Date: Thu, 26 Jan 2017 12:10:09 +0000 (GMT)
From: "rampage938@btinternet.com" <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: ROUGH, HARD & DIRTY 3 : NIGHT SHIFT

Hi, folks! My name is Nobby Clark and I think of myself as a lowly speck of
humanity doing his bit for Queen and country - like shit, I am! I joined
the RAF just to get away from the dirty minded freak who ran the kids home
I'd had to live in for the past sixteen years. Things had not been too bad
at first and I thought I was starting to make some progress towards
becoming a useful member of the community and not an unwanted encumbrance
and burden on the State. Somehow I had managed to get through the initial
stages of square bashing and all that jazz and was posted to this big
operational station known as RAF Reiversholt, where I was assigned to the
Engineering Squadron - which is where I am now. Things were fine until the
day the squadron was lumbered with Corporal Elldon Rimmer. When I woke up
that morning I walked straight into the worst living nightmare I'd ever
experienced! That was nearly two months ago now and I have learnt to keep
out of Rimmer's way as much as possible but on this occasion, just as I'd
finished sweeping out the Engineering Office down at the big hangar, the
phone rang. I muttered curses as it was coming up 22.00 hours and I'd hoped
to get back to the NAAFI bar before Lights Out. That bloody phone was still
making enough noise to waken the dead and I'd have to answer the fucking
thing as everyone knew I was on duty that night. There was no way I could
ignore it and get away with some feeble excuse this time. I snatched up the
receiver and growled into the mouthpiece.

"Yeah, who's that?"

"Is that you, Clark?" I cursed again. Fucking Rimmer. He's had it in for us
ever since the day he arrived. What the fucking hell did he want now?

"Yes, Corporal." I'd better get it right this time, I've had my ass chewed
off so many times for calling Rimmer "Corp". I've even been threatened with
a disciplinary charge next time.

"Good. Are you finished down there?"

"Yes, Corporal."

"Get a late meal at the Mess, then come over to the Squadron. Report to me
in the Discip Office. Got that?"

"Yes, Corporal." All of us had learnt very quickly that you did not mess
about with this one. You simply did as you were told. No argument, just do
it! If you'd already planned to do something else, tough shit. The phone at
the other end went dead and I banged down the receiver.

Fuck the bastard, I thought as I cycled fast around the taxiway and up the
main road through the camp to the Airmen's Mess. It was going to be beyond
23.00 before I could get back down to the squadron offices. What in fuck's
name did Rimmer want with me at this time of night? Was the bugger up to
something, or what? It was a Friday night, which made it worse. I had a
whole clear weekend ahead of me and I had made plans. I'd planned on going
to town, making a pick up and getting laid good and proper. I had not had a
good fuck for almost ten days and I was feeling as horny as a goat on
heat. Boy! Was I gagging for it!

I dropped by the barracks and discarded my tatty old vest, oil stained KD
shorts and smelly ancient briefs after a quick shower. Normally, I wouldn't
have bothered but I was not going to lay myself wide open for any of
Rimmer's tricks. I was in enough bad odour with him as it was and did not
want to add any more excuses for him to make my life even more
miserable. The diversion nearly made me too late for a meal at the Mess,
even a late one. When it finally appeared it was cold and looked almost
inedible: congealed liver, onions and soggy chips followed by four days old
tapioca pudding with a dollop of out of date raspberry jam - which I hate
with a passion! Ugh! Still, I suppose it was better than going hungry for
the next few hours until early breakfast. At least my mug of tea was hot
and freshly made, so that cheered me up a bit. I did not linger over the
meal and soon set off back down to the squadron to see what that
mother-fucking arsehole wanted. On the way down I wondered if his bumboy
Andy Taylor would be there, sucking away on the Corp's - oops, sorry - the
Corporal's pole. It was an established rumour that cock and arse linked
those two. They were always prowling round the barracks together, almost
hand in hand. It was a wonder the squadron CO hadn't checked up on them by
now. Still, we live in hope.

When I reached the squadron hangar, I could see only one light in a window,
upstairs. He was there, all right. I parked my bike round the side of the
hangar, where it would not be seen by the prying eyes of a security patrol,
and went in through the small side door, which was kept unlocked when there
was anyone there working late. I'd have to climb a steep flight of metal
steps up to the Discip Office. I thought, what if I was able to go up those
stairs without making a sound, creep up to the door and open it quietly. I
might just catch Taylor and Rimmer 'at it', as they say. Yeah, that would
be something, that would! I might even get a pat on the back from the
Squadron Adjutant but - as usual - that little plan was scuppered the
moment I put my feet on those fucking stairs. I was still wearing my work
boots: they made one helluva row on those metal treads. Rimmer and anyone
with him would have heard me coming up the stairs like a herd of cattle.

