Date: Tue, 12 Jun 2012 14:43:26 -0700 (PDT)
From: jdr <daiuyrau@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sergeant Submits, chapter 7

     The usual disclaimers apply to all chapters in this series.  This is a
work of fiction intended solely for the edification and enjoyment of adults
of legal age.  Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely
coincidental.  Mention or description of any institution is only for
background purposes and does not mean or imply any connection with or
disrespect to that institution.  All rights reserved subject to Nifty's
terms of use.

     First time readers can learn more about the Colonel by reading "With a
Flip of a Coin" posted in Nifty's Gay Authoritarian and Gay College
sections as of April 8, 2012.  Jeff and Sam, two characters from that
story, re-appear in this chapter.

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

     The Colonel sent the sergeant to the door.  When it opened, there
stood Jeff and Sam, best friends for life but now master and slave.

     Jeff exuded confidence, standing there on the top of the three
doorstoop steps in his jeans, cowboy boots, long sleeve western shirt and
wool cowboy hat with his cowboy length hair poking out from under it.  The
hat had once belonged to Sam, but now like all his possessions (and Sam
himself) it belonged to Jeff.  So (for that matter) had the shirt, the belt
and the rodeo buckle.

     Sam stood at ground level, below and behind his college roommate and
owner.  He also wore jeans but the rest of his attire reflected his
downgrade from cowboy to slave.  He wore sneakers, a plain belt, a UW
t-shirt and (over his shaved head) a UW baseball cap.  To anyone who didn't
know Sam before his humiliation, he looked like just another student.

     "Hello, Jeff," sang out Kevin, "come on in!"

     "Thanks, Kevin, we're glad to be here.  So what do you and the Colonel
have for me?"

     "Take a look," said the noncom, waving an arm toward the pair of naked
boys kneeling on the kitchen floor.

     Jeff stepped inside, motioning Sam to follow him, then turned back to
look at the boys and did a double take.  "You're kidding me!" he blurted
out.  "That can't be Nate the Snake, can it?  By God, it is!  I hate that
snotty bastard!  How did you get him here?"

     "That," said the Colonel drily, "would be my doing, Jeff.  Surely you
know by now that I take what I want."

     Jeff chuckled and grinned.  "Oh, yeah, I know that.  But Nate?  Great
job, Colonel!  Too bad I don't get to have him."

     "Actually, Jeff, that is why I invited you two here.  I figure Kevin,
you and I can have some fun this weekend."

     "Together, Colonel?"

     "No, Jeff, I was more thinking about each of us acting separately.
Here we are, three Masters with three slaves, two of them barely broken in.
What say we divide them up, one apiece, go our own ways, and reconvene here
on Sunday afternoon?"

     "Great idea, sir!" said the sergeant enthusiastically.  "But who gets
whom?  Or, should I say, who gets what?"

     The three confident Dominants chuckled at the joke while Sam stood
there unemotionally and the new slaveboys did their best to disappear into
the floor.

     "I figured we would do it the old-fashioned way," said the Colonel,
and with that he reached into his pocket and pulled out his silver dollar.
"The only rule is you can't win your own boy, just someone else's.
Agreed?"

     "Agreed," said Kevin and Jeff in unison.

     The Colonel flipped the coin into the air and said "Call it, Jeff."
While the silver disc rotated downward, Jeff said "Tails!"  And tails it
was.

     "Take your pick, Jeff: Nate or Rob?"

     "Well, Colonel, I don't know Rob, didn't know his name until you just
said it.  He does have a hard body, and I am tempted, but like everybody
else who works out at Half Acre Gym I would love to get my hands on Nate
the Snake.  So, Colonel and Kevin, if it's okay with you two I pick Nate."

     In the kitchen the once proud stud visibly slumped, cringing at the
thought of Jeff commanding him for two days and nights.  None of the
masters even noticed.

     Said Kevin, "That means I get to have Sam, which I've wanted to do for
a long time now."

     "And," said the Colonel, "that means I get to use Rob and train him
properly while you two guys have fun at your places."

     There were handshakes and shoulder squeezes all around as the three
Dominants congratulated one another.  Without further ado, the sergeant
said his goodbyes, walked past Sam with a sideways order for him to follow,
and out the door the two of them went.

