling rough. He must have sensed it, which is why he requires me to shave.

I lather up and begin the process. While around my asshole is easy, it is difficult to shave my dick area without touching it. I decide to use my finger to move it this way or that. It is a lot easier.

Toweling up I look at myself in the mirror. I like that way I look; the shaved crotch looks and feels right, especially knowing that Sgt Tate is just the opposite.

After returning to the kitchen, I finish cleaning. I hear Sgt Tate typing away at his laptop.

"In here boy."

I walk into his office. He sits behind the desk dressed in a Marines T-shirt and shorts looking at his computer. On the desk is the chastity tube.

I can see what is coming next. I reach over to the chastity device as he begins to say, "Put that on."

Picking up the tube, I look down, and my cock is rock hard. There is no way that this is going on while I am hard.

He sees this, "Get over here."

Walking around the desk, I hand him the device, but he grabs my balls. His squeezing makes me yelp out.

Slapping my cock with his free hand, he says, "Well, if you weren't hard all the time this would be a lot easier."

My cock starts to shrink. The ring goes around my shaft easily, but it is the popping of my balls through the ring that causes great discomfort. By now my shaft has completely deflated.

As the tube is being added, Sgt Tate asks, "Why didn't you cum last night? I told you that you could do anything you wanted. Why didn't you?"

Why didn't I? I thought that was out of bounds. Instead I tell him, "I thought you would be pleased if I didn't."

"Boy, now that is a bold faced lie, and you and I know it. But, it is a good answer though." He smacks the cock cage, causing my cock and balls to bounce back and forth.

Sgt Tate gets up and walks to his gun case. He unlocks it.

"Boy it's time for us to go huntin'. Seeing that white tail yesterday was God's way of telling me that I need to go out and kill one of His glorious creatures." I laugh at the irony. "Have you ever gone huntin'?"

"No Sir."

"Your dad never had you handle a gun?"

The rifles have a padlock through the middle of each one. I don't think they will be functional unless that lock comes off. He uses a key from his desk to unlock them.

"No Sir. This trip was going to be my first."

"I surprised. Your dad loves to shoot things."

"No, my mom wouldn't let him. She . . ." I pause because I know that my completed sentence might not be well received.

"Go on boy."

"She didn't want me playing with guns. She didn't want me to be like you."

"Your mom was a wise woman. Even then she realized that you could never be a real man . . . like good ol' Sgt Tate!" I give him credit for taking an insult and twisting it on me.

I follow him outside with a rifle. He sets up objects for me to shoot, namely a few pieces of lumber scraps, as he doesn't have the typical junk one sees in movies lying around. He's way too organized and clean for that.

We lie on the ground about one hundred feet from the blocks, with me naked. The rifle has two metal feet that act as support.

"Ok. Here are some pointers about shootin'. First, never put your finger on the trigger unless you are ready to shoot." He is handling the rifle like a pro. "Second, never point your rifle, or any gun at anyone, even if you think that the safety is on or if you think there is no ammunition loaded. That is unless you have a damn good reason to, and I mean a DAMN GOOD reason to." He elbows me. "Now there are four types of rifles: bolt, pump, . . ." He stops and looks at me. "Aw hell, you aren't going to need to know anything beyond this one. This is a bolt-action rifle. It is the most common, most accurate, and most reliable of all the rifles."

He picks up a thin rectangular metal object. I can see the tips of some bullets housed in it.

"This is your clip-fed magazine. It will load your bullets into the chamber, as you need it. You insert it on the bottom like this." He secures the magazine into the bottom of the rifle. "Now, how a bolt action rifle works is with this: You close the bolt." He slides a metal piece towards the barrel using the lever. When it reaches the end, he pushes the lever downward. "This lever here is called a cam. By shutting the bolt, it strips the top bullet from the magazine cartridge. Now its ready."

He holds the butt of the rifle up to his shoulder and leans his head sideways over the barrel.

"You firmly hold the butt in the pocket of your shoulder--not too loose, not too tight. It's going to recoil, or kickback, and you want to be able to control it but at the same time you don't want your muscles tense. That will really fuck up your shoulder. Then you look into the scope. Line the crosshairs to what you are going to shoot. Then you squeeze the trigger. You don't pull; you squeeze."

He shoots off one shot. It hits one of the blocks of wood causing it to jump a few feet. The thunderous sound echoes for at least two or three seconds.

"Now you have to reload. You pull up and back on the cam. This will eject the cartridge. Pushing the cam forward and down will load up the next bullet." He only pulls back the bolt. Then, he hands me the rifle.

I have never held a rifle before. It feels weird. I look at it closely, and inadvertently point it towards Sgt Tate. He smacks the barrel away.

"Damn it boy. I just told you be careful where you point that. If you do something that stupid one more time, I'm going to punch you in the face. I'm not just saying that; it's a real fucking threat."

"Sorry Sir."

"Quit looking at it. Take a shot."

I lie down. Placing the heel into my shoulder, I remember to hold it firmly, but not tight or loose. I look in the scope.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

I look at Tate. "What Sir?"

"The bolt."

I nervously smile. My fingers move to the cam to slide the bolt into place. Placing my head back into position. I look through the scope. With the crosshairs in my view, I line up with the next block.

"Now as you line up the crosshairs, breathe. Exhale slowly. Focus on relaxing. Almost meditate. The more relaxed you are the better. It's kinda like taking it up the ass. If your breathing isn't calm and relaxed, then your shot will be all over the place. Your first shot will always be your best. After it, adrenaline will be released into your body, and it's hard to regain that composure. Again, kinda like taking it up the ass . . . so I've been told. Got that?"

"Yes Sir."

He quietly looks at me, "Now take your shot."

I take a deep breath, and slowly exhale. I repeat my breathing pattern a few more times. I can feel my blood pumping through my body.

I squeeze and miss the block, but not by much--an inch or two below and to the right. The recoil is more intense than I would have imagined. Holding it firm makes sense.

"Good shot there boy, for your first. I was expecting you to fuck this up too. Reload."

I grab onto the cam with my fingers. It goes up and back.

"Don't use your fingers, use the palm of your hand. It will go in a smoother motion."

Palming the cam does make the bolt slide in place in one fluid motion.

"Again, shoot!"

I line the crosshairs, but this time I compensate by moving the crosshairs a little to the right and higher.

I squeeze. It hits! Damn, I am impressed with myself.

"There you go boy!"

I look up for the cam. I grab it in my palm. Up and back--I see the shell fly out. Forwards and down--my head goes back down.

I don't wait for his words; I squeeze off another one. It misses, again not by much, but better than before--a little to the left.

In one swift motion: cam up and back, shell out, bolt forward and cam down.

Another shot is a little to the right. I can see this because the bullet misses the edge of the block, but the air pressure moves the block.

I repeat the process fluidly. The fifth one hits. I am getting accustom to using the crosshair.

Again, the next one hits, followed by two more misses, albeit very close misses. The last few shots are fluid from one to the next, and with minimal movement of my head resulting in two more hits. A final attempt is a dud as I exhaust the bullets in the magazine.

I look up at Sgt Tate, whose mouth hangs open looking at my targets.

"How did I do Sir?"

His head slowly turns to me, with his jaw still dropped.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He just stares at me.

"What Sir?"

"Jesus fucking CHRIST! Where the FUCK did that come from?"

"Did I do good?"

"Boy I am speechless. You sure that your dad didn't show you?"

"No Sir."

"Shooting video games?"

"No Sir."

"You are far from perfect, but you moved smoother than a trained professional."

I start to smile; he follows with a wide grin.

"It has been a long time, boy, since I have been speechless. I would never have suspected that a pansy assed limp-wristed faggot could shoot straight. You got me."

He shakes his head, and I smile at my triumph.

"Uh-ten-HUHHH!"

He's shouting attention. I jump to my feet. I hope I can remember them all. Heels together, feet at a forty-five degree angle. Chest is up, out, and proud. Knees are slightly bent. Hands are at my side with my thumbs touching my thighs. Eyes staring out at a thousand yard stare look at his lake.

He walks around me. Stopping inches in front of me, he places his hand on my chin. Pulling up, I look at his face. His head faces forward, but his eyes are directly on mine.

His face is so stunningly handsome. The mustache, a perfectly trimmed salt and pepper thick patch of hair, flickers due to the gentle breeze. His eyes look past squinting lids. His lips slowly part. A moist tongue wets just the bottom lip.

Sgt Tate lunges forward at the same time that I wrap my arms around him. Our kiss is wet and for the first time, Sgt Tate lets my tongue invade his mouth. Our tongues run over each other.