I stood for a moment in front of the door to the Discip Office, my hand on
the handle. I could see there was a light on through the frosted glass
panel let into the door at eye level. I stood still and listened. It was
eerily quiet. Not a sound came from the office, not even the clack of his
keyboard; like everything else he did, he was a first-rate touch typist,
the bastard. Why couldn't he just use two fingers like everyone else? I had
a bet with myself that the son of a bitch had made me come back here on a
wild goose chase. I thought, "He's not even here. The c**t has deliberately
left the office open and expects me to go in and switch off the light and
clear up. Hang on, though. He's been very specific about my coming back
here. He must want something - he would never go off and leave everything
wide open. That would be against regulations! He'd be the last person on
earth to breach regulations!"  I made a fist and knocked on the door.

"Come in, Clark!" His voice rasped from behind the door. The bugger was
there, all right. I opened the door and stepped into the room. I halted in
my tracks, holding on to the door handle. I could see nobody, at first. I
simply stood there, the room apparently empty. I was about to back out,
pulling the door closed behind me, when his voice came from over my right
shoulder.

"Don't stand there like a lost prick at a wedding, Clark. Come in and shut
that blasted door!"

I obeyed, spinning round to where his voice had come from. He was half
sitting on the edge of the big desk, dressed in immaculate fatigues, with
big, shiny boots on his feet. The shirt of his uniform was undone to just
below his tanned pecs. His arms were folded across his stomach, one foot
resting firmly on the floor, the other swinging idly from the knee. Neither
of us spoke for a moment or two, we were just sizing each other up. I knew
I looked a sight, not having changed after my late meal but come straight
back down to the squadron offices, as per orders. My boots were covered in
caked oil and dust, scratched beyond belief. They were my working boots,
not my parade ones. His boots, on the other hand, reflected the light
beaming from the desk lamp like a pair of heliograph mirrors!

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Corporal." I sprang to attention. It would not do to be caught out
now. Careful, I thought, be on your guard. Do it by the book and he can't
get you.

"Hmm. I reckon you are wondering what I want you for, aren't you?"

"Yes, Corporal."

"I know from your officer that you have been hard at work all day so I do
not intend commenting on your appearance." The cheeky bastard, he was not
going to ball me out for standing in front of him in stained and dirty
working fatigues and boots because he knew I had the upper hand, for
once. "However," he continued, "I do want to discuss your improvement since
I first came here," he continued. As he spoke, he tapped a forefinger
lightly on a bulky green manilla file lying beside him on the desk. I could
see the heavy black print across the top and bottom of the cover. It read
CONFIDENTIAL and although I could not make out what was scribbled
underneath, I knew it could only be something to do with me.

"Stand easy, Clark." He waited until I had gone through the drill
movements. He gave me a sideways look, a faint grin flitting across his
tight, thin lips. "You see, it is not so difficult, is it? It makes life so
much easier for all of us when you do it properly. Sit down." I
hesitated. His hitherto benign manner disappeared in an instant. "I said,
SIT DOWN!"

I fell into the only chair available, positioned immediately in front of
him. My crotch was fractions of an inch away from that swinging leg with
its booted foot. I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. The booted foot
swung in a slow, lazy but relentless rhythm, never faltering, mechanically
inching itself closer to the crotch of my fatigue trousers. The corporal
gazed down at me, in the way I had come to hate - and to fear. I could see
his eyes gleaming like points of black light, boring in to mine. I tried to
tear my gaze away but I was as helpless as a rabbit mesmerised by a
weasel. I could not help giving a tiny whimper as that sinister foot
pressed lightly against my balls. His leg stopped swinging and his booted
foot dropped to the floor to join its companion with a thud. He stood up,
flexing his back. The movement thrust his pelvis forward and I had a
glimpse of a crotch containing a large male organ in the preliminary stages
of hardening. He turned away and walked round behind the desk, pulled out
an executive style chair he used, and sat down. He moved the green file
towards him and opened it. My brow was damp with a fine film of
perspiration. He tapped the cover of the file once or twice then looked
sternly at me and spoke. I had not realised until that moment just how
scared I was of this man.

"This file contains every known misdemeanour, indiscretion and instance of
bad behaviour you have committed since the day I arrived. Everything has
been recorded meticulously: date, time, place and nature of the
offence. Most of these offences I have been able to correct on the spot, as
you well know. There are, however, a number of other breaches of discipline
which I can deal with only in private, away from the prying eyes of
witnesses." He stopped, still gazing severely at me.

