Eero Kivi
Military trains strict rules of conduct. Rank determines place in the pecking order. Rank was on uniforms they wore. Off duty, friends knew the rank of their colleagues. Rank mattered far less off duty among friends, but remained known.
My military Drill Instructor was my superior in training me, for both basic training and officer level of military training. He trained me to function within the military rank structure.
SSgt Cross was frank in training future Reserve commissioned officers for extended active duty, not military who went through the four years of military academy training to be Regular officers. He did not provide scholarship, as we all had college degrees, but only military training. “I compress years of military training into a few hard months, and I demand success. You may not fail. I guarantee that.” He told the truth. He could dress us down without a curse. His verbal skills were potent. Rank brought obligation.
The military band played for the brief commissioning ceremony as officer candidates paraded before a junior officer. He conducted a mass swearing in of the newly commissioned officers. A few enlisted men affixed insignia to each new officer’s uniform as the parade ground stood quiet. Only a dozen of us were commissioned. He called the small parade to attention, spoke briefly, then dismissed us. We scattered as new military officers. I felt different.
I walked to my quarters to pick up my duffels. I saw SSgt Cross. I returned his salute. That was my first salute as an officer. I was conscious of my new rank. It was heavy on my shoulders.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant. You ship to Quantico to teach. I wish you well … thank you, Sir,” he said as he received the silver dollar I gave him to fulfill an old tradition for the first enlisted man who saluted the new officer. That made the contract complete and my rank was now affixed in my mind.
“Thank you, Sergeant. You taught us well. I’ll do my best.” Rank rested on my shoulders, insignia of officer bars on my uniform blouse.
“You will, Sir. Find an older Marine who will guide you to avoid issues. Have a good trip, Sir.” He saluted again and we parted ways. His advice was good.
Base Travel Section got me space available on military flights to Maryland, and I took a bus to Quantico. Billeting assigned me to bachelor officer quarters. Enlisted were assigned to barracks. Rank differentiated us.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant,” Billeting Sgt Smith told me. “Your commander will authorize off-base private quarters for you, Sir. Our BOQ is not for permanent party single officers.” He shook his head.
I filled out forms to open a bank account to receive my pay, became a member of the Officers’ Club, opened a mailbox, and he generally slotted me into the military structure. I discovered the low grade of those quarters and looked ahead to private housing. I handed him copies of my orders.
I reported the next day to the school where I’d teach. Marine guard at the door saluted me and told me where to find the GySgt admin NCO. Marines braced along the corridor as I walked to his office. GySgt Swift popped up when I knocked on his open office door. The military protocol was new to me, but it would become familiar. Military rank permeated the school.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. I’ll notify the Director, Colonel Howe, you are reporting aboard, Sir, if you please.” He called the Director. “He’ll see you now, Sir.” He led me to the Director’s office.
“Lieutenant Juha reporting for duty, Colonel,” I addressed him.
“At ease, Lieutenant. Gunny, I’ll send Mister Juha to you after our talk. Thank you. Dismissed. I have your personnel jacket. You’ll be Officer in Charge, OIC, of a team of instructors. Gunny will brief you on needed paperwork. I’ve asked MSgt Pike to be your advisor. He’s the senior of our enlisted instructors. I’ll authorize your request for off-base housing when I get it. I won’t keep you. You’re busy coming aboard. Thank you for adding to our school. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” I nodded and returned to Gunny’s office.
“Sir, this is MSgt Pike, senior of your team. He’s recently arrived from the West Coast. The Director asked if Sergeant Pike would assist our new officer.”
“Good to meet you, Sergeant,” I told MSgt Pike. He was taller, older, and b\Black Marine senior NCO. I reached to shake his hand. “You’ll help me to avoid the mistakes of a newly commissioned officer, I hope.”
“I will, Sir. I’m your training wheels, Lieutenant. I advise, you decide. That’s how it works. If you please, I’ll take you to your office. Thank you, Gunny.” He showed me my own office. It had a large desk and then one with two chairs. The office door had a black plastic name plate on it, and the large desk had a black plastic name plate. I stepped into my prepared role.
“The smaller desk is to use with your students, Sir. Your courses are guided instruction, or ‘self-paced learning’. I’ll head your team to put your courses into proper form. You’re the only instructor for them, so far.”
“My first students will include the team of instructors,” I told him. I had to have backup in order to take personal leave. I had not accrued any leave yet.
“Yes, Sir. If you please, I can introduce you to your team.”
“Please do so.” I followed him to the team’s “Break Room”.
He knocked loudly on the open door of the room and ordered them to attention. They stood and braced.
“As you were,” I ordered, my first military order. “In the future, please don’t let me interrupt you here. This is my first time. You’ve all been advised, I hope, of my arrival. I ask you to help me with the new courses, to get them into proper shape, and then we’ll find several of you to be guinea pig first students to learn those courses, and to provide feedback. Gunny Swift has my background for you. Sergeant Pike is my advisor, as the Director knows the reputation of brand-new Second Lieutenants, I’m sure.” They grinned. “I welcome private advice as I want to avoid looking like the military novice I am. Thank you, gentlemen. How’s the coffee?”