I feel his arms under my armpits. Once again I am lifted up and wrap my legs around his torso. He holds me up by my ass.

All the while he carries me back to the lodge, he never dislodges from our kiss. Up the stairs to the deck and into the lodge, Sgt Tate carries me like he's carrying nothing. After the final stairs into his room, he throws me onto the bed.

A few bounces later I am lying on my back. He grabs my ankles and pulls me on his shoulders. With one hand he pulls out his cock from his shorts. With the other, he pulls my thighs so that my ass is hanging off the bed.

My ankles are pushed above me, causing my ass to rise. Sgt Tate bends over to meet my ass. It looks like he is going for rim me. Instead, he spits on it. His aim is spot on.

Relaxing his grip on my legs, they return to his shoulders. I feel his cock at my hole. He shoves in. I feel full.

"All this for learning to shoot Sir?"

He starts pumping, "Yes. I have a gift for you to celebrate."

"Thank you Sir."

He fucks for a minute. It is a great feeling to have. His kiss continues. I do not want this moment to end. I did something that impressed him and he is rewarding me.

"First thing is that you had a lot of near misses." He pulls his cock out and stands back. My legs remain in the air. "So you have a near miss with my cock."

What? He gets me hot and bothered and leaves me wanting--with legs overhead hanging motionless.

"But for your real reward--for those direct hits--follow me into the bathroom."

Not shit. Please God not shit.

I put down my legs and follow him into the bathroom. He is sitting on the toilet stroking his cock.

"Here kneel down in front of me."

I do. I look up at him and immediately imagine the image of my dad on his knees staring at Sgt Tate stroking his cock.

"Suck this for me while I dump."

Oh no, he's going to get me to eat. I should say something. I better not. Wait, he told me not to think about it, act on instinct.

"Sir, . . ."

"Boy, you had better not tell me that you aren't going to perform a simple task that I haven't even asked of you. All I want is a blowjob while I dump. Get that mouth over here."

Again, I need to follow through with what is being asked. I start sucking on his cock.

"You thought too much there, and it got you in trouble."

Splashing in the toilet follows his grunts. The shit smell permeates around the bathroom.

"Ah! That's my boy."

I start to drink his piss. Now this is a treat. It isn't a full piss load, but every drop is like golden nectar.

"Back off."

I pull off his cock. He stands and turns his ass to me.

"Clean me up."

I pull apart his ass and start licking. Strangely there isn't much to clean up. My tongue starts going adventurous by probing into his asshole.

"You done back there?"

Pulling out, I respond, "Yes Sir."

"Good. Now you get your reward."

He pulls me forward towards the toilet. I look inside, and there are three giant pieces of shit floating.

"Now get your face in there." He doesn't wait; he jams my face into the bowl. I am about two or three inches from the murky water. "Now for your reward."

I do not want to bob for shit.

"You get the reward that I don't give to just about anyone. But you dear boy, will get it, and I will not take no as an answer." His hand firmly holds my head in place. "I know you will love my reward. See those pieces of shit in there? What you are going to do will involve every piece. Your reward isn't my shit, but what you get to do with my shit. Do you want to know what you get to do to my turds?"

There is silence. He is waiting for a response from me.

I shout into the toilet bowl, "Sir, please tell me what I get to do to your magnificent turds." I figure that I might as well play along.

He is right by my ear. "Boy, you get the distinct privilege of taking my shit and flushing it down the toilet." He voice becomes calm, "The handle is at the top of the tank." My head is released, yet it still hovers in the bowl.

His echoing laughter grows more distant.

Lifting my head up, I reach for the handle and flush it away, glad that it is not going into me. Well, the old Tate hasn't completely changed.

I get up and walk out to the living area. Sgt Tate comes out of his office with another rifle. He has camouflage pants on with the same top.

"When we were at Randy's store there was a camouflage colored chastity device. I wish I had gotten it. You should be wearing some sort of camouflage, but we will have to make due."

"For what Sir?"

"For hunting! I didn't get you up so you can stare at my turds floating in the crapper."

He puts the rifle down on the living room table. He puts on his camouflage coat.

"Put your shoes on. I wish you would have brought some kind of boots."

I put my boots on.

"Should I plug you for this? . . . That was a rhetorical question. You really don't have a say in this. No, I don't think you should be plugged."

Picking up our things, we leave and start walking. I have the rifle I used and he has his. This must be a sight--him in his cammies, and me naked except for my shoes, my cock tube, and the strap from the rifle.

I carry a small bag with a couple bottles of water, some sandwiches, and some apples.

We don't walk too far, about a quarter of a mile along a path. Sgt Tate must come up here a lot. We stop at this clearing on the side of a hill. The hill really isn't that steep, in fact, it is more like a knoll. This clearing however is flat, and it does overlook a brook about one hundred yards away.

"Here we are. Drop the shit down."

I put things down. Sgt Tate sits on the ground. He looks at our rifles closely, mostly for maintenance. He disassembles and reassembles each one.

"Sir?"

"Yes boy?"

"What do we do here?"

"Deer will follow the brook. When they do, we will shoot. It's called hunting. Until then, we wait. That's called waiting."

Waiting is what we do. We don't talk much as he doesn't want our voices to carry. We don't do much for a good hour or two while he looks out.

I lie on the ground next to him, bored and completely detached from him.

Sgt Tate must have noticed my boredom. "Here, let's try this." He gets up and kneels. With a couple of quick moves, his camouflage pants are mid thigh, exposing his cock and ass.

A small rag is laid on the ground before he lies down with his cock on the fabric.

"Why don't you eat my ass to pass the time?"

His ass stares at me. I do not give it a second thought. My tongue is buried in his crack. He moans. For a long time, I just eat and eat. This makes up for yesterday, when I ended my rimming while he was asleep in the sling.

I know he is enjoying it too as he moans every once in a while. From this angle however, my tongue muscle is starting to ache.

"Sir?"

"Yes boy."

"Can I get some water and a bite to eat, my tongue is sore."

"Yeah, I guess it would be a good time for a water break."

We both sit up. He pulls up his pants but doesn't put away his cock.

Water quenches my thirst. I put down my bottle and look at him. He hands me a sandwich. "Here you go boy."

"Thank you Sir." He takes a bite of his sandwich. "Sir?"

"Yes boy? You already had permission to speak."

"I just want to say thank you."

"You already did that too."

"No Sir. Thanks for the time--beyond the sex--this time between us. My dad never took an interest in teaching me anything, other than which qualities to look for in whores."

"He brought you along on this trip, didn't he?"

"I know, but I knew that he wasn't going to do anything with me. It would have been you and him with me tagging along. You have shown more interest in me since we got back than he has my whole life." I begin to tear up.

"Come here boy." He holds open his arms, which I crawl into. "You are a good kid. Your dad had no business knocking your mom up. But he couldn't resist her young rebellious side. He thought he would change; she thought he would change. But he didn't, and she took care of you. I know that it is not in his blood to be a father. Some men are not made for fatherhood." I have known that my mom and dad had to get married because of me; it always seems to explain everything.

"What about you Sir? Do you have any kids?"

"Good God no. Could you imagine me a father?"

"Yes Sir. I know that you would have raised a child with a sense of honor." We both laugh.

"I have never found a woman that I could have knocked up."

"What about men?"

"You can't knock up a fag. If it was possible, you would have been pregnant thirty times over."

"No, I am referring to, have you found a special man?"

"Not really. I have fucked men all my life. They have always been a cum dump. It's only been recently that I have given up women and focused on men. Men are less complicated, easier to control. Women are way too demanding. God, it took me thirty years to figure that out."

"Sir, I . . . I do love you."

"Boy, . . ." He doesn't complete his thought.

Nothing is said between us for a minute. Sgt Tate is looking everywhere except at me.

"Why don't you lie down and look for deer?"

I take his place on the ground where I rimmed him.

"Whenever you are on your stomach, looking down the sight of a rifle, spread your legs. It stabilizes your body." I spread my legs.

"Now I should point out some things about hunting deer. First is that you are not aiming at a block of wood. What you are aiming at is alive. Deer tend to move around. The best spot to hit a deer is here." He jabs his fingers into my rib cage just below my armpit. "This is the best. The problem is that because they move around, this area is not accessible. If the deer is head-on, aim for the chest or neck. You could aim for the head, but I may want to sell the mount. Your goal is to hit a part that is going to cause massive amounts of blood loss."

I know that hunting is killing an animal, but this is starting to resonate as a real death.