I had a nasty, oily feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had heard people
say that NCOs had unofficial ways and means of inflicting punishments as a
means of enforcement and correction at their disposal, but until that
precise moment I had not believed such stories. Anything like that would be
bound to get out, someone would inform the authorities and the perpetrators
would be done for and probably court martialled. Now, I was not so sure. It
was dawning on me that I was alone, at dead of night, in a building
supposed to be locked up, with an NCO who made no secret of the fact that
he hated my guts with a passion. If he did anything to me, I would never be
believed, not with my record. It was all there on file, wasn't it? I was
not to know, until much later, that the green manilla file was entirely
made up of discarded sheets of paper with long out dated Station Standing
Orders and the like printed on them. He, the devil incarnate, had
fabricated the entire thing. He has such a creative mind, our Corporal!

"Do you understand me, Clark?"

"Yes, Corporal," I said in as near a normal tone of voice as I could
manage.

"What was that? Speak up, you are supposed to be a man, not a whimpering
child!"

I cleared my throat. "Yes, Corporal. I understand, Corporal."

"Good. Now that is cleared up, let me say I have noticed a marked
improvement in your work and personal appearance in the past few weeks. I
am pleased that you have made a noticeable effort. Despite our differences,
I have made it my business to make certain this improvement has been noted
in other quarters. The Squadron Adjutant has indicated to me that my
observations concur with his. Well done, Clark."

To say I was astounded would be an understatement. Jnr Tech Taylor had told
me a while ago he thought I was misjudging the new Corporal, that he was
hard but very fair and to give him a chance. At first, I hadn't taken much
notice of Taylor, especially when stories about him and the Corporal began
circulating round the barracks. Now, though, all my theories and ideas
about them seemed to have been blown sky-high. He said he was pleased -
with me and with something I'd done! I stuttered a "Thank you, Corporal" as
he riffled through some pages of the bogus file and appeared to be reading
something very intently. He looked up at me, and that nasty, oily feeling
returned to the pit of my stomach. "However," he continued, his voice
returning to the old, familiar harsh sound, which always made me tremble,
"you must know that I deal strictly with persistent offenders." I forced
myself to look him straight in those fathomless black eyes. "I refer to
certain rumours concerning my behaviour to, and relationship with another
airman. These rumours have been reaching my ears Clark and always,
somewhere, lurking in the background is your name."

The oily sludge in my stomach swirled and heaved. So that was it! He was
going to dump this on me, make me the scapegoat for the stories which had
been circulating for weeks, which had been getting more and more outrageous
with each repetition. I could not, dared not, open my mouth.

"Have you nothing to say, Clark?"

"Please, Corporal. I swear I have had nothing to do with the stories. I
have heard them, yes, and may be I have repeated one or two, but I did not
start them. I swear, Corporal."

"You admit to have repeated some of them?"

"Yes, Corporal." I paused. "Only the funny ones, though." He leapt to his
feet, his swivel chair crashing back against the wall, his hand slamming
down on the table with a crack like a rifle shot.

"There are NO funny stories about me. Only unsubstantiated untruths. Do you
hear me? Stand to attention when I am talking to you, airman!"

The suddenness of his loss of temper, the order to resume standing to
attention, the steel in his voice, all made me leap to my feet, quaking. I
blurted out, hardly aware of the words in my fear, "Please, sir..." with
only the faintest hint of emphasis on the 'sir', "please don't report
this. I'll do anything you want. Anything. I swear it." I could see
nothing, I was only aware of the Corporal's eyes staring long and hard at
me, through the fog of fear blinding me.

"Anything?" His voice had dropped to a near normal level. Neither of us
moved a muscle.

"Anything you want," I replied, with the merest hint of stress.

I could scarcely control the trembling of my limbs as I continued to meet
his stare. I felt my pupils widening as I gazed at his broad shoulders,
square jaw, spiky haircut, and then into those eyes. He had me, and he knew
it. Impulsively, I dropped to my knees in front of him, my arms still
rigidly at my sides. I kept my gaze on his face, looking up into that
expressionless void.

"Please, Sir."

I had broken every rule of Service etiquette by calling him "Sir". The
moment the word passed my lips I inwardly groaned. My mounting terror
increased still further as he turned away from me and went behind his
desk. In that moment, I knew I was lost, frantic to please him, wanting
him, needing him. He stood, silent, behind the desk as the mutation from
man to abject slave took place before him. Then he spoke. "Heel!" was all
he said.

I crouched on all fours, like a dog, and crawled. Yes, I crawled. Round the
side of the desk to where he stood behind it, I crawled. I took up a
position slightly behind his right heel. He pointed to the well of the
desk. He did not utter a word. I knew instinctively what to do. I crawled
to that confined space, turned round and backed in on my hands and
knees. He reached behind him, pulled his chair forward and sat down.

"I still have an hour's work to do bringing these reports up to date. When
I have finished them, I will decide if you are required longer. If I keep
you, it will be for the duration of my posting here. You will fear nothing
further from me. But I still need to be sure of you."