Gunny Swift arrived on cue and handed me my own large coffee cup labeled with my name glazed on the cup. “Product of a local hobbyist, Sir. Coffee’s excellent quality. I’ve stacked folders on your desk, Lieutenant.” He hinted at my duties, my first official military duties, to look after my men.
One of the NCOs took my coffee cup and filled it from the coffee machine and handed it to me. “Butter up our new OIC,” one of the instructors said loudly. They clapped.
I saluted them with my raised cup and went back to my office. I found a neat stack of folders, each man’s “jacket” I had to review, along with a printed summary sheet of my team. I would write up each on his Fitness Report. I’d do nothing to teach until the courses had been formatted as the school required.
I wanted private quarters. The BOQ was sparse. The local area had no attractions other than the bars in the officer students’ BOQ and the O Club.
I regularly used the Base PT course, even after hours. Nothing else to do, and I wanted the exercise. I met Sergeant Pike in the exercise room, when he offered to spot me at the weight bench. We wore the short red shorts and red shirt offered at the Base Exchange (BX). This was the first time I had seen him out of uniform.
He was taller, thin, well-built … and hung. He stood near the weight bench near my head and I could see up the leg of his shorts as he spotted me. He could see my own shorts tented, and my red face as I blushed. He winked and grinned. “Lieutenant, I grew up in Virginia. I found a furnished house in Alexandria to rent, and a used car to buy to commute here. I know you want to live off-base. Want to share housing there?” He adjusted his crotch. He grinned and raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, please and thank you. More to do there, I’m sure.” I was sure he was gay.
The Director approved our requests.
“The owner of the house is a retired Navy senior officer,” MSgt Pike said. “The car is his son’s. His son is a Marine serving overseas. We can sign papers with a visit there. He likes to help active military duty men.”
We rented a car to travel to inspect the car and furnished house. I met the owner. “Three bedrooms with king beds, one the full apartment in the finished basement, gas heating, off-street parking. Military and teacher discount,” he grinned. “I own and rent out the small row of houses here. I’ve known David Pike for many years.” The owner had prepared a rental agreement, bill of sale for the car. He led us next door to our neighbor to sign the papers by a notary. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant, Sergeant. Tell me if there are any problems.”
We moved in right away. It took a half hour to commute to the Base on the Interstate. “You drive, please,” he told me. “Black driver in Virginia is more likely to meet a State Trooper.” He explained how that worked for him as he had grown up in Virginia, where Blacks could not marry whites until 1967. He knew I had been raised in New York. Black men had lower rank in Virginia.
My shipment of technical reference books on programming had arrived at the Base. I stowed the books in my office bookcase.
His shipment of personal goods arrived at our new home, and I helped him unpack and stow the items. A large wooden box carried leathers and toys. He cooked dinner while I unpacked his gear. I recognized the items. I hung leathers that needed hanging and filled bureau drawers with other leathers. Leather boots went into the large closet. I would use the shoe polish gear he had packed.
I had uniforms, tailored for me, and clothing bought at the BX. I had few civilian clothes. I could shop at the BX. I had asked about a local tailor for uniforms to fit me. I assembled his wooden valet stands to hold our ready uniforms. Shine shoes before next duty day.
He liked to cook, and I cleaned the kitchen and filled the dishwasher after a fine dinner. He made some drinks for after dinner. He quizzed me on my background after he told me of his life growing up in rural Virginia, in a family that had been slaves during the Civil War and freed and given a large farm by the white owner. “It was rank that separated the races then. I feel that today. I feel that with you,” he told me.
I had chosen to sit on the floor on a pillow from the sofa. I put down my drink and knelt to kiss his bare feet. I felt his hand on my head and looked up and nodded.
“Thank you, Boy,” he acknowledged his superior rank here at home. “You saw my leathers. We’ll explore the local leather community in the District.” We finished our drinks and prepared for bed. He had modified our large shower by adding a diverter and a hose that had a long nozzle on it. “Douche attachment. Fill up and sit on the commode.” That had been in his box of stuff.
I did as he instructed me and we showered together. I was blond, quite short, smooth-skinned, very muscular from college sports and bodybuilding all my life instead of bar hopping or anything else. I amassed knowledge from school and college. I saw my new partner naked and heard him chuckle as he noticed my wide eyes.
He was a senior NCO, older, taller, thin, smooth-skinned, Black handsome man. He was new to me, as I knew only a few Black students in college. He dominated me physically and I accepted that.
While my military rank was higher than his, I had just given him superior rank in our private lives. Neither of us questioned our fluid roles on duty and off duty.
He held handcuffs and his eyebrows questioned me. I put my hands behind my back for him. He turned me around and grabbed my shoulders and kissed me long and hard and felt my large-for-a-white-boy cock hard against his legs. “You like this.” He saw my grin. “I like this.”
I loved it, his mastery. This was a 180 from our military roles and rank. I had told him clearly. Our ranks were reversed.
He lifted me and put me on the bed on my back with a firm pillow under my hips. He dropped a broad strap behind my neck and then under my knees to truss my legs. He put a blindfold on me.