"Now for the other piece I need to tell you is the sight. When you look through the sight, the cross hairs give you direct line of sight. Bullets don't travel along a straight line." He climbs on top of me, pushing my legs apart. "They will fall to the ground if they don't strike anything. So you need to keep in mind that when you are lining up the cross hairs that you need to compensate for the angle. The brook is about one hundred yards away. You should aim about three inches higher on the deer's body." I feel his cockhead at my asshole. "It's kind of like getting fucked, you need to aim a little higher in order to hit the target dead on." With that he thrusts into my ass.

I start to move away from the rifle so that I can give him my full attention.

"Get back there. I want you looking for deer. I will be back here doing my own thing." I put my head back to the rifle and look through the site. His cock picks up speed and force.

Normally Sgt Tate is grunting and making a lot of noise when he fucks, but now he is quiet. Also as he is fucking my hole, he doesn't interfere with my looking through the sight.

I relax my body to the point where I offer him absolutely no resistance. I breathe slowly. Sgt Tate picks up his intensity; I feel it with his thrusts.

I start squeezing my hole.

He whispers in my ear, "Atta boy!"

It is now that I see them. Three deer, a buck with antlers, and doe, and a fawn approach the brook.

I whisper, "Sgt. Tate."

"What boy?"

"Three deer."

He slows down the fucking, but he doesn't stop. "What you want to do is aim for the buck."

"You want to shoot?"

"No, you do it. I don't want to create any movement. Do it just like I told you."

I look through the sight. The fawn is in my crosshairs. Looking up, I locate the fawn in relation to the buck. Shifting my aim to the buck, his ass is to me.

Sgt Tate resumes the fucking. He doesn't seem fazed by this. I cannot believe that he is still fucking me while this is going on.

"What do I do when I can't see his head or ribcage?"

"Just hold on; he will turn. He has to."

I feel Sgt Tate getting close. Now his pelvis slaps against my ass, causing a small sound. This is too much for me to handle. He starts grunting.

The deer hear us as the all look in this direction. But the sound does not cause alarm. The buck turns to slowly walk further downstream. I get a clear shot. His upper ribcage is in my crosshairs. I hope this works.

Sgt Tate is getting close.

"I got him in my cross hairs Sir."

Sgt Tate screams, "Shoot!"

I squeeze to shoot. My body tenses, not just my hand. The shot echoes. Sgt Tate is cumming. The cam goes up and back, only to be shoved forward and down; my right palm moves fluidly. The used casing flies upward as it is ejected from the rifle. The buck takes two unsteady steps. Sgt Tate is still unloading cum into me. The doe and fawn sprint away. The case falls to the ground. The buck's head bows. Sgt Tate leans into me. The buck falls completely to the ground. Sgt Tate grunts in my ear. "Fucking brilliant." He leans over and kisses my cheek, while breathing heavily.

Tate quickly gets up and grabs his handgun, from his bag.

"Come with me." He races down the hill to the buck.

I pick myself up and start running with the rifle in hand. I stop running and think. I am running with a loaded rifle. He didn't show me how to put on a safety. So I retract the bolt by pulling the cam up and back. The bullet flies out, and the next one hasn't been loaded yet.

Sgt Tate has already reached the dying buck. He stands with his back to me and his legs spread. I see the head of the deer on the ground through his legs. His eyes look at me. Oh my, I just killed a deer. I don't like the way I am feeling.

Sgt Tate aims his gun and shoots. The buck's body flinches, only to stop moving, permanently.

He turns to me, and shouts, "Fucking great shot there boy!"

I can hear him hollering, but now everything turns to a blur. I don't know my emotions right now. I just killed a beautiful animal. The man I just professed my love was cumming in my ass as I was killing the deer. I never thought that I would have marksmen skills, let alone skills that impress a seasoned Drill Instructor from the United States Marine Corps with the killing of that deer.

Sgt Tate runs up to me. I don't know how to react to a three hundred pound six foot five behemoth charging for me. He is all grins. So I know this is not bad, . . . I think. I put the rifle down to be safe.

He picks me up in a celebratory grab, similar to the way baseball players celebrate after winning the World Series.

"Fuck, Danny, that was amazing." This is the first time he has called me by my name, albeit not the form I would like it. I'll take the acknowledgement anyway I can. "Damn that was some damn good shooting. I couldn't have done any better myself."

With his arms around my torso, I am taller than he is, well over seven feet above the ground. His pride in me overshadows the killing of the buck. I cannot stop myself from smiling. I feel like the king of the world.

"This one will go down in the books." He carries me up the hill before setting me down.

My mind is going numb. We go back to the lodge with him grinning all excited, the way that a ten year old does after winning a softball game. He is full of energy. He cannot stop hugging me.

We get back to the lodge and get an ATV hooked up with a flatbed.

Before we return, Sgt Tate grabs a Marines tank top and shorts. He climbs on the ATV with me behind him holding on to his waist. I am holding on to his waist. Thinking back to riding on the back of Joe's motorcycle, I felt safe then; I feel safe now.

I wish my dad could see this. Hell, I wish he would have reacted like Sgt Tate, all proud in me. But he wouldn't have done anything, in reality unless Sgt Tate did it first. Sgt Tate is more like my dad, than my own dad.

We get back to the deer with the ATV. I put on the shirt and shorts so that he can take pictures of me next to my "trophy."

I don't feel like it's a trophy, but I go through it. My mind goes into neutral for the next hour or so.

We bring the deer back to the lodge and into the basement, into the room next to his workroom--the one with the walk in freezer.

"Yesterday I told you that I hoped that this would be used on this trip, little did I know that my little bitch would turn into Johnny sharpshooter."

We walk up to a shiny steel table in the middle of the room.

"This is a nice table."

"It's a coroner's table. Let's move it out of the way of the track above."

I look up at a track in the ceiling, which stretches lengthwise, from the roll up door to the other end where there is a fork in the track. Each fork leads into a walk in cold room--either the meat locker or the freezer.

After the table is moved aside, he looks up.

"Where the hell is . . ." He walks into the meat locker for a brief moment, only to come out pulling a chain along the ceiling. With his other hand he is unhooking something from the end of the chain. It is a pair of leather wrist cuffs. "I was wondering where these went." He tosses them over at the door to the workroom.

Where the cuffs were, a rather thick object resembling a wire hanger now hangs. This one is very wide, and it has what looks like teacup hooks coming out the sides. A motorized pulley lowers it. Sgt Tate places it between the buck's hind legs. Each leg goes into the hook.

He hands me a large bucket. "Put this under his head. I don't want blood going everywhere."

The deer goes up. His blood is all over the bed of the trailer. As Sgt Tate lifts it off the bed, I try to get the bucket underneath quickly.

He stands me next to the buck for more pictures. It is real creepy to be standing next to a dead animal with his blood dripping into a bucket.

The deer is then pulled into the meat locker with the bucket underneath.

We come out. Sgt Tate sets the temperature for forty degrees. "On Sunday, he should be mighty tender. When I take you home to your dad, we'll send him some meat. I bet this is the first time that you have brought home food for the table. Well done son!"

Did he just say 'son'?

"I mean 'boy'." He smiles and puts his arm around me. "Go upstairs and clean yourself up. I'm going to clean up here."

I race upstairs, both sets. Strip off my clothes and jump into the shower, the water once again feels good. The little amount of blood on my body goes down the drain. Sgt Tate does not join me.

I step out of the shower and start to dry off.

He comes in to the bathroom, naked. "Go and put those bloody clothes in the washer." I pick them up and am about to leave. "Before you go, drink."

I look at his cock in his hands. I drop to my knees and receive his nectar. He pats me on the head signaling that he is finished.

I go to the laundry room where my bloody clothes join his in the washer that has already begun.

I go upstairs into his office. I look out the window. What a view: his property, his lake, his tiny little island, and his unseen brook. I don't think of any other world outside this view. My home with my dad, the rest area, the sex club, and the mall where I give my blowjobs are all so unreal to me. Hell, clothes feel unreal to me right now.

Today has changed me. I'm still dealing with all the emotions surrounding the deer kill. But it's the closeness I feel with Sgt Tate. He has opened himself up to me to share that part of himself that hardly anyone gets to see. The man is tender; I see it. I think he sees it too, but even he's surprised by it.

I have been with him for one week now. He has tested me--pushed me to my breaking point. I have learned more about myself through him, as a result of him, and for him in this past week, than all the time I have been with my dad.

My dad seems so far away. He's probably with his whores. I kinda wish he were here to share with me that moment, even if he wouldn't have reacted as Sgt Tate did.

"What you looking at?"

"Everything Sir. Nothing too."

"That makes as much sense as two fat women sitting in a Pinto eating jalape–o ice cream with Tabasco sauce and farting it up." That is a visual that I don't want in my head.

