Boot Camp: New Recruit

 Here we have another military story. For another person. I wonder if I have a following of military people... or if I will soon.

Hope you enjoy this. Please comment! (especially if you ever want to see part 2)

 

Boot camp (1): New Recruit

Ben takes a deep breath and raises his hand to knock on the door. This is it, the last chance to back out. The last chance to leave it a fantasy, the last chance to go back. Once he knocks on the door, there's no turning back.

 Sure, Jake will ask Ben if he's sure. He will give that one last opportunity, will make sure that there is still consent. But once he knocks, Ben knows what the answer will be. He knows he will submit to Jake, just like they talked about. He knows he will try it, see if it really is for him.

He could just turn away. Could turn back, walk away, and wonder about what might have been. He could just keep fantasizing, thinking about the things Jake told him would happen, thinking about the things Jake would have done. He could just masturbate and think about it, like he'd been doing all week.

But.

He knocks on the door, not wanting it to just be a fantasy. Not wanting to leave with the question burning in him. Ben doesn't want to wonder if he really does like men. He wants to find out, one way or another.

Besides, if it really gets that bad, he can always just use the safe word. All he has to do is say the word 'grenade' and it will stop. Jake will make sure he's okay, will clean him up, and will let him go. No harm done. But never again.

Ben takes a deep breath when he hears Jake on the other side of the door. He tries to calm himself down, tries to force himself not to use the word as soon as the door opens.

Jake is standing there in military cargo pants with boots laced tightly up halfway to his knees. His belt is leather, with pouches on it holding god knows what. The tank top strains against his muscles. His face is clean shaven, hair in that perfect flat top cut.

“Are you sure?” he asks. Ben nods. “Say it.”

“I'm sure.”

Jake nods once, then takes a step back. “Last chance,” he says. “You walk in and close the door, and we will get started.”

The door clicks shut, and Ben turns to ask what he is supposed to do first. He doesn't see Jake's fist speeding towards his stomach. He just collapses on the floor, gasping for breath. He almost has air pulled back into his lungs when he is slammed down to the floor, his hands wrested quickly behind his back. He feels the cuffs click shut on his wrists. Not so tight as to cause damage, but tight enough that they aren't coming off his wrists.

Then Jake's strong hands lift him to his feet. “You're mine now, boy.”

Ben takes a breath and stands up again, looks Jake in the eyes.

Jake shakes his head. “No one told you to make eye contact, boy.”

Ben immediately looks down, his eyes following the lines of Jake's body, passing the clenched fist that was about to slam into him, and down to the shining boots.

“You're not in uniform, boy.”

“Sorry.”

“The first and last word out of your whore mouth is to be sir..” Jake growls.

“Sir, sorry sir.” Ben would salute, but the cuffs won't let him.

Jake reaches up and puts a dog collar around Ben's neck. Not a fancy leather collar. Not a nylon collar. A steel choke collar. Jake clips a leash to it and turns and starts walking away, knowing that Ben will either follow along or get choked.

They walk to another door, then down a flight of stairs to an unfinished basement. The only light shone from bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The only furniture were two chairs and what looked like a padded bench about waist high.

Jake pushes Ben into one of the chairs, straps him down across the chest. Ben is still getting his bearings when the electric razor turns on and starts cutting into his hair, shaving down the center of his head, so that there is no going back. Ben's hair wasn't overly long, but the difference is obvious. Several inches of hair fall to the floor as the razor takes pass after pass, shaving him down to the shortest setting, the buzz that leaves him with a wisp of hair, but feels like he's completely shaved bald.

Jake runs his hand over Ben's head when he finishes, feeling for stray hairs that refused to be cut. It feels good, and Ben smiles as the little hairs are pushed one way and then the other. It's as if he an feel his hair, each one, for the first time.

Jake soon slaps the smiles off his face.

“We're going to get you into uniform,” Jake says. “First, we have to get you out of those civies. Anything you got on that you like, you can get off yourself. Otherwise, I'll have to cut it off.”

Ben knew not to wear anything he was attached to. Which is just as well; with his hands cuffed behind him and the leather strap across his chest, he couldn't have done any more than kick off shoes. 

But his shoes were tied, and not ready to be kicked off.

