Stand to attention, p.16
Stand to Attention, page 16
“Yes, sir.” Without hesitation, Robin gripped his shaft and began to stroke it up and down, the pre-cum that had already spilled from its tip aiding him in his task. He looked so delightfully submissive, his eyes half-closed and his lips parted as his breath escaped in soft little gasps.
Mark strode back and forth, as if he was a parade ground sergeant major inspecting his troops. He had a certain swagger in his step, enjoying the sensation of having this beautiful young man at his command.
“That’s it,” he urged. “Keep wanking that dick of yours.” As Robin continued, the speed of his strokes increasing a little, he asked, “Does that feel good?”
“Yes, it does, sir.”
“Do you wish that was my hand on your cock?”
“Yes. Oh, yes, sir.”
“Well, there’s no chance of that. Not unless I decide to be especially lenient. You see, boy, you’ve done some things tonight that are more worthy of punishment than pleasure.”
“Really, sir?” Robin’s hand stilled in its relentless movement, just for a moment.
“Indeed. You took total charge in the restaurant tonight. You presumed to order me a beer without asking if that was what I wanted, and I caught you sneaking a look at the waiter’s arse.”
Both those things were true. Neither was a problem. That backside had been so tight in the waiter’s black slacks that Mark had admired it too. But he had to find some reason, however spurious, for dishing out the spanking he’d decided Robin was entitled to.
“I’m sorry, sir. I promise I won’t let it happen again.” Robin’s voice sounded strained, and Mark reckoned he must be getting close to orgasm. Just a few more strokes, and pearly cum would be spilling out onto Robin’s fingers. He wasn’t going to be allowed that pleasure just yet.
“Stop wanking, boy,” Mark ordered.
With visible reluctance, Robin let his hand drop to his thigh and waited for Mark’s next instruction.
“Stand up,” Mark said. “I don’t believe you’re truly sorry for your earlier misbehavior, and I want to make sure you know just what will happen if you displease me.” He cast his gaze round the room, looking for something that he might be able to use for the next part of the game. Robin was just as much a novice in these games as he was, and he didn’t want to do anything that might go beyond the Dutchman’s limits.
He spotted the small, plastic folder containing the room service menu and picked it up. Swishing it through the air, he assessed its weight and heft. It would do nicely.
“Now, boy. I want you to bend over the end of the bed, and stick your arse well out.”
Robin scurried to get into the correct position, even though he had to know there was only one reason Mark would want him to present himself like that. Mark licked his lips at the sight of Robin’s firm, upraised buttocks.
“Spread your legs wider.” When Robin had shuffled his feet a little further apart, Mark continued, “Before we go any further, I need to know if you have a safeword.” He didn’t think anything he was about to do would prompt Robin to use such a word, but he wanted to follow all the correct procedures. Rules were there for a reason. If nothing else, army life had taught him that.
“I don’t, sir. Would you care to choose one for me?”
“Very well. If you want me to slow down, say ‘amber’. If you want me to stop altogether, say ‘red’. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to give you half a dozen strokes by way of punishment. Do you know the English term, ‘six of the best’?”
“I do now, sir.”
There was a touch of cheekiness in Robin’s reply, and Mark felt his cock twitch in response.
“Don’t tempt me to make it more than six, boy. Now, prepare yourself.”
Mark came to stand to Robin’s left, and stroked Robin’s bare arse cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Such a nice, smooth bottom. It’s never been punished, has it?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything…”
Not giving the Dutchman any time to respond, he brought the menu folder sharply down. It slapped against Robin’s left cheek. Robin let out a little gasp, more of shock than pain, and Mark repeated the action on the other side.
Without giving Robin time to recover, he quickly delivered the remaining four strokes. By the time he’d finished, there was a distinct red flush on Robin’s pale moons, and when he ran his fingers over the marks he’d left, the skin felt hot to the touch.
“Th-thank you, sir,” Robin managed to stammer. He didn’t sound in too much pain, and when Mark glanced down at his cock, it stood up even harder than before.
“If you want to thank me properly, you’ll get down and kiss my boots.”
Robin didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees and planted kisses first on Mark’s right boot, then the left. Mark gave his own dick a surreptitious stroke through his trousers, itching to plant himself deep in Robin’s arse once more. Luckily, he’d passed a supermarket on his way to meet Robin at the café, and he’d been able to stock up on condoms, knowing what the night would have in store.
“Strip me,” he demanded, “and then you can worship my cock the way you’ve been worshiping my boots…”
* * * *
Much later, they lay together on the bed. Mark’s body ached, but there was a sweetness to the pain. He’d fucked Robin slow and tenderly, and been rewarded by hearing Robin cry out his name at the moment he came.
“I was going to suggest we take a shower,” he said, “but I doubt there’s room for both of us to squeeze into that little cubicle together.”
“I don’t know. It might be fun to try,” Robin replied with a grin.
“So,” Mark asked carefully, “being with a soldier, was it everything you’d hoped?”
“I loved it. Being told what to do, getting my arse smacked—and you were the perfect man to do it to me.”
