Date: Wed, 2 May 2012 05:51:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: jdr <daiuyrau@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sergeant Submits chapter 2

     The usual disclaimers apply to all chapters in this series.  This is a
work of fiction intended solely for the edification and enjoyment of adults
of legal age.  Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely
coincidental.  Mention or description of any institution is only for
background purposes and does not mean or imply any connection with or
disrespect to that institution.  All rights reserved subject to Nifty's
terms of use.  First time readers can learn more about the Colonel by
reading "With a Flip of a Coin" posted in Nifty's Gay Authoritarian and Gay
College sections in March and April 2012.

********************************************************************************

     The Colonel retrieved a hiking stick from the truck bed and, without
looking back, strode off to the trailhead.  Obediently, but without a
hiking stick of his own, the sergeant fell in behind.  For thirty minutes,
or maybe an hour, they marched through the woods, always going up, never
seeing or hearing another human being.  The buck's goosebumps from the
auroral chilliness gave way to a healthy glow which, under the weight of
the hardpacked sack on his back, led to a sheen of sweat all over his
exposed skin.  He concentrated totally on keeping stride, on holding his
burden in place, on stepping safely in the tangle of undertree growth, soon
having no idea where he was or which way led back to the truck.  Even the
trail disappeared as the officer veered into a stand of bushes, brushing
them away with his hand, the sergeant following along and doing the same.
The sharp branches whacked against his exposed flesh, leaving red stripes
and welts everywhere not covered by boots or shorts or backpack.

     Without warning they broke free into a clearing, one surrounded by
head-high bushes on three sides and a steep fifty foot slope on the fourth
one.  Four lodgepole pine trees were scattered about the clearing, each a
foot or so in diameter and pointing straight up to the canopy.  The Colonel
halted and so did Knoyle.  Wordlessly, the officer walked around behind the
NCO, reached into a side compartment of the pack, retrieved a water bottle,
stepped back and said, "Windsprint to the top, then back down, ten times,
ten pushups each time at each end.  Move out!"

     "Yes, sir!" barked the burdened buck sergeant, pushing off with his
boots and pumping his bare muscled arms furiously as his climbed up the
side of the lightly wooded slope.  Without him realizing it, and without
his lungs having a chance to adjust to Laramie's seventy-two hundred feet
above sea level, the hike had taken him up to nine thousand feet.  He
reached the top easily enough but breathing hard.  He knocked out ten
pushups, jumped back to his feet and then half-ran, half-slid down the
slope to the clearing where the Colonel was nonchalantly refreshing himself
with swigs of water.  The soldier dropped to the ground, knocked out ten
pushups (sounding off each number with a "Sir!"), jumped back up and
sprinted back up the slope.

     On and on he did this, each sprint a little slower than its
predecessor, each set of pushups a little harder than the set before, his
lungs gasping a little harder with each round, his face getting redder with
each series, the sweat beginning to get into his hair and eyes.  Even so,
this was nothing.  He was an Army-trained, battle-hardened specimen of
American manhood.  No old goat of a full bird was going to get the best of
him, especially with a bunch of silly calisthenics.  Hell, he had outlasted
every one of his stickmates when playing poker for pushups at Benning and
Bragg.  This was a walk in the park, and he grinned to himself at the
thought.

     Catching his second wind, the buck sergeant completed his pushups on
the ridgeline, double timed down the slope, dropped to the front leaning
rest position in the clearing, knocked out his last and loudest of twenty
sets of pushups and bounced back up to the position of attention.

     "Report!" ordered the Colonel.

     "Sir!" barked the NCO holding a snappy salute in place, "Sergeant
Knoyle reporting for further duty, Sir!"

     The officer returned the salute, then commanded "Drop to palms and
toes, soldier."

     The buck immediately and unthinkingly dropped back to the ground, his
back as straight as the lodgepole pines and his head pointing to the
ground.  Then he felt the Colonel picking up his hiking boots and
commanding, "Up the hill, soldier, wheel barrow style!"

     The sergeant started handclimbing up the hill.  This was his chance to
wear out the Old Man!  But the Colonel never so much as gasped anywhere up
the slope.  When they reached the ridgeline, the officer dropped the NCO's
feet and commanded "Low crawl back down!"  Heedless of the roots and sticks
poking at him, the soldier shoved his way down the hill, pecs and abs
scraping against the hillside, elbows out and churning away.  Ten times
they wheel barrowed up and ten times the trainee low crawled down.

     When they reached the clearing after the last descent, the Colonel
ordered "Airplane!"  Immediately the sergeant lifted his legs straight back
together and his arms straight out in front of his supine half-naked body,
eyes forward.  He held the painful position unflinchingly.  While he did
so, he felt the officer opening the top flap of the field pack still on his
back and groping through the contents.  Then he saw the Colonel strapping a
pair of leather cuffs onto his raised-up wrists, then hooking them together
with a steel double eye bolt connecting to D rings, one on each cuff.
Before he had time to process what might be happening, he heard another
command: "Back up the hill, soldier, wheel barrow style!"

