Connor Chapter Four: Domination
I decided not to contact Connor for the rest of the weekend; let him and his swinging cock have some alone time; let Connor have a go at being a man again.
On the Monday, I sent him an email, striking a distinctly different tone from that adopted previously.
From: "Ben Dover" <Ben_Dover4me2_69u@hotmail.co.uk> To:
<firstname.lastname@example.org> Subject: The Weekend
Hello Connor. I have some good news, and some bad news. The good news is that you have passed the first and the second test. You are halfway to getting your life back.
The bad news is that you compelled that gentleman to break the rules I had laid down in my letter to him. I know this, because I was videoing the action from a nearby car. It's amazing how quickly camera technology has moved on in recent years -- the quality and crispness of the images you can now achieve (in quite challenging conditions) is incredible, isn't it?
Now, you know what you did, and we both know why you did it. I won't focus on that. Instead, let me ask this: did you honestly think you could deceive me? You, one of Her Majesty's Most Loyal and Leal Terriers, whose intelligence is entirely devoted to the various ways you can kill something or break into a girl's pussy, deceive me, the fellow who got you to masturbate on camera whilst wearing your mother's own underwear, and give another guy a handjob in a car park? For free?!
I am offended. Not at the act of defiance itself, but at the implication behind it: that you honestly thought you could outwit me.
I want to make something completely, crystal clear to you: I have accounted for every eventuality. Whilst you may think otherwise, know that your every action has been determined by me, with the 'choice' I've always presented to you in terms of either cooperating or walking being wholly illusionary; acting to smooth things over to ensure your heterosexual compliance in doing some pretty gay shit -- compliance which I know will be forthcoming, because you have no choice. You've NEVER had a choice. From that first email, your perception of the 'options' available to you has been moulded by me. Do you understand? It's not fucking luck that I have a video of you jacking off, Connor -- it was preplanned, by me.
I can also get a mouse to eat cheese, or a dog to fuck the leg of my postman; the principles in both instances are the same as those I've applied in my dealings with you, Connor.
I have decided to rejig the game a little bit. I have determined that we can no longer conduct our business as gentlemen, each trusting in the assertions and activities of the other -- you are clearly a little boy, and like all little boys, you require the implementation of rigid, unmoving boundaries, which will never be crossed by yourself for fear of the consequences.
These boundaries are coming into effect retroactively, with a punishment now being administered for your transgression over the weekend.
The punishment is harsh. It is harsh, in the hope that no such punishment will have to be applied again. It is harsh, in the hope that you learn: learn the rules, learn your boundaries, and learn to stay confined within them.
Like all boys, you will be tempted to stray; like most boys, you will learn not to.
Your punishment, which shall also suffice as your test of courage, is as follows. You are to get your brother to reattach your cock cage for you. You are to film this. You are to send the film to me.
What you say to get him to do it is of no concern to me.
I get up tomorrow at 7am. If I do not see the video waiting for me in my inbox, I myself will administer a punishment against you, in person. I am not talking about releasing videos or pictures; this will be something against you, personally. After this punishment, you will still be required to comply with my directive, or you will face further, harsher punishment.
So I advise you to comply now, rather than pontificate beyond the deadline, receive your punishment(s), and then reluctantly comply. You should not to allow things to escalate beyond this one request. I have already decided what the punishment for failure shall be, and you will not like it.
The response came later that evening.
From: "reap" <email@example.com> To: <Ben_Dover4me2_69u@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: RE: The Weekend
lol u r insan thatll neva happan
and ur gonna punish me personally lmfao id lik to se u fukin try if i eva
find out who u r il destroy u
-Sent from my iPhone
Destroy me. Hehehe. I couldn't help but chuckle.
From: "Ben Dover" <Ben_Dover4me2_69u@hotmail.co.uk> To:
<firstname.lastname@example.org> Subject: RE: The Weekend
It is now 20:11. You have until 7am to meet the demand.
After that, I heard nothing. I went to bed that evening not really expecting to see the video when I got up the next day.
Connor would require a demonstration of my power; it was only to be expected.
I'll give him a demonstration. Now as you know, I'm not the cocky sort -- not at all -- but as I was drifting off to sleep, I thought that maybe, just maybe, my punishment will break him; prompt a collapse in resistance, an acceptance of his subservience -- and an acceptance of the fact that he liked it; wanted it; needed it.
Destroy me. I couldn't help myself; lying in bed, in the dark, on my own, I once again laughed out loud.
Sure enough, when I checked my emails whilst brushing my teeth the next day -- nothing.
Obviously during the day on Monday, I couldn't really do a whole lot. But that was fine; my punishment was designed to take place outside of school hours.
Very much outside of school hours.
I arrived at the house at around 2am.
