New Rules

New Rules By AFSub135@yahoo.com

After a few years with the Air Force, I got out and switched to doing basically the same job as a civilian employee. I don't know if many people are aware, but we've been steadily converting military jobs to civilian these last 10 years. It lets the military get the same thing done on the cheap without having to pay long-term benefits. Meanwhile the contractors get all the cash, courtesy of our MBA former president of course. Not many people know that this civilian-ization thing means that we DOD civvies can still be deployed wherever some third-world country needs bombing. And there always seem to be at least three of those at a time these days. I guess I knew that when I took the job, but it wasn't until I faced the reality that it really sunk in. So that's all my way of explaining how I wound up at [PORTIONS OF THIS DOCUMENT CLASSIFIED SECRET//NOFORN ACCORDING TO DODI 5400.32 -- CURRENT MILITARY PLANS. DECLASS 26JUL2021], for pretty much the entire month of [REDACTED].

Three weeks wasn't the longest time, compared to how screwed some of my colleagues are, the ones who got sent to [REDACTED]. But it was long enough to piss off my boyfriend of many years, not least because as former Navy he already has a beef with the Air Force. This was one straw too many for him, and he announced that he'd let me go, but there'd be a price to pay when I got back.

In a letter he gave me to open once I arrived at [REDACTED], he announced that I wasn't to forget during this month apart that he was still the boss of me, not the Air Force. He'd felt me getting a little too uppity and independent for his tastes ever since I took this job, and when I got back he'd lay down some new rules to live by.

My first reaction at all this was a little bit of resentment -- after all, it's a tough economy out there, and I want to keep my job. But of course I couldn't fool myself. It was this kind of controlling streak that made me fall for him in the first place. The night we met, we didn't even make it all the way back to his place from the bar we met at, when suddenly he'd wrapped his arm around my neck in a headlock, pushed me against the side of a building, and pushed his tongue down my throat. My knees went weak, and he knew as well as I did that he had me from there. So now, reading his letter, I could feel my dick plump up in my shorts as if his hand had wrapped around it and squeezed.

His note gave two simple rules to start with while I was gone:

1. Return in better shape than I left. None of the crappy food on base, those Burger Kings and KFCs that are making all our soldiers into fatasses. Find alternatives. And hit the gym regularly, at least four times a week, more if I can manage and not hurt myself. But stay out of the locker rooms!

2. No jerking off. At home, he usually let me cum if I asked permission first. While I was at [REDACTED], he denied permission altogether.

Rule one, okay. I hit the low-impact cardio machines daily, and did weights every third day. I even managed the food thing despite the reign of fast food on post. But number two was predictably hard. As was I, especially by the second week. I went to bed every night lying on my back with my cock throbbing against the sheet, and woke up every day already with it already pointing toward the ceiling. By the third week it wasn't going down for most of the day. Fortunately I had brought a bunch of jock straps to work out in, and so I was usually able to stuff it down for working hours. Hitting the gym made me even hornier -- he knows that -- and by week four even a cold shower wasn't doing much to cool my cock down. That last week couldn't pass fast enough. The pressure in my balls was so great I was worried I'd have a wet dream, and he would punish me as if I'd cum on purpose. Fortunately that didn't happen... I think I was exercising such self-control that it stayed in place even while I was sleeping.

Finally, the [REDACTED] took off to fly us back stateside. I wore a jock to keep my junk under wraps -- fortunately, because those planes may be huge, but they're tight quarters when they pack everybody in. I'm about average size -- nothing compared to my man's big unit -- but by this time it felt like my cock was ten inches long, and my balls like watermelons. They were pretty tender too, though that didn't stop me from walking as fast as I could.