I look up at him, "Sir?" He looks down at me and raises his eyebrows. "How do you come up with this stuff?"

He instantly recites, "It's in the Marine Drill Instructor Handbook, Book 14, section 23, chapter 4, subsection 13, paragraph 4, lines 4 and 5. Look it up."

I look out with him standing next to me at the window.

"No, I was looking at everything here, but nothing in particular."

"I love this view. When I designed the lodge, I wanted the view to shape the room's design. I don't know if you notice, but our bedroom is directly above us. It has the same view."

"Interesting, Sir."

"And to tell you a secret that not many get. The bedroom is above my office here, which is above the dungeon below. Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Upstairs is for heavenly activities. The dungeon is for pain and suffering, something you have not deserved. And here, this room is for atonement and growing into the heavenly. Or something like that."

I look up at him.

"I know; it's kinda silly."

"No Sir. It's quite beautiful. I never thought . . ."

" . . . That I would have brains to know something like that?"

"No Sir. I never thought that you would be so connected with meaning behind your own lodge."

"Well that started out as a joke. But when I was redesigning this room, I wanted it to be special--to having the contents represent something. Being a Marine, you learn that with growth must come pain. I'm not saying the physical pain. Well, there is SOME physical pain. No, we have to make mistakes. We have to fail. We have to take what we did and learn from our mistakes to make us better. We are always being challenged in life. You never stop being presented with decisions--choices with consequences, both good and bad."

He steps back.

"Even the contents in here remind me of what challenges we Marines face. The map has pushpins to show all the places around the world where my brothers face their own challenges. Gunny Valley's sword and flag are reminders of taking a loss and learning from it to be better. Even having a sling in here, I am presenting a venue for someone to be challenged to take more and more."

He walks over to the gun cabinet.

"Shit! What did we do with the rifles?"

I don't remember. I had it in my hand up until he grabbed me.

"I left mine on the ground where you picked me up."

"And mine is still at the hide. It seems that we aren't thinking." We both laugh. "We can pick them up when we go back to turn the blood."

I have no idea what that means. He smiles.

"We have to turn over the dirt soaked in blood. Otherwise it can be smelled by other deer as a warning sign to stay away. That fawn may be back. When you eliminate the buck, it makes it easier to claim the young deer."

He comes up to me and kisses me on the lips.

"Why don't you call your dad and tell him what you did?"

That's the last thing I want to do. I don't want my reality to interfere with what I have here.

"But if you call your dad, you know what you have to be doing?"

I don't have a clue to what he is talking about. He grabs his cock. Now I get it. The last two times, he fucked me.

I decide to take the initiative. "Where is the phone?"

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. "Over there." He points to his desk. I get the phone and place it on the corner of the desk, within his reach.

I playfully order him, "Call him." He slowly turns to the phone. I can tell he is uncertain with my taking charge.

After the dial tone sounds, I apply pressure to his back to motion him to bend over. The nudge would normally go nowhere, except Sgt Tate plays along. The pressed buttons provide a tonal melody.

"Hello?"

My hands pull apart his ass cheek, and my tongue assaults his asshole.

He laughs instead of speaking. The laugher subsides as he begins talking, "Stevens."

"Sarge?"

"No, it's Judy, the Time-Life operator. Of course it's me." I shove my face into his crack. My lips suck on his asshole.

"How's it going? Is Dan minding you?"

"Oh yes, in fact he is doing well."

"Is he still a problem?"

"No, I corrected him. Now he is kissing my ass whenever I tell him to. In fact, he is one of the best ass kissers I have ever came across." I pull out of his crack and start kissing all over each cheek.

"Glad to hear it."

"Hey bitch! Your dad is on the phone." Why did he call me a bitch? My dad doesn't know that I am gay. But then I remember that Sgt Tate called me by female names on the first day. I pull off his ass. "Here he is Stevens. He has something to tell you. He has the biggest shit eating grin." That is real cute.

"Hi dad."

"Hey boy."

"You will never guess what I did today."

"What?"

I run my tongue up Sgt Tate's crack immediately before answering, "I shot a deer."

My dad sounds surprised. "What? You killed one? Did Sarge shoot it for you?" He thinks that Sgt Tate took the shot for me. Is it that hard to believe that I couldn't be butch enough to kill a deer?

I look around Tate's body and see him look at me in disbelief. He must see my disappointment in my eyes. "Stevens! No, he shot using your favorite rifle, and shot a ten-point buck on his first shot. You should be damn proud at what our boy did."

Losing all control of assertiveness, I standing up next to Sgt Tate. He has a hard on, probably from my tongue lashing of his ass.

"Dan, I am proud of you. Really I am. I just never thought that you had it in you."

Sarge continues, "We just hung the deer. I'll butcher it on Sunday morning and bring some when I take Dan home. Five days should make it nice and tender."

"Cool. Looking forward to some good venison."

Sgt Tate holds up his index finger inverted, motioning in a circle. He wants me to turn around. I turn around. I should have continued eating his ass.

"This has been a really good trip for you and Dan." Sgt Tate pushes my torso over the desk. "I wish I was there with you." He firmly kicks my legs apart. "First you lost your virginity to a whore nonetheless." I feel him at my asshole. "Now you shoot your first buck." His hands are firmly placed on my shoulders. "It seems that Sgt Tate is making a man out of you."

Sgt Tate busts out laughing as he shoves his barely lubed cock deep into my hole on the first try. Controlling any shouting, I still manage to yelp a little. It is masked by Tate's laughter.

"What's so funny? Dan is a perfectly good young man. He will make a great man to some nice girl."

Sgt Tate leans over while fucking and whispers, "More like some nice girl to a great man."

He returns to vertical and returns to fucking me. "Actually, he's a good kid. He just needs some discipline and structure in his life. How is the whore doing?"

"Oh man I am exhausted! Every night is a blowjob and a fuck. Every morning is a blowjob and a fuck. Thank you so much. Aw man, the brunette Lisa is so fucking great. Her pussy is so fucking moist."

Sgt Tate shoves his cock in deep, "I could use a moist pussy right about now." I am a little dry. His cock feels like it is pulling my asshole inward. I turn to look at him, gesturing--with a bob of the head--to him if he wants a blowjob.

He nods. I get up and turn around to take his cock in my mouth. He stands there all proud with one hand resting on the back of my head.

My dad spends the next five minutes describing the whore's vaginal walls. Sgt Tate tunes him out as well. He looks down at me on his cock. Our eyes connect. Whatever my dad is saying means absolutely nothing to us.

"Well I got to be going. Tell Dan that he did good, and I will talk to him later."

I am about to pull off of Tate's cock to say something to him, but I would rather keep sucking.

Sgt Tate hangs up. "Damn, that was fucked up. He just wasn't interested. Pity really."

I am really let down by him. Tate hearing it too heightens my embarrassment. The, to hear Sgt Tate say these words, I start to cry.

"Now, now, now. Here get up." I get up and he looks into my face. "I don't know what to say in times like this." He pulls me in for a quick hug. That's what is needed. "Let's go for a swim."

That sounds like a good idea.

We race outside and jump in the lake. It feels good. We swim out to the tiny island. He has a clearing on it. We sit and enjoy the surroundings. Not much is said; not much needs to be said.

This is the perfect way to cap off the morning's activities, at the same time letting me forget the call with my dad. We hang out on the island for an hour or two--sometimes swimming, sometimes sucking, sometimes rimming, sometimes fucking.

There is a point where we see a doe and a fawn, doing nothing but drinking the lake water and watching the two naked men on an island. They walk off in the direction of the brook.

I look at Sgt Tate looking across the lake. He amazes me--such a complex man. The roughest man is also the most affectionate man I know. I connect with him on so many levels. He understands my wants, my needs, and most importantly me. He is more of a father to me than my own. I want him to be my father.

On this island, he is.

Actually, I don't want him to be my father. I want more; I want him.

My smile at him catches his look. Sgt Tate raises an eyebrow and looks down at me, then begins a crack of a smile back. Damn, when he does that, I feel so safe with him.

He leans over and kisses me on the forehead.

"Let's get back to the lodge. I want turn the buck's blood at the hide and get the rifles." I get up. "Race you back to shore."

He dives in. There is not even a remote possibility of a contest between us. He arrives on shore. Seeing him standing there naked and wet turns me on. I approach the shore.

"Out of a million swimmers, you were the fastest?"

He puts his arm around my shoulder as we walk up to the lodge.

He gets dressed as I look for a shovel. With me wearing just the cage and boots and him in his cammies, we walk out to the hide. There is his rifle and his bag. We walk to the blood spot.

"Start digging. You want to go put three inches of dirt on top of everywhere you see blood."