I scarcely heard more than the first few words. I only knew I had a chance
to prove myself. I had to seize that chance, make the most of it. As he had
pulled the chair forward and sat down, I was forced to the very back of the
well, right under the desk. The desk surrounded me, except in front, where
my suddenly constricted world was inhabited only by a pair of highly
polished black boots and the legs of sharply creased fatigue trousers. The
legs swung apart. I knew what was required of me and I leant forward,
putting my hands to his knees to steady myself. His own hand suddenly
appeared and unzipped the fly of his fatigues, groped around and pulled out
his cock. There had never been any reason for me to believe so, but I had
always imagined this man's cock would be perfect. Everything else about him
was perfect, so why not his manhood? It was a firm, meaty club but not
fully erect. It was at that stage the sex books describe as being
'tumescent'. It was, however, showing signs of becoming harder. I lunged
for it, hardly noticing the sharp crack when the back of my head struck the
underside of the desktop. I hardly heard him as he growled, "Remember,
anything."

For a few moments, as my lips closed round that shaft, nothing happened
except for the play of my tongue on his slit. Then I was made to realise
just what he had meant by 'anything'. A strong flood of warmth immersed my
tongue. For anyone else, I could never have taken it, but for him - even
without the threats hanging over me - anything was possible. It was only
right, only just, I thought as I clamped my lips tight and swallowed
... and swallowed ... and gulped. I was drinking at a seemingly endless
fountain of the golden liquid of eternal youth. I only knew that if so much
as a drop stained those immaculate fatigues, that was the end of it, the
end of me; I kept on swallowing and gulping and it was only when the flow
began to diminish that I managed to take a breath. I realised my own prick
was as hard as stone. I had never imagined before I could drink piss, not
like this - but for this man I had promised ... anything!

The flow gradually dwindled to a trickle, then stopped. I tested the end of
his penis with the tip of my tongue and few final sweet drops leaked
out. Now was my moment to begin working on him. The oily sludge that had
previously eddied in my stomach gave way to a gentle gurgling of the fluid
I had just drunk; constrained as I was in that ungainly imprisonment it
threatened to regurgitate. I disregarded it, licking and sucking until I
had him throbbing hard, fully erect, standing to attention. I continued
licking and dribbling spittle over and down his rampant, pulsating shaft as
I cleansed and washed it. I licked down the rod to the bush of warm,
slightly sweaty pubic hair, prickling my nostrils, scratching my lips. I
licked at the loose, hairy ball sac but could not reach the globes
themselves, restrained by the material of his fatigues. Working my way back
up the steel-hard cock, I found the head producing that salty-sweet, sticky
fluid presaging an eventual pouring forth of his sperm. I began to hear
faint sounds from above as he worked on his documents. I settled to serious
work of my own - cock sucking work. I sent my tongue dancing around the
helmet, tickling the ridge and working it in to the damp cock slit. My
teeth gently nibbled the soft, tender flesh of the edges of his cock slit,
making him move in his chair. "Fucking great," I thought, "I'm beginning to
get to him." I nipped his fleshy helmet and chewed gently on the soft fold
of skin that was all that remained of his foreskin after circumcision. I
heard a grunt; his legs parted further, his backside slid forward on the
seat of the chair. Enveloping my teeth with my lips, I fastened my mouth
around the shaft, just below the helmet ridge, and began gently pulling
while my tongue skated all over the hot smooth cone of his crown. I was
building up the speed now, deepening the intensity of the vacuum I had
created. I lost control as I had suddenly realised where I was, trapped
under that desk with the hated Corporal's cock between my lips and half way
down my throat. I opened my mouth, depressed my tongue and swallowed that
dick as far as it would go, grunting and snorting like a hog. A hand
appeared under the table, at the limit of my field of vision, and smacked
me hard across the ear. "Keep it quiet!" he hissed. I resumed my work,
stifling my grunts as best I could. I froze. I had caught the soft click of
the office door opening and closing. A quiet voice spoke but it was not
loud enough for me to recognise who was speaking or to make out what was
being said. The Corporal's knee nudged me and I resumed venerating that big
prick in the only way such a prick should be revered. I stayed as quiet as
possible, the subdued conversation going on above my head masking the few
noises I could not help making. I heard the door softly close again and the
Corporal murmured, "Not bad, cocksucker."