My guy said he'd be waiting for me outside the secondary gate at my home post, and as I walked across the base I felt like everybody would see the big lump in my pants. It made me blush a bit even though I knew nobody could really tell. Exiting the gate, I nodded to the Airmen on guard and saw my man's red BMW parked a block away across the street. There he was, sitting behind the wheel with sunglasses hiding his expression. He regarded me with a growing smirk as I had to wait for some cars to pass before crossing over to him. As I neared, he got out of the car. He was wearing a black Fred Perry polo, and bleachers tucked into boots, just like when we met. I quickened my steps to rush toward him. He squeezed me tight and kissed me aggressively. Fuck it, I thought -- Don't Ask/Don't tell didn't apply to me anymore, and it was about to be gone anyway. I melted in his arms and lost track of time while his tongue reclaimed my mouth.

In the car on the way back we made chitchat, and I told him what I had been up to, to the extent I could of course. He was all smiles and friendliness, and made no mention of any of his rules, old or new, until we had parked the car in the garage. Right before getting out, he looked me over from head to toe.

"Looking good. I see you've been keeping to rule number one," he said. His tone had suddenly become harder and more assertive, and I could feel my own submissive side coming out in reaction. His eyes rested on my crotch, which was still bulging out from a hard on that had only gained strength once I was near him again. "Looks like you've been keeping to rule two as well. Good thing, for your sake."

I grinned like a kid getting an A on a test. I wanted to please him and he knew it. Without another word he got out of the car and started into our building. I pulled my bag out of the trunk and raced to follow. Without further talk we made our way through the building and to the front door, which he keyed open and stepped in. I made to follow, but he suddenly put his hand out and into the middle of my chest, stopping me short.

"Stay here, boy," he said. He took my bag from me and brought it inside, saying ominously, "You're not going to need anything in here for a while."

He disappeared into the apartment, and I stood out in the hall looking pointless and confused. After a few moment he opened the door again, and stopped me again as I moved to come in.

"If you want to come into my place, you're going to have to agree to some rules," he said. My first reaction was to object that it was our place, I paid rent too, but his words sent a pulse through my cock that squashed these objections.

"Rule Number One," he announced, "You enter this house, you are my slaveboy for the weekend. And little slave boys like you are not allowed clothes in my house."

A moment passed as I expected him to continue, but he stayed silent as if expecting me to react.

"Yes, sir?" I tried. He smirked, but stayed stoic. Then I began to realize. I blushed.

"That's right, boy," he said, smirking, "Now."

I looked to the left and right, and saw no signs of neighbors in the hallways. I nervously toed my shoes off and set them beside the door. My socks followed. So far I hadn't done anything out of the ordinary if someone were to walk by. But he wasn't moving. I decided to go for broke. I quickly peeled off my shirt, unbuttoned my jeans, and in one motion tore them off along with the jock that had kept my cock under control on the plane. For a moment that felt like an eternity, I stood there trying to cover up my traitorous hardon while praying no neighbor chose this instant to take out the trash. It was poking out at him and he smiled. When he stepped aside, I went in like a flash.

He closed the door behind me, plunging the apartment into darkness. He had turned off even the night lights we normally keep on, and I was disoriented for a moment.

"On your knees," I heard him order, and I complied instantly. He moved behind me and wrenched my hands behind my back. I felt him wrapping leather cuffs around my wrists. He turned a small light on so that I could see him as he stood in front of me and spoke.

"You won't be needing those hands for a while," he said. "Right now you're just going to listen to what I have to say, while you stay there on your knees in front of me where you belong. You think you're hot shit, flying all over the world recently, but now that you're back it's time to remind you that in this house you're nothing but a pathetic little slave boy. I'm going to use your holes to make my cock feel good, and you're gonna let me. I'm gonna keep you tied up when I'm not using you, and often when I am. You're gonna take any pain and torture I dish out, and both of us know you're going to beg for more. Look at you on your knees. Your cock is begging for it already."

He had moved the tip of his boot underneath me as I knelt there, and as he spoke he periodically tapped the underside of my balls with the tough leather. Not hard, but just enough to emphasize his points. And he was right, my cock just got harder as he prodded me.