     "Boy Rob," commanded the Colonel, "crawl after me!"  The officer
strode through the kitchen past the kneeling slaves and down the basement
stairs, not bothering to look back to confirm that Rob was indeed crawling
his way behind his new trainer.

     For a long deadly pause there was silence upstairs.  Jeff just stood
there contemplating his options while Nate trembled with dread.  Unbidden,
thoughts flooded the ex-stud's head, memories of all the nasty comments and
sneers he had made to Jeff in the weight room, all the barbed insults about
Jeff and Sam being a gay couple, and all the many times Nate had bragged
about lifting more weight than did Jeff.  Now those chickens were coming
home to roost, and Nate's chicken salad was about to turn into chickenshit.

     "Where are your clothes, SLAVE?"

     "I dunno."

     OOPH!  The pointed toe of Jeff's right boot made contact with Nate's
left ribs, sending him reeling across the floor and causing him to wince in
pain.

     "Try it again, SLAVE.  Where are your clothes, SLAVE?"  Jeff stood
there, his right leg poised to swing again.

     Nate cautiously looked up, saw the impending swing and quickly said,
"SIR, this slave does not know for sure where his clothes are but asks
permission to look, SIR!"

     "Do so, slave," said Jeff, relaxing with confidence, and with that
Nate crawled -- more correctly, scurried -- into the back bedrooms.

     "I found them, sir," he called out.

     "Put them on, slave, we're heading over to my place."

     "Sir, yes, sir."

     Nate tossed his clothes on, crawled back into the kitchen (where Jeff
had helped himself to a cup of black coffee from the Colonel's pot) and, as
taught, displayed himself by rising up on his knees with his hands clamped
together behind his head, chin up and eyes facing forward.  Jeff acted as
though he had all the time in the world, saying nothing and doing nothing
except sip his coffee from time to time.  Finally, and languidly, he raised
his left boot up to the vicinity of Nate's face and ordered: "Lick."

     Without moving his knees the formerly cocky college kid leaned his
chest forward, stuck his tongue out and licked the boot toe from one side
to the other, silently absorbing the humiliation of it all.  This went on
for several minutes until Jeff set down his empty cup, stood up, ordered
Nate to do the same and then walked out the door and to his truck (formerly
Sam's pride and joy) while Nate tagged along.

     During the drive over, Jeff pried out of Nate the story of his fall,
from winning both boxing bouts to being invited by the Colonel to share as
a fellow Dominant in the spoils of victory, to having the most wonderful
three-way fuck, only to come out of his reverie to realize that he was
handcuffed and caught.  Bitterly he recounted all the events of the rest of
the night and how the officer broke him down into a slave.  By the time
they arrived at Jeff's house, Nate's telling of his downfall had reduced
his spirits to as low as Jeff's basement apartment.

     Jeff knew from Kevin and the Colonel that Nate so far had been fucked
and face fucked, had serviced feet and had learned to be a houseboy.  He
was broken but not completely, trained but not fully, submissive but not
servile, controlled to a point but potentially still able to turn the
tables if Jeff were not careful.  Jeff would not give Nate a chance to
rebound and break free.  Instead, the confident cowboy led the way into the
downstairs unit, reaching casually to one side and stealthily picking up
the baseball bat that stood as a security measure next to the door.

     Nate never saw it coming.  He was walking down the stairs into the
basement apartment, thinking heavily about how he would manuever his way
back into control, maybe even make Jeff his slave (and Sam along with him).
Lost in thought he absentmindedly walked through the door and into the
swinging baseball bat aimed at his gut.  He was doubled over and down on
his knees before he knew he had been hit.

     From there things only got worse.  Before Nate could pull his arms
away from protecting his abs, Jeff showered him with fist after fist after
fist, on the college stud's head, face, sides, arms, everywhere.  Nate fell
to the floor, tried to crawl away, got nowhere as the cowboy's boots hit
him here, now there, now here again, now somewhere else.  The whole time,
Jeff rained down insults and orders as fast as the blows.