I felt cool air after he had licked my ass. That was the prominent focus of feeling, that, and my dripping cock. I felt his big cock slowly slide deep into me until his hips bumped my ass. My mouth was open, ready to shout.
“Breathe,” he told me. He was superior tonight. He had been given that. It was absolute. He moved slowly, obviously savoring his status tonight, as I savored mine. He had focused all my sensations on my hole and his cock.
I felt the need build up, and up … and up. It had to end but I wanted more of it. This was new, more than ever before. I clenched there to tell him I liked it.
After so long, as he watched me move in reaction to the incredible feelings inside me, he whispered “CUM!” and I screamed, felt the shower of my load as my cock wet my face and chest, and his orgasm filled me as he held his hips against my ass.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He released me, pulled me up to release my hands, kissed me and kissed me and led me to the shower. “You feel the difference.”
I did. On duty, my rank governed. Off duty, his rank governed. We showered and then sat down with drinks to talk. That was his habit.
“I see you react well to obvious and subtle differences in rank,” he told me. “We’ll visit the leather shop to outfit you for the bar scene.” My ass told me it was anything but subtle.
He chose what leathers I should buy and wear in the warm weather. We went to the leather bar. Inside the door, I knelt down and kissed his tall leather boots until he tapped my head for me to stand up. He took us to the bar with a strict leather dress code.
“Master Pike. Good to see you. You have a new boy?” a man in leathers and a leather cap asked.
“Yes, he’s my new boy. Boy, say hello to Master Stan.”
I knelt and put my lips on the Master’s boots until I felt a tap on my head and I stood up.
“You trained him well,” Master Stan noted. “Big boy.”
“Thank you. He’s a natural.” Master Pike had done nothing more than tell me that my behavior reflected on him. Our difference in rank here was obvious to me.
He took me to the “toy store” in the District. He looked at “furniture”. He waved at the tall “X-cross”. He patted my butt, and I walked to that and stepped up on the platform, then reached high on the arms.
“The platform raises, David,” the salesman told my partner. “Extension chains also. You have off-base quarters now so you can house this big cross?”
“Yes. My boy and I have a place in Alexandria near the US1 railroad bridge. Finished basement has a tall ceiling. Nice that the cross is adjustable, Master Storm. We need to see if my boy fits on it.”
“It’s a floor sample, David. I can discount it for you, big discount if I can get a publicity photo of your naked boy on it with your flogger marks.”
“Deal, Master Storm. That would be excellent. Let’s do it.” He and Master Storm quickly stripped me all but my low boots. No one could see my front through the door. They raised the platform and attached shackles to my ankles, and then attached shackles to my wrists with the chains leading to the heavy anchors. My hard cock dripped. I was naked and shackled to an X-cross to be marked. How bad could it be? I wanted it, but I feared it.
The cross stood in front of a black curtain. Perfect backdrop for photos. “Pick out a flogger, David. Buy a new one for your new boy. Take home some conditioning oil so your boy can soften the strands when you use it.”
Strands of the flogger slid over me from butt to shoulders. I kissed his hand and the flogger he held to my lips. I pulled on the chains. I flexed my muscles for the Masters. I tested my muscles against the strength of the cross. I heard it squeak. I pulled my shoulder blades together. I pushed my hands against the cross to bow my back away from the cross. I did a reverse “crab” to flex my back, butt, quads, calves to show my strength. I showed off for them.
Someone clapped. The flogger struck my back as I flexed and the burn blossomed from left shoulder down to right hip. It struck again, opposite direction and I imagined the stark red “X” marks on my white Scandinavian skin. Two quick slashes with the strands painted my butt with a red “X”, then a slash across my thighs too damned close to my low hanging balls, and another across my waist and then shoulder to shoulder. One last couple of hard stripes across my lower legs, on the calve muscles. I was painted by his flogger.
“Enough!” Master shouted. He kissed me, then I felt his big cock push into my ass and he rode me hard and fast until I shouted to trigger his own orgasm. He pulled out and pushed a butt plug into my ass. “At home, Boy, you’ll lick up what you just shot on the floor.” He told me to keep the tiled floor of the finished basement licking clean.
“Yes, Master Storm,” he told the shop owner. “We’ll take the cross, flogger, oil, and plug, please.” He freed me from the cross and I knelt down to kiss his boots with my hands on his boots. He tickled my sore ass with the strands of the flogger. “Dress, Boy. Give Master Storm your card, and I’ll split the cost with you at home.” The plug was prominent in my tight hole.
I dressed, paid Master Storm, and my Master provided the delivery address. I drove us to the leather bar. My hard cock tented the detachable cod piece of my leather shorts. My face burned with a hard blush. I blushed easily and visibly.
“Makes you look younger, Boy,” Master told me, grinning. “You did well today.”
We returned to the store a week later and saw the poster size photo of the naked muscular bound blond on the X-cross with the artistic marks from his Master.
“Imagine him after caning,” Master Storm told Master. They watched my face burn.
“You can light our finished basement?” Master asked, and they laughed at my expression.