Jake smiles and takes out a pair of safety scissors from one of the pouches on his belt. He starts at Ben's feet. The first snip cuts the laces, and the shoes fall off his feet easily. Jake rips off the socks and throws them somewhere, then starts to cut up the legs of the jeans.

Ben can feel the steel as it slides along his leg, cutting away first the denim, then the cloth of his boxers. He feels as Jake cuts open his shirt, and can't stop himself from making a little noise when Jake rips the shirt apart. Ben watches Jake's muscles bulge, and at least one question gets answered.

Jake slaps Ben's erect cock with one hand, then undoes the strap across his chest and pulls him out of the chair. He hooks the choke collar to a small chain hanging from the ceiling. It's not quite long enough. Ben stands on his tip toes, just barely able to breathe.

“You're mine, little slave,” Jake says. “I'm going to teach you how to be a good recruit bottom. Get you good and trained.” He sprays some gel into his hand, begins to make a lather, and starts to spread the lather all over Ben's naked body. “Gonna make you a good soldier's slut. That way, you can serve your country.” Jake smiles and looks Ben right in the eyes. “Serve your country by serving those who serve your country.”

This round of shaving is done with a straight razor. Most of it is okay, simply a scraping feel up and down his chest, over his arms, down his back, then up and down his legs. It feels like hours pass, and Ben begins to shake with the tension of holding himself up on his toes. His legs are on fire, a deep muscle pain that makes him wish he just didn't have to stand any more.

“Just a little bit longer, recruit,” Jake tells him. Then he lathers up Ben's crotch. Ben is instantly hard again. Jake nods. “That'll make it easier,” he says. Then he gets on his knees. “Try not to move, boy.”

This is not the way Ben imagined he'd feel. Standing naked in front of another man, that man on his knees in front of him. The other man holding his cock, rubbing it and moving it around. He expected to feel powerful, feel in charge. But instead he knows that he has no power. He knows he has to hold still, because a razor is slicing the hair from his skin, and that one wrong move could lead to him losing his manhood permanently.

He whimpers and tries not to move, tries to stop his legs from shaking. Jake takes his time, running the blade up and down, scraping off hair, being careful not to miss a spot.

When he finishes, when he unhooks Ben's collar, Jake smiles while Ben drops to his knees, completely bald from the neck down, the longest hair left on his body being on his eyelashes, lashes that look a lot more girly than they had just a few minutes earlier.

“Good,” he says. “That's where you belong.” He clips the leash back to Ben's collar and walks towards the center of the room, to the bench. He helps Ben to his feet, then pushes him over the bench.

Ben squirms a little, the cold leather making his freshly bald skin crawl. It doesn't even occur to him that he's bent over, his ass high in the air, his head almost to the floor. He doesn't think about it until Jake stands in front of him. Ben looks up a little, and all he can see are the boots. The shining black leather boots. Then he starts to lift up higher, and his eyes move up Jake's legs, following the camouflage pants up until he realizes what level he would be at if he pulls himself up as far as he can. 

He realizes that he would be staring straight at Jake's belt. Which means his mouth would be right there at the level of Jake's cock.

They hadn't talked about that. Hadn't covered sex in any way. When they negotiated, Jake promised him that the only sex would be if Ben specifically asked for it. Unprompted. He would have to ask to be fucked, or ask to suck Jake's cock.

And he was about to.

Then Jake walked behind him and rubbed a hand over Ben's bare ass. It was a gentle hand. The callouses on Jake's palm tugged a bit at Ben's skin, but it didn't hurt. It felt good.

Then came the first hit. A quick smack. Not hard enough to really hurt, more just a surprise.

Ben yelps. Jake steps around again and pulls Ben up, by the collar.

“Count, boy,” he says. “You tell me how many it's been, after each hit. Miss a number, and we start over. Understand?”

“Sir, yes sir.” Ben croaks out the words, then takes a deep breath when Jake drops the chain.

The second swat is harder. “Sir, two sir,” he says.

“That was one, dumbass,” Jake says. “I suppose we'll start over.”

Then comes another slap, just grazing the skin, leaving a sharp sting behind. “Sir, one sir!”

“Better.” Another slap, this one wide palmed and hard enough that Ben is pretty sure it will leave a mark.

“Sir, two sir!”

“Good boy. Now let's see if you can make it all the way to one hundred.”