I start digging a few feet away. Sgt Tate returns to the hide in the shadows of the trees.

It feels creepy to be standing here where the buck died and Sgt Tate is in the position where I was when I shot it. It really makes me connect with the animal, as I cover up its blood.

The ground is soft and somewhat easy to dig up, with the exception of a few roots I encounter.

With the blood covered, I walk back towards Sgt Tate. When I am about twenty feet away I look towards the lodge, and I see two men walking towards us with rifles.

"Sgt Tate, look."

He spins around. "Boy, they're just hunters, probably wanting to hunt on my land."

"Sir, I'm naked."

"And you think I have a full length evening dress up my ass for you to wear?"

I stand behind him, but he doesn't seem to mind.

One of the two men looks like a big redneck hunter, chunky, big lips, pale skin, and with a pale thin moustache. The other is about two inches taller than me but very thick. I can't tell, due to his clothes, but he looks like he is muscular.

They are within thirty feet or so. Finally Sgt Tate stops what he is doing and looks at them.

The muscular one carries his rifle on his back. His camouflage outfit looks impeccably precise. There is not one piece of dirt on him.

The redneck one has a T-shirt on with a wolf in profile howling silhouetted against a full moon. He carries his rifle at his side and a water bottle on the other.

The muscular one speaks first, "What's going on here?"

Sgt Tate doesn't say a word.

"Hey boy, why are you naked?"

Sgt Tate doesn't speak at all. He actually turns his body to look at me.

"What are you two deaf or something?"

I don't know what to say. I have to think fast. Why would anyone be outside naked? Why would any man be forced to be naked at all? Hazing at a university comes to mind. But that doesn't work here. A bet would work.

"I lost a bet at poker."

The muscular one says in disbelief, "Really?"

"I thought I had a winning hand, but I bet more than I had. When I lost, I had to give up my clothes."

The muscular one points at my dick and says, "And your dignity too. What's that on your pecker?" The redneck grins.

Oh shit, now what?

"Well when the guys had me naked, they feared that I was going to fuck them, so they put this on me."

The muscular one laughs, "Wait! Wait! Wait! You are trying to tell me that this big man was fearing you were going to fuck him?"

Now Sgt Tate speaks, "When were you planning on fucking me?" The second hunter busts out laughing too. "Were you planning on dropping the soap in the shower?" Now he is laughing too. What is going on? "Bitch, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Sir?" is my confused answer.

"What the fuck kind of story was that? You were going to fuck me? The only way that bullshit you said would makes any sense at all is if space aliens came down from outer space and skull fucked some stupidity into you."

This only causes the two hunters to laugh even more only to be joined in by Sgt Tate.

I want to run away.

Sgt Tate walks up to the muscular one and shakes his hand firmly, and then each one pats the other on the back. Sgt Tate does the same to the redneck.

"So good to see you two Marines again." Now I get it; they must be friends of Sgt Tate.

"We saw your truck. When you didn't answer the door, we looked at the beach, then came here."

"Well we were just picking up our things and heading back."

"Who's the faggot?"

"She's my cunt." Sgt Tate looks at me. "Cunt, this is Sgt Boris." I do not know if I should extend my hand. I decide against it.

"And this is Larry Joe Mason, but we call him Tard."

The redneck speaks. And the voice that comes from him is completely Deep South redneck. His drawl is pure. "I'm called that, because I once tarred and feathered a guy with my Pa."

Boris asks again, "Ox, who's the faggot?" This is the first time I am hearing Sgt Tate referred by his other nickname.

"This is Cunt. That is how she goes by." He looks at me. "Cunt, that is your name. Under no circumstances are you to tell Boris your other name."

"Yes Sir."

Boris adds, "I am actually Ivan."

Sgt Tate follows up with, "But it was your last name that no one can pronounce."

"What? Chtgheglovski? What's so hard about that?"

"Why don't you Ruskies have names that people can actually pronounce? I mean all I hear is 'Chegski'."

That is very strange. He was speaking perfect Russian yesterday morning. . . . But, . . . he told me that I should forget that fact. He's up to something with Boris, and I do not want to be in the middle of it.

"Cunt, I want you to address him as Sgt Boris or Sir at all times. You got that?"

"Yes Sir."

"And address Tard as Tard." Tard laughs.

"You guys setting up the hide?"

"No, we are heading back. This spot isn't good. Cunt just turned the blood from a kill this morning."

"Really? You couldn't wait for us?"

"No, I wanted to get out this morning and teach her about hunting."

"Why? What good is it going to be to her?"

"Her first live game shot she ever took was the kill shot of all kills. It landed where a skilled marksman would have hoped to have placed it."

"Really. I don't believe it. That is fucking unbelievable."

"What? That a cunt can shoot that well?"

"No, that you allowed a faggot to touch let alone use your rifles." I wait for him to break out laughing. He doesn't. I stare at him. There is an awkward silence amongst the four of us.

Oh no, this is not good. This guy is going to be trouble.

Sgt Tate speaks up, to respond to this challenge. "You are just upset that you have not got one single kill up here in the past five years. And you get served your balls on a plate by this faggot's marksmanship."

"Bullshit old man." Now he smiles, but he does it to Sgt Tate. I am completely ignored.

"Boris, take Tard up to the lodge and get settled in. Cunt and I have to finish things up here."

Boris responds, "Is the pussy up there?"

Tate asks, "What pussy?"

Boris looks pissed off. "Oh no. You promised pussy on Saturday."

"Trust me the cunt is that good."

"Fuck! Ox this is so wrong. I ain't fucking a fucking faggot."

"You did it the last time you were here."

"And the time before that. Do you ever bring women up here?"

"Last year, but you couldn't make it. That's your issue, not mine. This is the cunt we will use."

"Like hell I will. C'mon Tard." The two walk back to the lodge.

Sgt Tate picks up his bag and waits for Boris and Tard to walk out of earshot. "Boy, let me tell you some things. First, Boris can be hot headed." No shit. "He's not angry at you, but me. I did tell him that pussy would be here. But to tell you the truth, I completely forgot to arrange one. He says he's not going to fuck you, but he will. He likes to fuck rough, but nothing you can't handle. Now let me tell you how this will work. I set the rules for you as my cunt. Both of them can order you around. But they can't make you break my rules; they know this. Actually anyone that comes up here knows that. Another thing about Boris is that you do not want to tell him anything about yourself, about me, about your dad, about anything personal. Don't tell him your favorite color or the biggest cock you took in your cunt. You don't want him in your head."

"Sir, why did you invite him here?"

"I have my reasons. The most important thing is you are not to mention that I have any knowledge of the Russian language. He and I have business together, and he cannot know. Do you understand boy?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good, and you don't have to worry about Tard. We called him Tard because he's fucking retarded. He has never come up with anything else to add to his tarred and feathered bullshit story to back it up. It doesn't make any sense whatsoever. Besides the claim that he tarred and feathered someone, he can't give a place, a name, where he got the tar and feathers, nothing! He tried getting everyone to call him Wolf, but no one could do that with a straight face. Wait until you see him fuck."

"Sir?"

"You'll see. Let's go back the lodge."

We walk back to the lodge.

As I enter, we see Tard is flipping through the sports channels. "Hey Cunty."

Sgt Tate asks, "Where's Boris?"

Tard unzips his pants. "He's downstairs in the gym."

Sgt Tate looks says to me, "Blow Tard."

Tard starts to laugh to himself like the stereotypical redneck. His cock is out. It isn't big, but it isn't small.

I drop to my knees and bury my face in his lap. His pants smell of automobile oil. His foreskin contains a foul flavor. I have never tasted anything as pungent. He mustn't wash his dick too often.

I blow him and he grunts. I found his grunting to be a sign that he is enjoying my blowjob. Then I noticed that they started forming a pattern. After every fourth bob of my head he would grunt. If I slow down my bob, he still grunts after the fourth bob. If I speed up, so does his grunting. The grunting is getting really repetitious and as a result, annoying.

I focus my attention on his spit-cleaned head. With my hand on his shaft I run my tongue inside his skin.

"No, go back to up and down."

I return to bobbing my head, and he returns to grunting on every fourth bob. This is the first time I am bored while giving head. But, I still go through the motions. Those motions last a painfully boring twenty or thirty minutes.

I hear Sgt Tate's voice. "Tard seems to be enjoying himself."

Boris follows, "You know! The man can't get a blowjob based on his personality."

I continue to blow. While the two men talk behind me, Tard stops grunting.

The two men walk out on the deck. Out of my periphery, I see Sgt Tate with the steaks I took out yesterday to thaw. They walk to the grill.

Tard returns to grunting on every fourth bob.