"Rule number one you know: No clothes. This is to remind you of your place in this household. You're cold? I don't give a shit. You can cuddle up to me for warmth like a dog. If you're lucky I might give you a blanket. But the only clothes you get are ones I put on you, and you'll find that they're only proper things for a slave boy to wear -- cuffs, collars, maybe a nice little plug for your hole when my cock isn't in there. Things that embarrass you. Things that make you hurt. Things that remind you of your place."

As he spoke he stepped nearer to me and started unbuttoning his fly. In moments his big tool leapt forth, his perfectly cut cock that I had fantasized about for weeks. I had always said he has the most beautiful and perfect cock I had even seen in real life. Smooth and streamlined, like a tordeo made for slipping inside a tight hole. That's what I thought the first time I saw it, and I had quickly discovered that it fit me perfectly. Or maybe he was just skilled at wielding it. Either way, his was a perfect dick that commanded attention. Sucking or stroking it felt almost as good as touching my own smaller unit. Better, even since as he reminded me often it was such an honor that many boys had fought over in the past.

He started beating his cock against my face as he continued to give his orders. It got bigger and bigger in front of me, stood up more proudly and monolithic from between the gap in his bleachers. He wasn't wearing any underwear. My mouth started to water, though I knew not to reach out and swallow it unless allowed to. He saw my interest and chuckled.

"So that's rule one. To show me you understand and acknowledge my orders, you will say `yes sir,' and kiss my cock. Understand?"

I didn't need to be told twice.

"Yes sir," I enthusiastically replied, and leaned slightly forward to plant a kiss just underneath the head of his cock. I looked up again and he smiled at the gratitude in my eyes.

"You make it too easy, little boy," he laughed. "I can tell how bad you want this. Don't worry, you're gonna get your fill."

"Rule number two: You've gotten too hairy these past few weeks. Aren't there any barbers on that sorry excuse for a military installation?"

He knew there weren't; I had already told him in an email that barbers were among "services" go under last year's Military Austerity Act. Now everyone just did it themselves, or for a buddy. But I didn't have any clippers, and didn't have any buddies to ask. And I was a civvie now, and could stand to be relatively shaggy. Returning to the moment, I knew better than to object, and just answered "No sir."

"No." he repeated. "And so you thought you could let your hair grow like a man. Little punk slaveboys like you don't deserve any hair. We're gonna take care of that in a minute here, and while I'm shaving you down you can thank me for reminding you of your place. Understand?"

"Yes sir," I replied, and leaned forward to again press my lips against his cock. It was hot and pulsing, and I wanted to linger but dared not.

"Third rule," he said, "And now it gets interesting. You do not touch your cock, ever. Your purpose in this house is to service my cock, not to waste attention on your own tiny slavestick. This means too that you better not let me catch you humping your little slave cock against anything and cumming that way. I'll be just as pissed off then, because I know you'll have done it on purpose to flout my rules. Got it?"

"Yes sir," I said warily. It was hard sometimes not to get too excited while sucking him off, and grind against his leg or on the bed in my lust. I'd have to be careful of this one. I gave his tool an extra long kiss. I licked my lips beforehand to they would be extra soft. He was fully hard now, and straining.

"Fourth rule," he continued, "And I think you'll like this one. I know that fags like you get so turned on when a man uses them that their own pathetic little dicks sometimes pop off all by themselves. I can hardly hold this against you since it just shows what a fag slave and cocksucker you are. So if that happens feel free to cum as much as you want, as long as my cock is in one of your holes and you're not violating rule three. You don't even have to ask permission, but you do have to notify me that your little dick is about to shoot. Of course, don't expect that I'm going to stop pounding your hole until I nut myself. Slave boys have to learn that they get off by being fucked, but a real man keeps fucking until he's finished with them. Got it?"