They restarted. Twice. The first time, Ben made it all the way to fifty three before he was gasping too hard to form words. The second time he was sobbing too hard to count by nineteen. But eventually, he got control of himself, control of the sobbing, and was finally able to gasp it out.

“Sir,” breathe. “One hundred, sir!”

Tears ran down his face, and he could barely breathe. His ass felt like it had no skin on it anymore, like there should be blood just gushing down it. It even feels like it's bleeding. But Ben knows it isn't. 

He knows it's an illusion. There's no blood on his legs, no blood on the floor. Even if the skin did break, it's not as bad as it feels.

Jake lets Ben off the bench and tells him to take a rest. Ben collapses on the floor, covered in sweat, not caring that the floor is miles away from clean. He just lies there, broken and crying, barely registering the sound of Jake walking over to the other chair, barely registering the sound of a bottle of beer being opened.

He just lay there on the floor, feeling the sweat burning on his sensitive skin, feeling the cold concrete beneath his face, and feeling his erection raging even against the cold floor as he thought about what had happened over the last several hours.

“I bet you're thirsty,” Jake said, eventually. “Are you thirsty?”

“Sir, yes sir.” Ben's voice was almost gone, his throat parched.

“You took the first part of your training well, recruit. I'm proud of you. So I'll give you a choice,” Jake says. “You can have half a glass of water, or all the recycled beer you can drink.”

Ben rolls over so he can see Jake smirking down at him. Jake's boots are crossed at the ankles, and there are four empty bottles of beer on the floor next to them. A fifth bottle is in his hand, a sixth, still sealed, on the floor next to the chair.

“Sir, what is recycled beer sir?”

Jake puts his hand on his crotch. “It's beer I already drank,” he says. “You can drink it from the tap or from a bottle. Up to you.” He chuckles.

Piss. Jake is offering to let Ben drink his piss. That's disgusting.

And yet.

No. Ben shakes his head. “Sir, water please, sir.”

Jake nods and stands, walks up the stairs and through the door.

A few seconds later, he comes back with a small glass half filled with water. He puts the glass on the floor next to the empty beer bottles and settles back into the chair. “There you go,” he says. “Drink up.”

Ben struggles up onto his knees and makes his way over to Jake. He tries to wrap his mouth around the glass, but the rim is too wide. He tries to bite it, but the glass won't let him grip it. With hands, it would be no problem.

“Sir, will you help me sir?”

Jake reaches down and picks up the glass. “Sure thing,” he says. Then he pours the water onto his boots. “There you go.”

“Sir?”

“Drink up,” Jake says. “Lick up your water. Unless you'd rather have the beer?”

Ben shakes his head and bends over, putting his lips to Jake's boots and trying to suck the water off it. Some of it has pooled onto the floor, turning into little puddles of slimy water. “Better hurry,” Jake says. “Wouldn't want it to dry up.”

Ben slides his tongue along the leather, trying to suck in as much water as he can. Then he drinks up the puddles on the floor, not caring about the taste of it, not caring what else he swallows.

Finally, moves back, up on his knees, unwilling to sit down on his ass. The skin has started to calm down; now it just feels like his ass is on fire, a marked improvement from before. Still no desire to put pressure on it.

Jake looks down at his boots, then at Ben. He shakes his head, disappointed. “This is a piss poor job you've done on my boots, recruit,” he says. Then he stands up and takes a step towards Ben.

Though he cowers, waiting for the blow, it doesn't come. Jake just stands in front of him and unzips his fly.

“Piss poor,” he says.

Then he begins to piss, right in Ben's face. The piss flows over Ben's skin, washing away some of the muck from the floor, some stray hair still left over from the shaving.

Ben wants to move out of the way, but the only way to do that would be either to sit back onto his ass or to fall over to the side. And he knows that Jake will just keep pissing.

And he's still thirsty. So thirsty. He drank water off the dirty floor. How is this different?

What does it matter? Jake's already pissing on him. The liquid is already there. All he has to do is open his mouth, just a little bit. Why not?

Jake doesn't start laughing until he finishes pissing. He doesn't start laughing until after Ben has swallowed several mouthfuls of recycled beer.

“Oh, you are too much,” he says. “I try to punish you, and you just turn it into a reward.” He shakes his head. “The least you could do is say thank you.”