When he spoke those words, I could have swollen with pride, if I had been
able to in that restricted space. I resolved to show my gratitude by
clamping my lips around his shaft, emptying my mouth of air to intensify
the vacuum I had created and pulling without moving my mouth. My reward was
to hear a moan of pleasure from somewhere above me. I worked that throbbing
pre-cum producing man-meat for a long time. I had no way of knowing how
much time had passed. In the world of Cockspace that I inhabited, there was
no time. The great bar of hard, hot flesh surrounded by the rough material
of his fatigues, became the centre of my world. There were so many ways to
stimulate it, to electrify it. I licked the head. I licked the shaft. I
sucked the helmet. I sucked the shaft. I tongued the cock slit. I washed
the cock hair. I jammed the whole beautiful missile into my mouth and down
my throat, as far as it would go. The underside of the desktop forced me to
pull downwards, at bizarre angles, to avoid striking my head whenever I had
a good rhythm going. He knew I loved what I was doing to him. I felt the
firm muscles of his powerful thighs and upper legs, through the cloth
beneath my hands. From time to time they quivered. At such moments, I eased
off. I had no doubt that if I made him ejaculate too soon, I would pay
dearly for it. Besides, I did not want this to end. After a while, he leant
back in his chair, forcing me to reach forward after him to keep his rocket
firmly docked between my lips. I leant out of the backbreaking space which
had become my world, my heaven. For a moment or two, I was light-headed; my
lips uncontrollably caressed that great instrument of pleasure I had been
sent there to honour. As my head cleared, out of the corner of my eye I
spotted a second pair of polished boots on the floor and rising from them
was a pair of bronzed legs. The sod of a corporal laughed, hoarsely. One of
his strong hands seized my hair by the roots and yanked me off his
cock. Even in my terror, I moaned softly at being dispossessed of my
god. "Stand up!" he commanded, pulling upwards on my hair. I struggled to
my feet, catching my arse a hard crack on the edge of the desk. The pain in
my scalp was making my eyes water so much I could hardly see.

"Guess who's come to visit us, cocksucker," my tormentor growled, "it is my
very good friend, Andy."

My vision clearing to some extent, I began to make out the naked body of
Andy Taylor, standing beside the Corporal. His boner was as hard as
granite, springing from a wilderness of cock hair, a full and hairy ball
bag hanging between his legs. He stood with legs apart and his arms behind
him, in the Stand Easy position. The rumours were true, then! He and Rimmer
were bum buddies.

"Meet my ADC, cocksucker. If you want to make life a helluva lot easier on
yourself, you will pleasure him as well."

Gratification washed over me as the fear receded. I understood I had at
least pleased him adequately. The look on his face told me everything I
needed to know. He released his hold on my hair and relaxed even further in
his chair. I collapsed on the floor, still too contorted even to crawl
properly, hauled myself over to Andy's boots. A mouth is designed for cock
sucking, but a tongue has been well designed for boot licking. I knew what
I had to do. Those military boots were made to be licked by a submissive,
willing slave. I ran my tongue over the hard, shining toecaps, first one
then the other, tasting the spit and polish of months of careful
cleaning. I threw myself into the job, groaning my gratefulness for this
second feast. Above my groans, I could hear Rimmer describing to Taylor how
well I had done so far. Also, I heard something about being expected to
service the pair of them all night. Before that had time to sink in, four
eager hands were pulling at my clothes. I shifted to make it easier for
them, but never let up on the boots. When I was naked, they had to haul me
off those black leather candies. I only caught a glimpse of the naked
Corporal before I was thrown over the desk, my arse in the air. I heard a
belt being dragged through its loops, a hissing in the air, and the first
stinging blow hit my butt so hard I just could not stop myself from crying
out in pain.

"Yell all you like," came a grim voice behind me, "there's no fucker 'ere
who's gonna hear your noise." These were the first words Taylor had
addressed to me since his arrival.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I croaked, "I could not help it. I want to take
everything the Corporal and you see fit to give me, Sir." By that, they
both knew I was a devoted slave, willing to submit to whatever punishment
they gave me.  Whether I had committed a punishable offence or not it
mattered not. I was there, simply waiting to satisfy every whim or vagary
they could devise.

Taylor began the thrashing. At first, as each savage blow landed on my arse
cheeks I hissed through clenched teeth. As the blows came harder and
faster, I moaned. Taylor now began his serious work by increasing the
rhythm and strength of his strikes. I sobbed. I could not stop the flow of
tears from welling up in my eyes, burning my cheeks as the pain
increased. It rapidly built up in layers from the first fiercely stinging
lashes to an inferno so hot I could no longer tell the blows and gaps
apart. I had never known such punishment like that - or that I could take
it. Rimmer had sat back in his chair and was watching the thrashing I was
receiving. He grinned maliciously as he watched, heaving his massive cock
in his hand as he did so. He knew the severest torture was for me to see
that cock meat and be unable to service it. After innumerable blows, I
heard Taylor's breath rasping with the force of his activities. He
slackened the pace but Rimmer was about to make up for that. He stood up
and slowly brought his steel hard, pre-cum dripping cock towards me. I
misread his intentions: I lowered my mouth to retrieve my prize but he
pulled back and cock-whipped my face. I whimpered, I beseeched, I stuck my
tongue out to attempt licking the sticky fluid oozing from his great
shining globe as it passed. It just kept swinging back and forth, stinging
my cheeks, sporadically leaving a trail of pre-cum over my smarting,
reddening face, over my nose, eyes and lips, anywhere but where it should
be - lubricating my arsehole ready for fucking. I was growing frantic with
frustration and desire. I was barely aware that Taylor had dropped the belt
and shoved two fingers up my arse. He was finger-fucking me hard and
fast. I soon took notice, however, when he added a third finger - my
arsehole is just the right size for a good tight fuck, but it cannot take
anything much bigger than a good sized cock.