     With that the Colonel yanked the sergeant's booted legs back up in the
air, and off they went.  This time, the soldier had to bounce his cuffed
hands forward in tandem, pumping his arms mercilessly, boing, boing, boing,
all the way up to the top.  When they reached it, the officer dropped the
NCO's boots and ordered "Low crawl back down!"  The wrist cuffs forced the
soldier to slither like a snake, unable to throw his arms out to either
side.  He wriggled first to one side and then the other.  When he reached
the clearing, the older man picked back up his booted feet and pushed him
like a wheel barrow back up the slope only to order him to crawl his way
back down, up and down, ten round trips in all.  A few times he lost
control and rolled downhill sideways for several rotations before regaining
his balance.  He was panting hard when he finally reached the bottom of the
final crawl fall down the slope.

     The Colonel reached down to the supine soldier's hands and unclicked
the eyebolt holding them together.  "Three and a half pushups!" he
commanded.

     The sergeant had been through this drill before.  His personal record
was six minutes in the "half pushup" position.  This time, however, he had
a full field pack on his back, he had already done two hundred pushups and
his arms were getting sore.  Still, no man had ever broken him.  He wasn't
about to let this over-the-hill officer asshole be the first to do so.

     "One half, sir!" he called out as his bare chest came within three
inches of the dirt.  "One, sir!" he barked as his arms finished lifting him
to a fully raised position.  "One and a half, sir!" he called as again his
chest lowered almost to the ground.  "Two, sir!" as his arms stretched
straight up.  "Two and a half, sir!" as he felt the grass tickle his pecs.
"Three, sir!" as his arms went straight for what would be the last time
until he survived this drill.  "Three and a half, sir!"  And, as he yelled
that report, his strong but tiring arms hunched down in the bent elbow
position, his naked chest and abs hovering three inches above the dirt
clearing floor, the field pack intensifying the positional bondage in which
the Colonel had placed him.  Sweat dripped down his face.  More sweat
dropped unseen from his hairy armpits to the ground.  His bare legs held
the ramrod straight position, his booted feet firmly planted.  "Yeah," he
thought to himself, "I can do this."

     The Colonel stood in front of the sergeant, so close that the
officer's right boot's toe was under the soldier's sweating chin.  "Eyes
up, sergeant!" the Colonel commanded.  The NCO complied by craning his neck
up, forcing himself to look the older man in the eye.  The Colonel looked
down with his harshest glare and, in his deepest command voice, said, "Are
you worthy to obey my commands?"

     The buck was concentrating too hard on holding his position to process
those words' full meaning.  "Sir, yes, sir!" he roboticly responded.

     Then the Colonel cut through the young soldier's brain fog with a
chilling question: "Are you worthy to lick my boots?"

     The sergeant was stuck.  A yes meant he would demean himself by
becoming a bootlicker.  A no meant he would denigrate his own worth.  With
split second clarity he gave what he thought would be the only safe
response: "Sir, I am worthy to obey any lawful command."

     The Colonel grinningly replied, "No regs, no limits, remember,
soldier?  Or do you want to back out on that now?"

     The sergeant's angry pride washed away any common sense as he
determinedly stated, "Sir, no regs, no limits, sir.  I will obey whatever
you order and beat any challenge you make!"

     He was still glaring eye to eye, his neck bent awkwardly upward, when
to his amazement the Colonel spat a honker that hit him squarely in the
face.  While the buck sergeant was still trying to understand what just
happened, the officer commanded "Open your mouth, soldier!" and the young
man complied.  Another gob of spit flew down, splattering into his mouth.
"Now use that to give my boot a spit shine, sergeant!" the older man
ordered.

     Half closing his mouth, the supine sergeant lowered his head to the
waiting dust-covered boot.  As he did so, he felt increased pressure on his
back and turned to his right to confirm that the Colonel's bent left leg
was pressing down on the field pack.  "An order is an order," he told
himself, "and this is nothing compared to the courses I maxed."  And with
that self-reassuring thought, the NCO stuck out his tongue and licked the
top of the officer's boot.  After a few seconds he was relieved to feel the
weight decrease on his back, only to have the spit-cleaned boot replaced by
its dirty companion and the increased pressure return to the field pack.
He obligingly licked the second boot as clean as the first.  Then the
Colonel stepped back, leaving the sergeant's now-quivering body focused on
holding the half-pushup position.

     "Are you a bootlicker, soldier?"

     "Yes, sir!"

     "Say it, soldier."

     "I am a bootlicker, sir!"

     "Whose bootlicker are you, sergeant?"

     "Sir, I am the Colonel's bootlicker, sir!"

     "On your feet, soldier!" he heard, and instantly snapped back up to
attention.  Despite his best efforts to conceal it, his biceps trembled and
his chest heaved in and out as his lungs silently shrieked for more of the
mountain-thinned air.  The Colonel stepped up in front of him, released
both backpack straps, then stepped around and behind him and lifted the
heavy load off his slightly aching shoulders.  The NCO stood up a wee bit
taller, relieved of his burden for the first time since leaving the parking
lot.  While he was motionless, in verbal bondage, his arms at his side, his
fingers properly curled to lightly touch his palms, the officer behind him
pulled a four-foot steel chain out of the backpack, wrapped it around and
around Knoyle's left wrist, then secured it with a quick link.  He then did
the same to the other wrist.