“Sir, thank you sir.”

Jake smiles. “Thank you for what?”

“Sir?”

Jake's smile disappears. “You know what I mean. Say it. Say it now.”

Ben swallows. “Sir, thank you for letting me drink your piss sir.”

Jake laughs again. “I knew you'd like it,” he says. “You're welcome.”

Then he tosses one of those pillows from an airplane onto the floor. “It's late, recruit. Time to hit the hay. In the morning, we'll talk about these boots and teach you how to do it right.”

Ben watches Jake walk up the stairs, watches him open the door, where warm light shines in through the doorway, light that seems all the brighter when Jake flicks the switch, plunging the basement into complete darkness.

“Reveille is at oh six hundred,” Jake says. “Better get some shut eye.”

Then he closes the door, leaving Ben in the darkness. Dripping with piss, naked, shaved bare, with a collar and handcuffs on and no more comfort than the cheap airline pillow on the cold, hard floor, Ben doesn't expect that he'll be able to sleep. He takes a breath and settles down as best he can, certain he'll be curled up and shivering all night long, certain that he'll be exhausted but desperately happy when Jake finally comes back.

One breath, and that's all it takes. As soon as he starts thinking about relaxing, Ben passes right out.

A warm stream of piss wakes him up. He tries to roll out of the way, but the piss follows him, streaming unerringly across his face and finally into his open mouth when he tries sleepily to ask what's going on.

His eyes shoot open at the taste of the piss, and he sees Jake standing over him, wearing the same thing he was wearing yesterday, holding his cock and aiming it right for him. Ben closes his mouth and tries to turn away, but the damage is already done.

“Oh six hundred,” Jake says. “Up and at 'em.”

He finally finishes and lets his dick hang, dripping a little bit. “You want to clean this up, slave?”

“Sir?”

“No sex,” he says. “Just lick the tip. Lick it clean.”

Ben gets on his knees, wondering if he would have done this even a day ago, wondering why he doesn't seem to mind doing it now.

“Now say thank you.”

“Sir, thank you for letting me lick your cock clean, sir.”

“And for the drink.”

“Sir, thank you for letting me drink your piss sir.”

“You're welcome, recruit. Now come over here so I can teach you how to lick boots properly.”

Hands still behind his back, Ben slides his tongue over the leather while Jake lectures him. “You have to press in good and hard, lick like a man. There's all kinds of dirt and filth in a pair of boots, and you need to get in there good to make them clean. Press in between the sole and the foot, that little rim where dirty and mud loves to get stuck. There you go. That's a good boot licking slut. Now slip your tongue against the leather between the laces. Up and down. Good.”

Step by step, Jake walks him through the boot, around the instep, finally ordering Ben onto his back and continuing the lecture as Ben licks the soles of the boot, sliding his tongue around the ridges, pressing deep to get anything lodged between the treads. Ben followed orders, licking hard and strong against Jake's boots. And Jake praised him, called him a good recruit. “We'll make a soldier's slut out of you yet,” he says.

Then, when he finishes, Jake lets him catch his breath and examines the boots. He nods at the work, and he smiles down at Ben. “Roll onto your stomach,” he says.

Ben rolls his shoulders when Jake undoes the cuffs, willing the muscles to relax. He doesn't struggle when Jake helps him to his feet, doesn't complain as they walk upstairs through Jake's house even though he's completely naked. He doesn't argue, doesn't say a word when Jake helps him into the shower.

Ben comes out of the shower in a towel, starting to get the feeling back. On the bed is a pair of camo pants in his size, an Army t-shirt, and his own socks and shoes.

Jake meets him downstairs, right by the door where he had first come in. “That's it,” Jake says. “You did good, boy.”

Ben smiles. “Sir, thank you sir.”

Jake smiles. “One sir is enough now, boy. You think this is something you'd want to do again?”

“Yes sir.”

Jake nods. “Good boy. Next time, though, we're going to go further. And, if you're up for it, longer.”

“How long sir?”

“How about a full week? An all out boot camp?”

Ben nods. “I think I can do that, sir.”

“Good boy.” Jake opens the door for him. “Give me a call when your hair grows back,” he says. “We'll figure out a schedule then.”

“Yes sir.”

“Don't cut it.”

Ben smiles. “I won't sir.”