"We've gotta tight one 'ere," growled Taylor, his voice croaking with pure
lust. "Needs a bit of a loosener, though."

"We'll find something in this place," Rimmer chuckled. He grinned
wickedly. If that grin had appeared on any other face, I'd have been scared
shitless. On him, though, it simply made him worthier of adulation. I made
one last, desperate attempt to get my tongue around that congested, purple
helmet as he forced his magnificent manhood back into his fatigues. He
walked over to the door and opened it. "OK, Andy, let's take the lamb to
the slaughter!" When they saw the look of fear on my face they both
laughed, fiendishly. Rimmer led the way.

Taylor kept his two fingers up my arsehole, steering me out of the office
as if I was some new kind of warehouse wheelbarrow. He took me along the
narrow walkway towards the kitchen area at the far end. Various tins and
occasional fresh fruit and veg were kept there for times when there was
night flying and the hangar was full of men and machines. I was lurching
about so much I barely noticed the cold concrete floor on my naked feet
when we reached the area. My knees soon noticed it, though, when I was
forced to kneel down; my forehead noticed it when they pushed my head
lower, with my arse stuck up in the air.

First, it was a carrot - a big carrot. It went in nice and easy, thanks to
Taylor's three fingered attention to my rectum. That vexed them, so they
took turns in whacking my bum cheeks about a bit, with the carrot still
inserted in my hole. However, this did not amuse them for long and they
brutally pulled it out. While Rimmer used the limp vegetable to whip my
buttocks, Taylor went on the search for something with more "staying
power", as he expressed it. He soon returned, whooping with delight at his
success, brandishing a hard, unripe straight cucumber. Without waiting for
instructions from the Corporal, Taylor went round behind me and shoved the
fucking thing right up my arse. All I can say is, it fucking hurt. They
ignored my cries. I did not bother pleading for mercy - I knew I would not
get any, even if it was on offer. My cock was so hard now that its
condition told them all they needed to know on that score!

Once the cucumber was in as far as it would go, I was ordered to stand
up. A yard broom was pushed into my hands and I was ordered to sweep the
area clean. After all, as Taylor reminded Rimmer, one of my duties was to
keep the hangar floor swept twice a day. Stark naked, unable to walk
properly with that monstrous green dildo stretching my hole and insides, I
pushed the broom around. Rimmer and his sidekick followed me wherever I
went, swilling beer from some cans they found stored in the fridge. Taylor
now and then flicked the end of his belt across my arse cheeks, just to
remind me; Rimmer took it upon himself to push the cucumber back in
whenever it threatened to slide out of my ravaged anus. I fell over a
couple of times but they simply hauled me to my feet again, shoved the
cucumber back in to me and on I went. After this had gone on for some time,
they ordered me to stop.

By then my arse was numb; I could no longer feel the vegetable protruding
between my buttocks. I was growing tired, my cock was beginning to
wilt. They noticed that and decided to change the game. When they ordered
me to stop sweeping with the broom, I thought they were going to let me
rest for a while. I should have known better; they simply exchanged the
broom for a smelly, soggy mop. On went my endless journey. I thought I was
getting close to the end of my task but when I looked round I found that
three rampant cocks had dribbled a trail of sticky pre-seminal all over the
floor and I had to start all over again. If there was a particularly sticky
patch, they would order me to lick it up. They let their own pre-seminal
spatter the floor as they pushed the escaping cucumber back in or tickled
my sore, burning buns with the leather belt. Rimmer had me going back and
forth over the same patch of floor until I managed to cross it without
leaving a trail of sticky love-juice. I was then allowed to do the next
patch.

The firm vegetable had long since felt at home up my arse and my hole
eagerly sucked it back in whenever it tried to slide out. We began the
return journey to the Discip Office with the Corporal in front with his
hand grasping my cock and balls pulling me along as if I was on casters,
then me with the vegetarian dildo, and finally Taylor and his teasing,
stinging belt. As we passed the urinals, Rimmer chuckled and said he wanted
to take another piss. I knew what was about to happen even before Taylor
took hold of the end of the cucumber sticking out of my arse and used it to
steer me in through the doors. He did not need to push me too hard towards
the line of porcelain urinals, where I was made to kneel down facing him
and Rimmer. They pushed me back against the porcelain as far as I could go,
with my toes hanging over the edge of the trough.