A few moments later, Sgt Tate returns into the room. "Tard, why don't you fuck her in her cunt?"

"OK Sarge."

He stands up and takes off his filthy clothes. His body is unkempt. "Turn around little one and get on all fours."

I turn around and rest my body on my knees and elbows.

"No, not like that. Get off your elbows and up on your knuckles. Make those hands spread out twice your shoulder width." I climb up on my closed hands. "Arch your back, and keep your head up looking out."

I follow his instructions. Smiling, Sgt Tate walks by with barbeque spices.

Tard announces, "Get ready, because you are about to be fucked by the Wolf."

What the fuck does that mean? I feel his cock at my hole; it goes in relatively easy, probably because his dick is covered with my spit, his foreskin makes it slide in easier, and he is not that thick. He leans over and starts fucking me doggy style. He too is on his hands and knees.

He grunts, but not as frequently as when I blow him, but it is a pattern. His fucking feels like a tiny little jackhammer in my ass. I keep looking outside, as the sight of Sgt Tate laughing with Boris at the barbeque is more interesting than what's going on behind me.

He leans into my ear and starts growling. "Grrrr." I feel him slamming a little harder. "Howl with me."

What?

"Ow-ow-owwww!"

Now this is ridiculous. He wants me to howl with him. I am smacked on the right side of the head.

"I said howl with me, bitch."

Ok here goes. "Owww-OOOOOOOO!"

I look out at Boris and Sgt Tate who look at us through the sliding door. Boris laughs, and Sgt Tate smiles while shaking his head.

Tard unloads into me. And he howls at the top of his lungs.

Tate and Boris tip their heads back and mock howl. They continue to laugh.

I am back to being the bitch that I was at the rest area. I want Sgt Tate back, the one from this morning.

Tard and I join Tate and Boris on the deck. Just like the first night I arrived at the lodge, I am eating a delicious steak dinner.

Tard sits across from me. Whenever we make eye contact, he winks at me. Boris does everything he can not to look at me.

Sgt Tate and Boris talk about their time in the Marines, catching up on who does what where. These are people I have no reference for. Boris appears to have been a former trainee and then former fellow Drill Instructor to Sgt Tate.

The sun sets, and the men still talk about fellow Marines. I drift out of paying attention to the conversation. I start cleaning up the dishes.

After starting the dishwasher, I return to the men. As I walk out, I hear Sgt Tate asks, "How's your daughter?"

Sgt Tate holds up and wiggles an empty can of soda. I return to the kitchen and retrieve another can of soda.

Boris is in mid sentence, " . . . So I think she will be fine." He pauses. "I think its time to head on out."

Sgt Tate looks at his watch. "Yeah."

Tard asks, "Where are we going?" I wonder the same thing.

Boris looks at him, "Well, Tate promised us some pussy, and we get this useless faggot here. So we are going into that town where we saw the tavern and see if I can get some real pussy."

Sgt Tate follows up with, "And after he strikes out, I'll open up a can of tuna so he can at least remember what it smells like."

We get up. I get all the dirty dishes put into the dishwasher.

Sgt Tate comes into the kitchen. "Boy, get dressed. Put a pair of jeans on and a top, but nothing that looks, you know, faggy."

I have no clue what exactly that means, but I have an idea what he's implying.

I walk into my unlocked room. My clothes look foreign to me. I put on my clothes that I think would fit at a tavern, considering I never have been in a tavern.

Sgt Tate comes into my room. "That doesn't look right."

I look at myself, "What Sir?" What do I possibly have wrong?

"Take your cock out."

I take out the cage containing my shaft.

"Here let's take this off. It creates too much of a bulge--more than what you really have. Don't want to be accused of false advertising."

The cage is put on my dresser, and we leave together.

Boris and Tard meet us at the truck. Tard is wearing a much different shirt of a wolf howling at the moon.

Even Sgt Tate notices, "Damn boy, do you shop for clothes in the gift shops at the airport?"

We all get into Sgt Tate's truck with Sgt Tate and Boris in front. No sooner do we start rolling on the road, and Tard grabs my head and pulls it towards his crotch.

His dick is out. I take it in my mouth.

Sgt Tate says, "Well Tard seems to like the Cunt's mouth."

Boris responds, "Well someone has to."

"What's your problem with the Cunt?"

"Nothing, except it isn't a real cunt."

"You've fucked fags before."

"I know, but I want a real cunt. Is that so wrong?"

I just focus on blowing Tard. Even in the truck, he grunts on every fourth bob.

About twenty minutes later, we arrive at the tavern. Sgt Tate announces, "Ok ladies, time to end the blowjob. We're here."

It is a dark building with several neon signs in the windows promoting beer. There is minimal lighting to see what's going on. Several motorcycles are outside. I wonder if Joe is in there.

We walk in. No one seems to notice us. Several big bikers are shooting pool. Some big tittied women hover around the bar. There are couples and a few groups scattered around.

We walk up to the bar; Sgt Tate looks back at us and asks, "What are you guys drinking?"

Tard blurts out, "Beer."

Boris looks insulted with the question, "Oh, please."

Sgt Tate turns to the bartender, "A bottle of Bud, two Cokes, and a double vodka neat for the annoyed one."

"And on the vodka neat, I'll take . . . let me see . . ." Boris glances behind the bar, "I guess Stoli." Even in this, he has to be difficult.

As the bartender turns to make the drinks, Tate looks at Boris, "We ain't in St. Petersburg. They're not going to have your vodka here."

"I know."

Sgt Tate pays and we take our drinks to a meat rack. My Coke tastes very syrupy. Tard walks over to the dartboard area and adds his name to the chalkboard. He sits nearby.

Sgt Tate takes a sip of his Coke. "So which one do you have your eye on?"

Boris points to two women across the bar, "I saw the redhead over there talking with her friend. We could double team them."

"Nah. I got Cunt to take care of."

"But that's real pussy just right over there. Why would you want the fag over those tits?"

"I have my reasons. Go on. Go after her."

"Ox, I don't get it. I really don't." He walks off.

Sgt Tate looks at me. "How are you doing, boy?"

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"I don't know Sir. I don't like them."

He chuckles to himself. "Boris is just pissed off. We are finishing up on some business, and I am about to get him to sign something that he doesn't want to, but he needs to. He knows he needs to. He's also dealing with some personal shit. Don't worry; he'll be better once he gets laid."

He takes a swig of Coke. "Sir, why don't you drink?"

"I'm surprised that you would ask that. You should have figured it out." I just look at him puzzled. "Boy when a man drinks, he does things he wouldn't normally do. I was drunk once in my life. I thought I was in complete control, but everyone around me said I wasn't. I don't like not being in control. Drinking makes me lose the control I work damn hard to maintain. I don't like it. I don't want it. I don't need it. I also get to see others--acting with their guards down."

I can see him utilizing alcohol to his advantage.

Boris strikes out with the redhead. The evening progresses, and he drinks a few more shots. Tard keeps playing darts. Sgt Tate plays some pool. I just sit and watch everything from a stool at the bar.

I drink my Coke. I don't realize that I am sipping it through the stirrer.

"Well look at you." I look up and there is a massive biker towering over me from behind. Another man stands next to him, a bit smaller but still a good size in his own right. Both appear to be in their early forties.

I respond, "I'm sorry?"

"Well, looks like we have another gay parade marcher here."

The other one adds, "Look at how he's sitting, with his legs crossed."

I am very nervous. I am sitting here doing my best not to be noticed--not to cause a scene.

"Why don't the two of you fuck off?" Boris steps in between them and me.

The big one doesn't back off. "This doesn't concern you little man. That is, unless you are his butt buddy."

"I'm sorry I didn't catch that. I don't speak dumbass."

"What?" The man turns his head slightly but never takes his eyes off Boris. "Hey George!"

Behind him another biker walks over.

"That's right, get some backup, since you're not man enough to take me on your own."

The big man instantly became enraged. He takes a swipe at Boris.

Boris moves very fast and the punch misses. Boris however does not miss with both of his punches, landing one across the man's jaw and the second in the man's abdomen.

His friend lunges for Boris. But Boris moves very fast to use the man's lunge against him. He pulls on the man's arm sending him to the floor. In a swift move, Boris steps on the man's ribcage while twisting the biker's wrist and pulling.

The man screams.

George has made his way over to join in. "Fucking assholes!" he shouts. He charges and pulls out a switchblade knife. He lunges it towards me.

Before he can reach us, Sgt Tate drops him to the floor with one punch, landing square on the jaw.

Sgt Tate is hit from behind, only to respond with swinging around with a closed fist. The man flies across the room.