"Yes sir," I said in honest gratitude. I was truly happy for this one -- I always had a short fuse, and after weeks I didn't trust myself at all. I moved my mouth in for a long, slow, and wet kiss on his cock. He allowed me to show my gratitude for this new rule by sliding my mouth back and forth a bit, moistening his shaft and jacking him with my half-open mouth, even while not yet being allowed to swallow him down. He indulged me for a while but then pushed my head away and continued.

"That's the spirit, boy. Look at you all fired up to take my meat. I bet you just will pop off all by yourself, you're such a slut for a man's cock. So here's rule five: Any cum your little balls produce goes right back in you. You shoot it, you eat it." He saw my grimace and laughed. "I know you don't like the taste of your own brand, boy. But you eat cum, that's your purpose. Your cum or mine; we don't let things go to waste in this house. On that subject, any cum I dump in you stays there unless I feed it to you. You don't wipe or wash it off unless I give permission. Let it dry so that you can smell what a slut you are. And when I nut in your butt, it stays in there too. If your little hole is abused and stretched out from my big dick, I will find a plug to keep my load in there until you absorb it. Understand?"

"Yes sir," I said, and gave him the longest lick yet. I figured French kissing was still kissing, and he didn't seem to mind. Far from it. I think he was satisfied that I was so eager. After a few seconds of this I was starting to think about going all the way and taking his meat down my throat as I had wanted to do from the moment I saw him in his car. He seemed to sense this and pushed me off.

"I can tell you're hungry boy, am I right," he asked. I agreed and went to kiss his mighty meat again. He laughed and grabbed my head with both hands, holding it tight and immobile.

"Well never say I'm not a generous top," he said. "You know the rules now, and I trust you'll obey them. Otherwise your ass is in for a different kind of pounding, or I'll tie you up in ways you won't like. But for now let's seal our little bargain properly."

I looked up at him worshipfully, with gaping mouth hoping to be filled. He let loose a glob of spit that landed directly on my tongue, and as my own cock jumped he sheathed himself into me with one steady motion. I was in heaven as he gripped my head in his hands, positioning it just where he wanted so it felt best for him as he pumped away. With my hands cuffed behind me I had to use my whole body to balance with his direction, trying my best to use my tongue on his thick shaft to heighten his pleasure. I carefully controlled my breathing as he sped up, moaning under his breath.

"That's it you little cocksucker," he said huskily, "wrap that hot little mouth around my meat. Look at you on your knees taking cock. Can't get enough cock, can you? Take it like a champ little guy. Fucking faggot, take my man's cock down your throat. This gets you hard, I see it. Look at your little hardon bounce up and down while I dick your face. Such a slut."

He was right; I was harder than ever. My slave dick reached out to the ceiling as if it strained up to be touched. But of course he only had a mind for his own huge tool, which he smoothly dipped in and out of my open mouth. It was hard to breathe but I didn't want him to stop. Usually he kept going forever, but it had been a while and soon enough I could tell his big low-hanging balls were drawing up into their firing position.

"That's right," he said, "Getting close now, boy. Gonna dump my cum down your throat. You ready cocksucker? Ready to swallow my load? Here it comes. Here it comes boy!"

And with that his hands gripped my head even tighter as he pushed his cock as far down my throat as it would go. I felt it spasm in my mouth, liquid flushing through it and suddenly he was blasting his load directly down my throat. His pubes ground into my nose as he buried himself to the hilt. I greedily sucked at his shaft while his cockhead leapt and spurted inside me, pumping me full.

His thrusts slowed, and I grew aware of the stiffness in my knees and ankles. When he pulled out I sat back on my heels, and looked up gratefully as he milked a few last drops out and into my waiting mouth. I kissed his cock again in thanks and respect.