Slowly, tantalisingly, they got out their pricks. Both of them were still
almost solidly hard, the veins standing out like thick cords along their
shafts. It took a while for them to lose enough of their erections to be
able to start pissing. Eventually the cocks softened a bit, allowing a
dribble of piss to join the wetness of the floor. Then both cocks let fly
with streaming, yellow piss. It struck my chest and flowed over my belly,
my thighs, all over my rock hard prick, my neck, wherever they shifted
their aim. Taylor was mumbling grotesque, barely audible balderdash about
showing idle, lazy erks what was what; Rimmer was not trying to kid
himself. He was just enjoying pissing all over a slave, sneering as he
raised the stream to the slave's face and directed it to his open mouth. I
would not have closed my mouth for all the world - not for this - but I
could not swallow properly and most of the sacred liquid simply ran out
again, all down my body. He did not seem to mind but was pleased when he
jerked his cock and my mouth followed the stream as it moved, endeavouring
to absorb every last drop.

It had to end, of course. Rimmer stood there, thoughtfully stroking
himself. I knelt, my eyes locked on his, waiting for the next
command. Taylor, meanwhile, filled a Fire bucket with water. He came over
to me and tipped it over me. I scarcely noticed the suddenness of the cold
water as one flick of Rimmer's eyes had me leaping to my feet, seizing the
mop Taylor thrust at me and began shovelling the piss and water into the
trough. The cucumber had slipped out of my arsehole unnoticed when the
pissing began but Taylor plunged it back in, fucking it in and out as I
worked. My eyes still locked on to the Corporal - both of us knew I was his
now, no matter what happened. I belonged to him, utterly. I heard approving
grunts from Taylor as my fuck hole welcome back that great, green
educator. Without warning, Taylor's rough hands seized my arms.

"Tie him up," his voice rasped, "let's show this bugger what we do with the
likes of him." He spun me round and I felt rope tied around my wrists,
pulled tight, burning my skin. He held me while Rimmer began applying the
belt to my body. He began teasing the leather across my chest, letting the
edge and tip of the belt brush against my sensitive nipples. I squirmed
with this new delightful sensation and my cock jumped up again, rigidly at
attention. He ran the belt across my shoulder blades, stroking it down my
spine and into the crack of my arse. Intermittently, he let the belt smack
into my pecs, across my back, the top of my buttocks. Slowly at first, then
with increasing power and speed, he laid into me until my body was on
fire. My chest and nipples were blood red; fiery devils danced along my
spinal chord, my buttocks were mounds of flame. "Just warming you up for
the main event," said the Corporal.

They dragged me out of the toilet and into a small room used as a junk
room, teasing and lashing me with the belt as we went. The room was small,
full of discarded cardboard boxes, filthy oil-stained rags and other
debris. They pulled me across the floor to where a rejected workbench
stood. Throwing me across it like a sack of potatoes, they tied my wrists
and ankles to the legs. They viciously pulled the cucumber out of me,
forcing me to scream with pain. The vegetable and the exercise had loosened
up my hole and I wanted to take it - I wanted to take much more than a
cucumber - but it still hurt like hell. I writhed in agony, crying out with
pain. They left me to twist and yell, then Rimmer's legs appeared in front
of me. Without a word, he plugged my mouth with his massive dick, pounding
it down my throat. I uttered a deep groan, partly with the pain where the
vegetable dildo had been up my arse but mainly with the renewed pleasure of
having his cock to suck on again. This game continued for a while until,
that is, Taylor got bored. He strolled round to join in the fun in
front. He tried forcing his cock into my mouth at the same time as
Rimmer's. There was no way I could take two such massive cocks at the same
time, so the Corporal pulled out. I went down on this new dick - not as
perfect as Rimmer's but a decent enough size. And it was COCK. I was there
to please it, to service it; I set to my new task willingly, drooling all
over it to get it as slick as I could. I opened my throat to it as far as I
could. I could tell Taylor simply wanted to fuck my face. Muttering verbal
insults about filthy cock sucking airmen, that is just what he did. Hard,
merciless, not giving me a chance to lick or dribble, to suck or nibble
that near-perfect stick. Rimmer, meanwhile, had gone back round to my rear
end and worked the cucumber in and out of my arse. They changed over,
Rimmer's man-meat between my eager lips again, Taylor fucking the vegetable
in and out of my hole. I began to delight in the change of pace as they
worked in turn. First, the hard strokes of Taylor's face fuck as Rimmer
stuffed that green dildo into me so hard my nose crushed into the flesh of
Taylor's groin, the wire of his pubic bush scratching my lips with every
stroke. Then came the joy of worshipping Rimmer's cock with my eager mouth
while the cucumber twisted back in, then back to the face fuck again.