I look to the left and two men attack Boris. One has him held while the other punches his gut. Boris kicks the puncher in the crotch while elbowing the other.

From a seated position, I am airborne. My clothes are tight; they are what lift me. In fact, I am dragged without any regard to my comfort or balance. I feel like a rag doll. It is Tard who grabs me and pulls me towards the safety of the door away from the center of the fight. "Go hide in that corner." He points to a dark corner. I run to it as he joins in the fight.

He's just as capable as Boris and Sgt Tate.

Their Marine training kick in; the three men fight as a team. The bikers get some good hits in, but for the most part, the five of them are whipped. Boris moves fast. Tard uses what look like a martial arts moves like they are second nature. Sgt Tate uses the full force from his size to slam the original big man on the bar. Most of the others in the bar either left or migrated to a spot far from the brawl.

A gunshot is heard. Everything stops. It is the bartender. "THIS STOPS NOW!" As fast as it started, it ends.

The man that started it stands up and spits toward Boris. "Fucking faggots."

Sgt Tate responds quickly, "Be careful on your next words, or you just might miss your tongue."

The bartender shouts. "Everyone get the fuck out of here."

The big man responds, "Or what?" He looks at Sgt Tate, "We can take this outside. I will tear you another asshole so that you can get fucked in a completely new way. I'll do it. I'll do it old man. You don't think so, but I will"

"Like that will happen."

"C'mon, outside, let's go. I'll whip your old man's ass."

"You'll probably have better luck convincing all the Leprechauns all over the world to suddenly come out of hiding and say, 'HERE'S THE GOLD MOTHERFUCKERS!'" Some observers chuckle.

George advises his friend, "Kevin, let it go man. Let it go."

The man takes a swipe at Sgt Tate, who immediately responds with a block followed by a sequence of very fast punches. He moves like a prizefighter.

The bartender holds the shotgun towards Sgt Tate.

He is not fazed, "Don't worry! We are leaving. But first I need to point something out to this piece of shit. Kevvy, may I call you Kevvy? Listen, I may be gay. And I may be old enough to be your pappy. But I am not the one who got his ass whipped by a fifty-five year old sperm burper." He starts to walk out stepping on the man's hand. "You are. You got beat. Twice. Damn, you must be rather embarrassed about that. I would be ashamed to show my face, if I was you."

Tard walks over to me. He signals to me to follow him out.

We leave. Boris, Tard, and I run towards the truck. Tard is nervously laughing. Boris looks around assessing the area. Sgt Tate, however, walks with pride and at a slow pace. He walks with confidence as if he owns the whole state.

Kevin comes out with George's knife in his hand.

Boris screams out, "Behind you!"

He spins around very fast. Moving out of the way of the lunge, Tate hits the arm of the man causing the knife to fall out of his hands.

Tard and Boris run back to Tate's side. I follow. Kevin's friends come outside too.

Sgt Tate's throws an open palm hit upward impacting Kevin's jaw. The momentum of Kevin's body works contrary to the direction of his head, causing him to fall on the ground once again.

Tate stoops down as if to coach him.

Boris, Tard, and I arrive at his side.

"Now I hate to point out the obvious Kevvy. This is the third time you have been beaten by a fag in his fifties. A fag did this to you! A fag bested you! That really should be some sort of a clue. Think about what that says about your manhood, your masculinity. I know; not much manhood is there. You just don't have any of the criteria of what it takes to be a real man. But keep this stupidity up, and one day you just might see how much of a pussy you really are." He holds up the knife inverted by the blade tip. "Next time, if you bring your own sex toys, . . ." He stands up continuing his thought. " . . . Bring the ones without the blades."

With the flip of the wrist, the knife travels downward flipping over and over. I fully expect that it will land blade in the ground between his legs, like it is done in the movies. It doesn't. Instead the handle hits him directly on the balls. Kevin grabs onto them and rolls around.

In a pose reminiscent of his Drill Instructor stance at the sex club, he stands with authority. His voice is very loud and firm, "That always happens." With an extremely stone cold face he adds, "I just can't seem to control my limp wrist."

Kevin's friends start laughing.

Sgt Tate turns and walks directly to his truck. Tard and I move out of his way as he goes by.

The four of us get into the truck and drive off.

Boris adds, "Well that was fun." Sgt Tate laughs. Tard joins. I'm beginning to think that they enjoyed this. "And Ox, what the fuck is with you saying you are a fag?"

"Boris, you don't understand."

"Explain it to me."

"I wanted to belittle him. If a stronger man whips him, his ego will be bruised. Knowing it came from a fag will haunt him for a long time. A fag beat him up. His friends will taunt him, which is so much more fun. What I did has more of an effect in the long run. Besides, they will never see me again, so why does it matter?"

"I just never thought I would see the day . . ."

" . . . And you never have. Got it?"

Boris laughs, "Got it."

I notice that he refers to himself as gay. I wonder if that's how he really feels, that he's a gay man. There is a certain pride I have in knowing that he says that.

We arrive back at the lodge; Tard does not have me blow him on the way home.

We all go our separate directions. Tard announces, "I'm going to bed." Boris logs on to the internet from his room. Sgt Tate goes to work downstairs. I finish cleaning the kitchen and living room after removing my clothes. I am completely naked, and I love it.

After about twenty minutes, Sgt Tate comes to me and tells me to join him in the dungeon.

I climb downstairs. There is a dim light coming from the Dungeon area, the only light downstairs.

Walking in, I am completely shocked at what I see. Tard is naked and ass up on the whipping bench. He isn't getting whipped, but a dildo rests on his back. I don't remember seeing him go by me downstairs.

Tard barks at Sgt Tate, "What's he doing here?"

"Shut your fucking mouth. He's not going to say a word."

"He better not."

Sgt Tate looks at me and rolls his eyes. "I said he won't!" Sgt Tate commands me, "Eat out his ass. Clean him up."

I just do it. It is easier to follow Sgt Tate's directions.

Tard's ass is big and sweaty. I lick around his asshole. He hasn't cleaned up as I would have liked, but after tasting his rancid cock, I am surprised that he isn't filthier.

"Ok, pull back." I look at a naked Sgt Tate in the dim light. His chest is massive. In his hand is a small leather pouch with leather rawhide lacing. "Here I want you to wear this while Boris and Tard are here. Boris doesn't want to look at your dick."

I take it from him. The leather pouch is tiny. It barely covers my cock and balls. If I had pubes, they would not even be close to being concealed. Sgt Tate ties the straps in a jockstrap fashion.

"Suck on me for a while; get me hard."

I gladly suck on his cock. This is the first time since Tard and Boris arrive that I get to connect with Sgt Tate.

After a few minutes, "That's enough. Go back upstairs. If you are tired, you have permission to go to bed. If you are awake, I may fuck you. If you are asleep, I may fuck you as well."

Tard adds, "And don't fucking tell anyone."

Sgt Tate responds to Tard with a lash to the ass, "I said shut the fuck up." To me he adds, "Go boy."

I start to walk away, and Sgt Tate positions his cock at Tard's hole. A few strokes of the lash precede the first thrust. Tart screams as I turn and leave the dungeon.

I hear Sgt Tate, "You are the one who begged for this!" Tard's begging fades as I climb the stairs.

I start turning off lights. As I walk into the living room, I hear, "Faggot."

I jump startled. Boris is sitting in the room with a shot glass next to his laptop. I didn't see him.

"Is Ox fucking Tard?" I don't say a word. "You don't have to say anything. He is. Tard is strange. Tard begs Ox to have Ox force Tard to have sex with him. I don't know why Ox does it every time." Although he started addressing me with this, he ends up primarily talking for himself out loud.

He seems to be saddened for some reason. I try to lift him up with a thank you. "Sir, thank you for sticking up for me at the bar."

"Don't mention it."

"It means a lot to me."

"You don't follow directions; do you?"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to . . ."

"Yes you are sorry. I told you not to mention it, but you ignored me. Since you kept bringing it up, I didn't stick up for you. I defended the faggot cunt belonging to Ox, a man I hold in high regard. I have that man's back, just like he has mine. If he wasn't in the equation, I would have walked away from you at the bar without turning back."

This man is cold. I don't feel sympathy for him anymore.

"I'm just getting tired of all this faggot shit. Ox has been with more and more fags as the years pass. How old are you?"

"Twenty Sir." I forgot that Sgt Tate told me not to share any information with Boris.

"What's your name?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but Sgt Tate told me that I am not to give you my name."

"Of course he did. He always does. How long have you been with him?"

"I'm really sorry Sir, I cannot share any personal information."