I slid the spare key Len and Mary had given me years ago into the Yale lock of the front door, turned and entered the house before quietly shutting the door behind me.
I was thankful that the darkness of the hour was not absolute; downstairs was shrouded in darkness, but I saw light emanating from the upstairs landing, illuminating the stairs for me and allowing me to quietly move up to the sleeping quarters of the house.
The doors to the parent's bedroom immediately greeted me when I got upstairs, with the door to Connor's bedroom at the end of a short hallway on the left, opposite a spare room and beside the bathroom.
I moved down the hallway, get what I wanted from the bathroom, and opened the wooden door to Connor's room -- easily identifiable from its Parachute Regiment sticker plastered on the front, sliding through a crack in the door and quickly and quietly closing it behind me.
A thin sliver of light from the street lighting broke through the curtains draping the large window dominating one wall, providing the merest hint of the rooms contents The room was perceptibly large. A wooden table was placed in one corner; the bed, along the opposite wall. I could see large posters a few things in frames decorating the walls, but in the poor light, they were impossible to identify.
I could make out a large, inert mass on the bed, sleeping and blissfully unaware of my presence.
I reached into my bag, and extracted a torch with a square of red transparent plastic over the end; when I switched it on, the room was bathed in a sombre red which would not awaken the sleeping beast I was seeking to tame.
I moved to stand beside the bed. I looked briefly at Connor's peaceful face before I reached into my bag and removed a tiny bottle of chloroform and a piece of cloth.
Dampening the cloth with the chloroform, I knelt beside him and gently pushed the cloth over his mouth and nose for a couple of long minutes. He didn't wake; presuming he'd been knocked out successfully, he should just wake up normally the next day.
There was no visible reaction from him, but as I moved over to the light switch, I said a little prayer in hoping that the anaesthetic has done its job.
With the flick of a switch, the room was illuminated by the harsher white light, causing me to briefly squint, but with Connor continuing to sleep soundly.
I turned the torch off, and pulled the covers from the lad's finely sculpted body, releasing the warm, musky bed smell of him into the air.
"You," I whisper to myself, "are one good lookin' boy."
Connor was lying on his side, his lower leg straight, the upper leg pulled up over it.
He was wearing brightly coloured green and grey polka dot boxers with 'PUMA' printed on the waistband. The shorts were tight, with one side containing his gargantuan thighs, whilst the other cupped his supple backside.
I demurely sat on the bed, so I could softly run my hand across the upper, obliquely curved butt-cheek, and then beyond his sexy designer undies to the rotund, hairy thigh it is attached to.
He is powerful. Certainly, more powerful than me. But I am still seething with rage that he managed to dominate me at the end of our last encounter; that I allowed events to twist like that, and that I had no response to it.
Now, he is weak. And I intend to use his weakness to my advantage: like any senior officer, when I see rebellion in one of my hotheaded, testosterone-fuelled squaddies, I must correct it.
I take a picture of my hand on his boxered ass, softly rubbing it as if it were a meaty genie lamp. I briefly slide my hand to the rough muscle plastered across his upper leg, before pulling myself away from him and getting to work.
First, I position his body: I straighten his fit, short legs, and roll him over, so he is sleeping on his stomach, displaying his finely built arse in all its fickle finery.
I straddle Connor's legs, beneath the steep curve of his bum.
I take a picture.
Just a little taste, I think. I begin kissing the top of his finely etched thigh; little gentle things; recognition of the human artistry his body represents. My kisses move along the curved expanse of his leg, taking in the delights of each hairy ripple and each subconscious flex. As is my way, however, I became a little more insistent as the fuck lust overtook me. My tongue -- which has a history of getting me into trouble -- couldn't help but lick the boy's leg, lapping at the fur and the sweat. Eager to take in more of him, my mouth glided -- quite naturally, I assure you - to his arse, still covered in a thin layer of warm, comforting cotton. I plant more gentle kisses along the smooth surface as I rapidly make my way to the summit -- along with the occasional bite; inhuman, animalistic bites; unnecessary, really; where I would sink my teeth into the supple flesh of his buttocks, through his undies, my teeth wrestling with and gnawing at the soldier's fit arse.
My hand quickly slid the right hem of his shorts upward, stretching the handily yielding fabric so I could acquire direct access to the trooper's tasty ass flesh.
My lips quickly latched onto the dangerously exposed buttock, my hand sliding the fabric ever further north, just ahead of my roving mouth which was now chewing on the hairy meat of his perfectly curved, deliciously hardened behind.
The slumbering squaddie reacted by subconsciously tensing his arse, his flesh becoming rough-hewn granite in my mouth, but he was otherwise unable to prevent the continuing degradation and rapidly escalating violation of his fit, killer body.