Then with a grin he pulled me to my feet and led me to the bathroom. He uncuffed my wrists and directed me into the tub, where he had already set up an electric razor and other shaving materials. Over the next few minutes he systematically ran the razor over my arms, legs, chest and stomach. He roughly moved me about, raising my arms to take the hair in my pits. That was extra humiliating for some reason. Then pushing me to my knees he started work on my head, steadily cropping it down to a short buzzcut while I watched his cock rest contentedly in front of me. I took the liberty of suckling it as he worked, and it started to come back to life after blowing its load just minutes before. With my head finished, he saved the most humiliating for last and took my pubes. He had to push my rock-hard cock out of the way several times, which he did roughly with slaps and prods. He was careful not to grip it in any way that could get me off, but any contact he made was heaven all the same. I felt like cumming just from the slaps. When he was finished he closed the transparent shower curtain and ordered me to rinse off. Then he made me shave off with a razor what was left of my pubes. He made me shave my hole as well, and when I was finished he directed me to turn off the water, bend over, and spread my cheeks so he could inspect it. I flushed with embarrassment while he ran a finger around my newly smooth hole, as he commented how much he was looking forward to fucking it. I could feel his digit circling my tight ring like a bird of prey spiraling lazily as it honed in on a target. When he could see that this area met his approval he allowed me to stand, and then let me drip dry for a minute while he made mocking comments about what a good little slaveboy I was turning into, how I finally looked the part and was ready to be treated rough for the next few days. He handed me a bottle of lotion and made me rub it in where my pubes used to be, making sure to ignore my wound-up cock but pay special attention to the area around my hole. By the time I was done with this operation I was mostly dry. He pulled the curtain open, grabbed me by my arm and told me it was time my little slave ass got fucked.

The rest of the weekend is kind of a blur to me now, but I do know he spoke the truth. He immediately took me back to our den, which he had turned into a playroom while I was gone, and strapped me to a bedframe so that he could start the first of many bondage fucks he had planned. He wasted no time pinning me on my back and cuffing my arms above my head, with my legs stretched out spread eagle. In this vulnerable position he tormented me for a while with closepins, clamps, and various other things to cause me pain. And my cock was rock hard the whole time. Eventually his urge to fuck grew too much to deny, and he released my legs. Grabbing my right leg he held it out to one side, while holding my left over his shoulder so that nothing would touch my cock as he began to insert his own into my tight hole, which he spit on to moisten for his entry. It had been weeks, and I cried out in pain. This only caused him to stuff an old jock into my mouth to keep me quiet while he worked more spit in around his rigid tool, which he slowly slid more and more into my helpless hole. He went slowly, and I thanked him silently for that since I was so tight from lack of recent use. I didn't have to say anything, since he reminded me of that fact. How useless I'd been for the last month, a slaveboy hole with no cock to claim it.

When he got all the way in he stayed there for a bit, flexing his cock inside me while my ass muscles gripped him tight. He pulled out until I could feel the bulge of his head stretching my hole anew, then pushed back in smoothly and firmly. I lifted my head up to watch his torso flex as he pumped my ass with his tool. In and out he moved, slowly but steadily increasing in speed and intensity. With each one I felt my resistance being pounded away, and then one thrust hit just the right spot inside me. I dropped my head back and moaned helplessly. He took this as his sign to pound away in earnest. Faster and harder he slammed into me, and I began to realize that he had kept my legs positioned that way in order to keep any friction from my cock. I could see him watching it bounce around with each mighty thrust, and he grinned to see how hard his treatment made me. He told me as much, called my attention to how my cock betrayed me, how needy and ignored my poor little slave cock looked.