    "Who the fuck do you think you are, slave, and where the fuck do you
think you are going?  You are mine for the weekend, asshole, so get used to
it.  Slaves don't wear clothes in private, so strip, dickhead, get out of
those clothes.  Hurry, goddammit, I don't have all afternoon, you pissant
slaveboy douchebag jerk."  And so on and so on.  After what seemed a
lifetime Nate stripped naked again, his nudity revealing bruises all over
his skin except where his masculine body hair concealed them.  Pushed and
prodded with one boot hit after another he quick crawled into the bathroom
and over the tub side, hoping the porcelain walls would shield him from
more kicks.

     Instead, he felt then smelled Jeff's piss showering over him, from his
head to his back.  "Turn over, bitch!"  he heard and, when he hesitated
only a second, his right wrist was yanked out from under him and back,
flipping him over and exposing his face and manly hairy chest to yet more
piss.

     "Open your mouth!" Jeff commanded.  Again Nate hesitated.  Again he
paid the price as one forceful slap after another hit him in the face until
he complied.  For the first (but not last) time, the ex-stud tasted another
man's piss.

     As part of Jeff's training of Sam, the college age master had modified
the apartment with several inobtrusive bondage points.  He now took
advantage of one in the tub area, a ceiling hook with a chain secured to
and wrapped around it.  He pulled Nate's arms straight up, unwrapped the
unsecured chain end, and wrapped the chain around the new slave's wrists,
exposing the sub's arms, armpits and chest while making it impossible for
him to rise up from the bathtub floor.  To increase Nate's feeling of
helplessness, Jeff taped his ankles together.  For the next half hour Jeff
methodically denuded Nate of his man fur, first with clippers, then with
razors, until Nate was as smooth skinned and vulnerable as a newborn babe.
Nor did Jeff spare anything but the eyebrows, shearing Nate of his dignity
and his head hair alike.

     Jeff then twisted Nate's upstretched arms by half a turn, forcing the
college stud-turned-sub onto his stomach with his shoulder sockets in a
painful position.  Jeff completed the shave job up Nate's ass crack and
along the back of his legs.  He concluded by turning on the shower, washing
all the hair into the drain's strainer basket, which he then emptied.  Next
he placed the rubber stopper over the drain mouth while keeping the shower
running.

     As the tub slowly filled, Nate began to realize his predicament.  Only
his painfully stretched arms kept his head raised, and then only a few
inches above the tub bottom.  The water kept creeping up, covering first
his abs, then his back, next his neck and then his chin.  Unless Jeff did
something, or he convinced Jeff to do something, his mouth and nose would
soon be under water.  Damn, he hated to beg, but what choice did he have.

     "Uh, sir?"  he hesitantly said.

     "Yes, slave?"

     "Uh, sir, the water is getting kinda high here."

     "So what, slave?"

     "Uh, sir, if it keep rising I won't be able to breathe."

     "So what's your point, slave?  You want me to stop running the
shower?"

     "Yes, sir, please."

     "I will only do so if you agree to obey me, slave, and submit to me
for the rest of the weekend."

     Nate was stuck.  He had always disliked Jeff, mostly because Jeff had
a quiet confidence that Nate could never muster.  Nate's attempts at
showing confidence somehow came out as too harsh, too much braggadocio.  As
does any phony, he disliked the genuine article.  Yet here he was at Jeff's
mercy, dependent on his rival for movement or even breath.  He finally
reached the point of no return.

     "Sir," he choked, partly from reluctance and partly from water up his
nose, "I agree, sir, I will obey you and submit to you this weekend, sir."

     "Smart choice," said Jeff with a smirk, turning the water off and
removing the stopper.  He unhooked the chain, allowing Nate to lower his
arms and reposition them behind his back before snapping on a pair of
handcuffs.  Then the master helped the slave to his feet and let him stand
there drying in the air.

     Hard as it was to believe, less than twenty hours earlier Nate was
full of himself, pumped from a light gym workout, dressed so as to show off
his muscularity, heading to the fights where he would win both of his
bouts, and yet here he was.  A slave.  A shaved slave.  A shaved naked
slave submitting to his rival.  The situation was unbelievable,
inexplicable, unacceptable and intolerable.

     So why was his cock so hard?