I soon released a sweaty chunk of bum-flesh from my mouth so I could pull my face away from the graceful, well-lit uplands of his cheeks and move toward the dark jungle ravine at his centre, forcing the fabric to now stretch obscenely, and lay bare his entire right ass-cheek and the lower quadrant of his crack to my lecherous eyes.
I smashed his outer defence perimeter and prised his over-protective cheeks apart to for the first time stare upon his ruddy, sweaty arsehole (replete with desert camouflage for Connor's next visit to Helmand) and located deep within the chasm of his buttocks, framed by a disorganised forest of dirty, dark hairs.
I then spent a few minutes covertly gorging myself on the conked out corporal's defenceless straight gash, my tongue advancing deeply behind his puckered lines, and into the tropical interior; annoyed at how darkly good he tasted, knowing it meant I would remain a slave to sexual charms he himself probably didn't know he possessed.
Once his pit was slick with saliva, and once I'd satisfied myself (for the moment), I gave his hole one last, lingering french kiss (with lots of tongue), and stepped back.
I briefly licked my index finger before perfunctorially sliding it into his hole, my roving digit pushing forward despite resistance to spear the straight lad's unaware guts. I slowly thrusted in, and out, in, and out. "Gotta keep yer panties outta the way, bitch," I whispered as my finger kept his shorts from sliding back to recover his hole as I leaned back to my bag of tricks and retrieved his toothbrush.
"Well I hope you enjoyed that," I muttered under my breath, "because you're gonna fucking hate this." Applying a little lubricant, I used one hand to separate the muscular cheeks I had just made olfactory love to, and then...well, I did the nasty on him.
With his own toothbrush.
Getting the sharp, stiff bristles past his tight, straight sphincter was challenging. But you know, if you just keep pushing...
Piercing the lad's firm, defensive rectum was heralded by a murmured grunt from the dreaming desert warrior, and I celebrated by taking a picture with just the prickly bristles of the brush in his ass -- 'stage one'.
Then, it was just a case of slowly easing it home. I took special care in making sure I lodged the bristles on the end -- which were still coated with the residue of subtly cooling, profoundly irritating menthol - deep in his soft, virginal insides.
I only relented once a few inches remained visible beyond the eminence of his hardened glutes.
And then I leaned back, and I smiled at the sight of the plastic, bright blue, gently curved handle of the toothbrush poking out from the depths of his arse, like a periscope jutting out above the waterline.
Knowing that the rest of it was violating his fiercely protected straight arsehole made me smile, too.
Removing myself from his body, I moved to the other end of him and turned his head, so it was on its side and facing toward me.
Then I stood close to him and begin to masturbate.
I took a nice picture -- an artistic shot, really -- of my hand, my dick and his face, all in the same shot.
I waited until a thick bead of precum began to descend from my cock onto his upper lip before taking the shot.
I find the situation hotter than anything I can look at around me, but when I look at the toothbrush peeking out from between the muscular army lad's toned cheeks, I chuckle, and cum.
Which in-of-itself is a pretty fucking weird experience, let me assure you.
But the oddness of it all is quickly overtaken by pleasure, as pellets of spunk strike Connor's peacefully sleeping face, mainly on his bare cheek, but also coating his slumbering eyebrows with thick white droplets.
I release my cock and use my fingers to slide some of the congealed excitement across his face, coating his straight fat lips and his flared nostrils with my greasy ejaculate.
I carefully position the nozzle of my cock at his bared ear, and summon up that one last globule of jizz you always find after cumming, and watch it slide down his acoustic cavity...a little surprise for him to find later on.
With my cock still lying across his face and into his ear, I take a picture.
I put my cock away as I reach for my bag once more. Retrieving the black, permanent marker pen, I write on his forehead 'MUM: because I'm a naughty little paratrooper, I need a new toothbrush and an enema'.
I take a picture.
I finish my visit to Connor by carefully returning his boxer-shorts back to where they were; sliding the now loose, overstretched fabric over the hump of his rump, taking the time to cup his cheeks one last time, before pulling the material away from his dark, defiled horizon so I can manoeuvre past the Oral-B toothbrush poking above it. One done I step back, looking at how the green/grey shorts are now tented by the blunted point of his butt-lodged toothbrush.
Oh, and I take a picture.
I then return the duvet over him, making sure it doesn't distort the liquid deposit I'd left for him to find on his face.
I remember at the last minute the most important thing -- I remove the little padlock from my pocket, the one which I had been prevented from affixing to his groin that day in the parking lot, and leave it on the little wooden table in the corner.
And with that, I quietly leave Connor's bedroom, and walk past the bedroom of his two sleeping parents.
I go home, and get some sleep, wondering what the next day will bring. Qualitatively