It could not last. I had opened my throat as far as I could to Taylor, when
I felt his rod convulse. He pulled out suddenly - I moaned desperately, but
he took no notice. The first bolt of white lightning struck me between the
eyes, running down my face to join the second as it struck my cheeks; I was
blinded as more hot sticky cum hit me from the other side. If my fairy
godmother had appeared at that moment to grant me three wishes, I would
have used them all in wishing for that double jet of man cream to go on
forever. Instead, I lay there stretched over the bench, suddenly profoundly
conscious that all I could hear was the sound of their heavy breathing
slowly returning to normal.

"Shit!" said Taylor, eventually. "We didn't get to fuck him." For one
terrifying moment, I though he was going to lay into me seriously with his
belt for making him and Rimmer cum too soon. Rimmer, however, laid a
restraining hand on his arm and said, "Who says we've finished with him?
There's always the morning." I began to panic. It must be well after
midnight by now. Were they going to keep me tied up here all night? I soon
had my answer.

"Andy, you know where that old kitchen trolley is?"

"Yeah. Oh, I get you!" shouted Taylor as enlightenment struck him. "I'll go
and get it."

He disappeared, leaving me bound and alone with the Corporal. He waited
until Taylor was out of sight, then slowly started rubbing the hardening
cum from their two dicks all over my face with his slowly softening
cock. Every now and again he allowed me to lick his sticky cockhead as it
passed my lips. Taylor soon returned with the old kitchen trolley, which
they overturned. They untied me from the workbench and dragged me across
the trolley. My arms and legs hung over the ends, my wrists tied to the
pushing bar and my ankles lashed to the wire at the front corners. They had
forced the cucumber so far up my arse that it could not escape. Slapping my
sore arse cheeks a couple of times, they just walked out.

I shall never know how I survived the remainder of that night. It was not
being tied up to a broken down kitchen trolley with a huge green cucumber
way up inside my arsehole. It was not even the fear that I would be found
like that by the morning shift with a great green rod sticking up
surrounded by the black and red bruises of my arse. It was not the fact
that I was covered in cum, caked dry all over my face and body. No, it was
waiting for them to return. Nothing they did to me was worse than this
feeling of being abandoned, of being deprived of their mastery over me, of
being refused the license to please them, especially the ecstasy I felt
kneeling before the Corporal. Then, just as the first light of day was
beginning to show greyly in the tiny skylight above me, they returned. They
had both cleaned themselves up and put on pressed, clean uniforms. The
material of their fatigues stretched tightly over their roaring
boners. They left me over the trolley, extracted the cucumber from my
arse. Opening their flies, they pulled out their rigid cocks, already
sheathed in condoms, and simply plunged them into me at both ends. First
one way round and then the other, then back again, until I lost all sense
of anything but cock in my mouth and cock in my arse, and empty moments as
they changed places. I knew the early day shift would be coming in to the
hangar soon and tried to keep quiet. Once I started moaning my joy at this
festival of cock, I could not stop. Someone must have heard something, but
no one came to investigate.

Finally, just as I was about to lose consciousness, they both made one last
thrust and held, shuddering, shooting their loads so perfectly in time with
each other I knew, at last, that this was a regular thing for them. Taylor
was behind me at the time and he simply pulled out of me and let go of my
cheeks, whipped off the condom, emptied the contents over my back, zipped
up and left, without a word. I found myself kneeling in a puddle of
congealing cum - my own. I had no idea when I had ejaculated, or how many
times. Rimmer's perfect cock was still in my mouth, softening slightly but
still firm. As he pulled out he allowed me to lick his balls while he, too,
emptied his full condom down my back, the cooling slime mingling with
Taylor's on my skin. He rubbed the last of his cum off on my shoulder and
hid the wand of authority from my sight. I moaned softly and he patted my
head, as if he was releasing me from bondage. "Go and get dressed," he
commanded. The voice was hard - it could not be anything else - but the
tone said, "Well done!"

I staggered to my feet and returned to the Discip Office, where I found my
clothes had been neatly folded and placed on the chair I had sat in all
those millennia ago. He followed me and as I attempted to wipe off some of
the hardening mess, he barked, "No, do not clean yourself. Leave it on." I
pulled my clothes over the cold cum, feeling it gluing my clothes to my
body. The first men had arrived downstairs in the main hangar. I would have
to slip as quietly as possible down the stairs and out through the side
door to retrieve my bike and get back to the barrack block to shower and
change. When I got back to where I had left the bicycle the previous night,
there was a piece of paper stuck between the handlebars. I pulled it off
and read: WELL DONE. YOU HAVE EARNED YOUR PLACE IN THE TEAM. YOU WILL NO
LONGER BE AN OUTCAST. YOU WILL BEGIN TRAINING TOMORROW NIGHT AT 22.OO
HOURS. DO NOT BE LATE!

I slipped the piece of paper into my pocket. I no longer hated Corporal
Elldon Rimmer. I was a changed man. I could follow him to the ends of the
earth - and very nearly did. But that, as they say, is another story.

Laurie, 26.01.17