"Do you know the man you swear allegiance to? He goes through mates like toilet paper." That's an interesting choice of words. "If you are expecting to run away with him at the end of this time, dream on. He doesn't do relationships, he always tossing out the current flavor whenever he is tired of it. And he will tire of you, I swear." I just stare at him. "The man is a Drill Instructor through and through. He spent his whole career bringing the recruits in, putting them through hell, fucking with their brains, and then sending them on their way. He does this with all his girlfriends, and now his fagfriends." He slams his hand down on the couch. "Fuck! Why do you have to be here? Why can't you be a real cunt?"

It is rhetorical, so I don't answer.

"You know, he invited me up here the other day to discuss business. He's been wanting me to sign some papers for some time, and I am nearly ready to do so. If you were a real woman, I would have fucked you by now, and he would have his papers."

He takes another shot of vodka. I stare--not daring to move a muscle.

"We went out tonight so that I could get a real piece of pussy, and because you had to be the faggot to those bikers at the bar, I got none." He stands and walks to me. "So, I guess, if I want a cunt, that I will have to fuck you."

I do not move. I look with a thousand yard stare right through him, as he stands not two feet away.

"I fucking hate you, faggot. But, it's your lucky night. Tonight you are going to be my bitch. I am so fucking horny that I would even stoop to sticking my cock into you."

Oh no, I don't like this idea. Sgt Tate is downstairs with Tard. This doesn't seem right.

"Get in my room." He points.

I slowly turn to the guest rooms. His is my Dad's room when he stayed the first night, right next to my former room with my stuff.

I walk in. He closes the door. "On your back on the bed."

Climbing on, I watch him undress. He strips down to his boxers. He has a beautiful chest. He is completely hairless, showing off a perfect muscular body. The only thing that stands out is a tattoo of a giant bulldog on his left shoulder. He approaches me. "Legs up!"

I raise my legs. I am glad that Sgt Tate put this leather pouch on me. I don't feel so vulnerable.

"I need to get hard, and you are killing my hardon. Keep your legs up, and I will be back."

He leaves me here on the bed with legs up in the air. I don't like him at all. I can see why Sgt Tate told me to say nothing to him. I wouldn't trust him to save my life. Strange that he did though. He has said a lot about Sgt Tate. I wonder what is true and what isn't. Sgt Tate certainly goes through partners, he even told me. But the way Boris tells it, Sgt Tate is just going to pass me on when the opportunity arises.

I just don't trust him to tell a complete story on anything.

He returns to the room with a large paper grocery bag with leather toys hanging out.

"Your old man told me not to go easy on you." I doubt it. "He was fucking Tard good. Tard also told me not to say anything to anyone. Since you are really no one of importance, I am still honoring his request."

He pulls out some rope and leather. Walking up to me, he throws wrist restraints at me.

"Put these on." I start to open them up to put them on. He applies ankle restraints as I buckle in my wrist ones.

I just go along with what he says. Considering that he protected me from the bikers as a form of honor to Sgt Tate, I don't think that he would do anything serious to me. This is going to hurt I know, but Sgt Tate has whipped me before. I am still here.

He pulls my ass down so it hangs off the left side of the bed. Returning to the paper bag, he takes some black rope out. Both hands are secured to the bed frame on the left side.

I want to put down my legs, but I know that Boris told me I couldn't. But also, if I did, my lower half would be dangling off the bed.

I am about to ask for a moment to rest my legs when he starts securing my legs to the frame on the right side. More rope is used to wrap around my torso before being secured to the frame below it. When he is finished, I am secured down firm with my legs spread over my head. My ass is out and vulnerable hanging over the edge. I really can't move anywhere.

Boris comes into my view. He towers over me. I see a whip in his hands. I'm getting a strange dŽjˆ vu moment here. For some reason I remember him.

"Well now, you are quite vulnerable. I need to get hard; screaming gets me hard. You got that?"

"Yes Sir."

"Oh there is one more thing."

He walks out of view, but not before I see his tattoo closer. It is a bulldog with the letters 'USMC' underneath it. I have seen that tattoo. This is more than a fleeting dŽjˆ vu moment. I have seen him before.

Then I remember. On the first or second day, I remember Sgt Tate and I discussing a video with a heavy S&M scene shot in my old room, where two tops work over a bottom. There was a couple and a third man--a top. Sgt Tate said he was a sadistic bastard. That top is Boris. It has to be.

Boris returns to my view. "One final thing--I can't stand to look at faggots while I fuck." He holds up the brown paper bag. Turning it over, nothing falls out. The bag is empty. What is going on?

In a swift move, he puts the bag over my head. Fuck, this is shitty. I feel so shitty. I can't believe he is doing this to me. Bags over the head are for ugly people. I am not ugly. I am so humiliated.

I hear him crack a whip.

Then I remember. On the first or second day, I remember Sgt Tate and I discussing a video with a heavy S&M scene shot in my old room, where two tops work over a bottom. There was a couple and a third man--a top. Sgt Tate said he was a sadistic bastard. That top is Boris. It has to be.

I feel an incredible pain in my left ass cheek. I scream out. My attempt to curl upward is thwarted by the restraint around my midsection. A sharp pain to my right cheek elicits another scream.

This is more intense than either Sgt Tate's beatings or Randy whipping me in his store.

A lash lands across my taint, followed by another on my left cheek. I scream some more.

"That's it baby."

He does not form any rhythm with his straps so I cannot tell where they land. They don't form a pattern of alternating between left and right. They just land all over the place. One even hits my cock, but since the leather pouch covers it, it does not sting like the other strikes.

He lands the most painful lash on my taint. This one I scream the loudest.

At that moment, my asshole is in pain. Not from a lash but from his cock invading it. There is almost no lube.

"Oh yeah baby. Daddy is ready to fuck his girl's little pussy." He drives his cock in. It feels huge. The pain does not come from just his limited use of lube, but from the angles the fuck strokes take. He is purposely fucking to inflict pain, grinding his groin into me.

My head rolls around in the bag trying to deal with the pain.

Then I remember Sgt Tate training me to squeeze and relax my hole. I squeeze and relax my asshole around his dick. That is what he needs. I hear him grunting. His body tenses up as dumps his load into me. He is a fast fuck, but I am not complaining.

Pulling out of me, Boris undoes my right arm restraint. "Undo your other arm and legs." He rushes untying my torso.

As I undo both legs, they are sore from being tensely abused in that position for so long. It is hard for me to put them down.

Boris grabs an ankle and jerks it down. Pain runs up my leg as my center of gravity shifts to off the mattress. I fall onto the floor.

"Get the fuck out of here."

I reach for the bag over my head.

"Leave that on. I don't want to even consider looking at your sorry face, faggot."

I feel so humiliated. I really can't stand this man. Trying to stand is painful to my legs and torso. My upper arm is grabbed, and my legs wobble as Boris shoves me towards the door.

He shoves me forward and I fall. I cannot see anything with the bag over my head. My hands go out in front of me. Had they not, I would have smashed into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.

Boris slams the door behind me.

Sliding down the wall slows down my falling to the floor.

I lay there with the bag still over my head. I am so scrambled that I don't even know what to do next. Getting away from this sadistic bastard seems to be the best idea. I pull off the bag.

Lying on the floor I can see the light under Boris's door. Seeing his feet walking in the room, gives me motivation to get away from him.

I get up on my elbows and knees for a few moments. Using the wall as support, I get to my feet. I take one step at a time. By the time I get over to the stairs, I have nearly all of my strength back.

I look for Sgt Tate. He is not in his bedroom, nor in the living room or the kitchen. I start to go into the basement to see if he is still in the dungeon.

I hear both he and Tard grunting. Not interrupting them, I turn and go back upstairs to the Kitchen. After a big glass of water, I just go to bed.

Climbing into bed, I feel my naked ass. There are bumps all over it--welts from the lashes.

I wish I could have switched places with Tard tonight. It doesn't seem right that Tate isn't fucking me--his boy.

It's hard to believe that my day ends so shitty since it began so wonderfully. Boris and Tard are not men I want to spend any more time with. I want to go back to the morning where Sgt Tate shows me how to shoot. I think about being on that tiny little island in his lake. I want to be next to Sgt Tate looking at the deer on the shore.

That image is what I focus on as I start to fall off to sleep.

I don't get into deep sleep as Sgt Tate climbing into bed with me wakes me up.

"Hello Sir."

"Hey boy. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"No Sir."

He spoons up behind me. I feel his sticky cock. After running a hand over my welts, a simple word is offered, "Good."

His hairy muscular arm comes over me, pulling my back into his chest. He leans over and kisses my cheek.

"Night Sir. I love you."

"Night boy."

We fall asleep in no time.

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