He slowed down a bit, but this somehow only increased the intensity of his long strokes, steadily and relentlessly building waves inside me until finally my cock proved right what he had predicted earlier. I tried to cry out around the jock stuffed in my mouth, but he didn't need to hear my words to know that I could resist no longer. With the next firm push he made up in me, my cock jumped and spurted, and I began to shudder in the throes of an orgasm I could not resist despite how humiliating it was. He cried in triumph as he watched spurts of cum dribble out in time with his thrusts. This proved it, I was his little slave slut and my cock told him all he needed to know. It knew what I wanted, it couldn't help itself but cum when a real man fucked the load out of my tiny little bottom balls. I could only moan around the jockstrap in my mouth as his big dick worked my hole. He still didn't touch my cock, which lay on my stomach harder than ever in a growing pool of wet cum. It wasn't like a normal orgasm, I realized, the kind a guy milks out of his dick just the way he wants, and then collapses empty and deflates. No, here I wasn't cumming at my own pace, but at his while he fucked the load out of my overfilled balls. It was more like I had so much cum built up in my balls that his cock was pushing out just enough to make room for him inside me, and no more than that. And so as I shuddered and creamed, it still wasn't a relief. I think that was his plan. I felt hornier and harder, more full than ever. My cock stayed painfully stiff as he rode me harder, humping my spasming hole and milking another load out of his big dick. He moaned in appreciation, told me how good my hole felt on his cock. This is why he let me cum, he said, not because I deserved it but because I was such a slut I couldn't help but squeeze my ass around his big dick. This was my hole taking over, he said, helping me give him pleasure and get him off, helping me fulfill my purpose in life, that of a helpless little slave boy to a real man.

True to his word he found a plug to keep his cum up in me while my hungry hole absorbed it. I grunted as he shoved it firmly up my chute, which was still a little tight from disuse despite its recent re-introduction to dick. Then he re-fastened my legs spread eagle, and pulled them tight. He pulled the sodden jock out of my mouth and allowed me to thank him for fucking me with his perfect cock. With a few slaps at my own smaller dick to make sure it was still hard, he dipped his fingers in the pool of cum underneath it and fed it to me. I licked greedily at his fingers and tried to make him proud. There wasn't too much of it, probably because I hadn't cum properly, just been milked from the inside. He chuckled sadistically at this fact. He then blindfolded me, gagged me more properly, re-attached the clothespins to some of my more sensitive areas, and left me to strain against the cuffs for a while. I think he watched me for a bit. He might have even taken some pictures. The idea caused me to blush but I couldn't know for sure if he did.

Over the next two days he took me in all kinds of different ways. He dumped load after load into my willing holes, and I stayed hard the whole time even though I had a few more of those strange no-touch orgasms he had now brought me to. True to his word, he kept me tied up the entire weekend when we weren't doing other things. Saturday morning he released me to clean the apartment, clad only in a pair of boots and bondage cuffs, while he issued orders and watched appreciatively. Even when we went out and about, he still found ways to remind me of my status. When on Sunday we met a friend of his for lunch and a movie, before we left he put a small plug up my hole, and a thong to keep it there. He wanted me to remember me inside him, he said. And sure enough the whole time we were out all I could think about was his cock up my butt, like it was still there claiming me. I tried not to wiggle around and give myself away, but he somehow found ways to keep me moving, like after we sat down making me get up again and order him popcorn. I hope I'm only imagining it, but I think his friend knew something was up as I embarrassedly slunk over them on my through the aisle. I have no way of knowing what they talked about while I was gone, but his friend had a large and condescending smirk when I returned with the popcorn.

When we got back home he was all over me again, and I couldn't resist as he tied me up and fucked me silly. Why would I say no? He was right, I was his slaveboy slut and I wouldn't have it any other way. If I tried to lie about it, all he had to do was look at my hard cock and it gave the game away.

Sunday night he took the cuffs off and announced that these had been his weekend rules. Weekdays were more negotiable, and I could have my "illusions of freedom" again, as he put it. But of course, both of us wanted those times when the rules applied. And so in those times I happily kept to his rules, even when he changed them periodically. It keeps things interesting... and the one constant rule is: I'm his little slaveboy, and what he says goes. After that first intense weekend, though my job still takes me away at times, you can bet I remember still who's in charge.