     "Dying cockroach!" snapped the officer.

     The buck sergeant, already beginning to recover from his climbing up
and down, dropped to the ground, turned over onto his back, thrust his
weighted arms, booted legs and head into the air and waved all five
appendages slowly while chanting "I am a dying cockroach.  I am a dying
cockroach.  I am a dying cockroach."

     Both military men knew that this harassment would last for five
minutes or more.  To the sergeant, it was actually a chance to take a
breather and lower his heart rate back down.  To the Colonel, it was an
opportunity to empty the backpack outside the soldier's limited line of
vision.  The officer unfurled the bedroll that had rested below the pack
and spread the blanket out flat.  Then he pulled each chain out and laid it
out on the blanket.  After that came all the links and locks, all the
leather apparatus and torture implements.  Last came the remaining water
bottles and the food.  Once all supplies were spread out and in order, he
returned his position to the singsong chanting soldier.

     "Keep moving but stop speaking, soldier."  The NCO obeyed.  "On my
command you will go to your knees, ankles crossed, hands behind your head,
chin up, eyes front.  Do so NOW!"  And with that the young buck sergeant, a
gaysex virgin, unwittingly assumed for the first time the kneeling slave
display position.

     "This is the display position, soldier.  When I command "Display!" you
will assume this position immediately.  Do you understand, sergeant?"

     "Sir, yes, sir!"

     The Colonel stepped up to his prey and fed him water from a bottle.
The young man gulped it all down, grateful to be rehydrated.  The older man
then removed the chains from around the wrist cuffs.  But the officer had
no intention of letting the soldier relax, much less giving him an
opportunity to stretch his arm muscles.  The Colonel drank in one last gaze
of the sergeant kneeling before him, armpits exposed and damp, naked torso
wet with sweat, arms trembling even as they held the back of the sergeant's
head.  He ordered the soldier to his feet, facing the blanket.  Before the
sergeant could mentally inventory everything spread out before him, the
officer commanded him to pick up a ten-foot length of chain, attach a quick
link to one chain end, and climb one of the lodgepole pines up to its
lowest branch.

     Kevin Knoyle had always enjoyed climbing trees.  His earliest memories
included the ornamental crabapple tree in his backyard and seeing how high
up it he could go.  As he grew older he tested himself on different trees,
with one hand only or using legs only or without using legs.

     The barked tree trunk in front of him was a challenge but one he could
meet.  He pulled himself up a couple of feet at a time, ignoring the
scraping of the bark against his chest and abs, the heavy chain draped
around his neck.  When he reached the lowest branch, he heard the Colonel
ordering him to encircle the quick-linked chain end around the trunk just
above the branch junction and secure it with the link, letting the other
eight feet of chain hang down.  Once that was done, he scurried back down,
retrieved a second chain of equal length to the first, climbed another
lodgepole and repeated the chain-looping task.

     When he came back down, the officer ordered him to stand halfway
between the two chain-draped pines and assume the jumping jack position.
Then the Colonel ordered him to bring his feet together, keeping his arms
diagonally stretched up and out.  The older man stood in front of the buck
and eyebolted first one cuffed wrist and then the other to the dangling
chains, stretching out both arms and chains.  The Colonel stared right into
the sergeant's eyes and, without breaking eye contact, used his hands to
open and drop the NCO's hiking shorts, then ordered him to step out of
them.  Now the sergeant was wearing only his jockstrap, his dog tags, his
boots, his boot socks and the wrist cuffs.

     Apparently, while he had been climbing the pines, his new commander
had affixed other chains to the bases of the trees.  The Colonel ordered
him back into the full jumping jack position, then cuffed and chained his
outstretched ankles in opposite directions.  Finally, the officer took a
fifth link of chain and fastened it to both ankle cuffs, preventing the
soldier's feet from stretching farther than they already had.

     The sergeant was not surprised when, from behind him, the Colonel
buckled a leather blindfold in place.  The sergeant was quite surprised
when he felt a hard plastic dick pushed into his mouth.  He could not
complain, and besides he had no permission to speak, so he accepted it and
wrapped his tongue and palate around it as best he could.  He felt straps
pulling all around his skull, not knowing what a head harness was (or, for
that matter, what a penis gag was) but understanding that something was
clamping his jaws shut and holding the hard dick thing firmly in his mouth.

     So here he was, in the middle of nowhere, no one else around except
his challenger, his body naked between his neck and his socktops except for
his jockstrap, with cuffs and chains pulling his sweaty body into a human
X, his chest still heaving from the combination of forced calisthenics and
thin mountain air, his vision, speech and senses of taste and smell gone,
and his body totally exposed to whatever the Colonel decided to inflict
next.