“I was glad to be of service. It’s only a shame it won’t happen again.” The words were out before Mark could stop them.
“I don’t see why it can’t. Why you and I can’t see each other again.”
“Robin, how can we? Tomorrow morning, I go to England to see my mum and my friends over there. By the end of the week, I’ll be back in Afghanistan. It’s not as though we can visit each other at weekends.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” Robin asserted. “When are you next on leave?”
“Not until the New Year.”
“That’s what? A little over three months? I can wait if you can.” Robin rolled on to his side, gazing into Robin’s eyes. “Mark, I’ve never met anyone like you. There’s something special between us. I can feel it, and I’m damn sure you can, too. We’d be foolish not to give it a chance.”
He was right, loath as Mark was to admit it. Given time, their attraction to each other could very easily deepen into love. But that wasn’t what scared him. He knew all too well how fragile life could be, and how easily someone could be snatched away from you.
He’d lost his best friend before his time. But that didn’t mean he was destined to lose Robin, too. Why throw something away because you were scared of something that might never come to pass? He could almost hear Ozzy’s voice in his ear, the words he’d used whenever Mark was dithering about a decision. Go on, mate. You know you want to.
And he did want to. Very much. He took hold of Robin’s hand. “You’re right. Christmas isn’t that far away. And we can send emails, letters…”
Maybe the waiting would make it all the sweeter. As Robin rained kisses on his cheeks and lips, he closed his eyes and silently blessed Ozzy for bringing him to this moment.
Epilogue
The letter had been waiting for Mark all day. Knowing it was from Robin, he’d been saving it till he had some time to himself. They kept in touch with regular emails, but a handwritten note was something special, something private to be savored and enjoyed.
He stretched out on his bunk and tore the envelope open. Two sheets of thin paper fluttered out. Mark picked up the first one and began to read.
The first few lines were general chit-chat, Robin letting him know how busy the bar had been with preparations for Christmas. Father Christmas came early in Holland, in the guise of Saint Nicholas, handing out presents to children on December 6th. There would be a big parade on the streets of Amsterdam…
Mark skimmed those details, and went to the meat of Robin’s letter.
But what I’m really looking forward to is finally getting to spend time with you again. It’s always nice to get your emails, but I long to be in your arms once more. I’m so excited about the thought of coming over to England. I know you tell me that you live in a small town, but I don’t care about shopping and sightseeing—I just want to spend time with you.
Mark, I get so horny when I think about that night in your hotel room, and all the wonderful, dirty things you made me do. I’m yearning for Corporal Stockdale to discipline me for being bad, and I will accept whatever punishments he chooses to give me. I am particularly hoping that he will require me to suck his big, hard—
“Hey, Mark!” The voice interrupted his reading. So much for having a moment to himself. Though maybe it was just as well. Even the thought of disciplining Robin again was getting him almost painfully hard.
But Robin was right. Not too much longer till they’d finally get to meet up on UK soil. He’d managed to wangle some leave for the New Year, and Robin would be leaving Jos in charge of the bar for a week. A whole week, to do whatever they wanted. Maybe he’d take Robin up to London, show him the sights. The rest of the time they’d more than likely spend in bed, getting to know more about each other’s needs and desires.
The very fact Robin had kept emailing, kept writing, made the most of the limited contact Mark’s profession allowed them, had led Mark to think they really might have some kind of future together. It wouldn’t be easy—long-distance relationships never were—but if they were both prepared to work at it, who knew?
“Mark!” the voice called again.
“Yeah, coming!” He slipped the letter back into its envelope to read later and went to find out who needed him.
About the Author
Elizabeth Coldwell is the author of numerous short stories and two full-length novels, ‘Calendar Girl’ and ‘Playing the Field’. Her stories have appeared in the best-selling ‘Best Women’s Erotica’ series and Black Lace’s popular ‘Wicked Words’ collections. Formerly the editor of the UK edition of Forum magazine, she also contributed a spicy monthly column, ‘The Cougar Chronicles’, to its pages. When she is not busy writing, she is an avid supporter of Rotherham United Football Club and can be regularly found on the terraces at weekends, cheering her boys to victory (hopefully!).
Email: elizabeth_coldwell@yahoo.co.uk
Elizabeth loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
Also by Elizabeth Coldwell
Her Dream Lovers
The Feel of Wings
Cougars and Cubs: Something Within Him
Master Me: Neil and Obey
Subspace: Away From It All
Treble: Three Part Harmony
Switch: Wagers of Sin
Sharing the Billionaire: Everything to Him
Whip It Up: More Than Vanilla
Christmas Crackers: The Christmas Box
Feral: Abyssinian Heat
Mi Amore: Missing in Milan
Haunted By You: The Spirit of Stage 13
Paramour: Maestro
TRUSTING THE ARMY CAPTAIN
Noelle Keaton
Dedication
For Marie
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Margaritaville: by Jimmy Buffett
Grey Goose Vodka: Barcardi Limited
Chapter One
It isn’t fair!
The words resounded over and over in Patrick Bosworth’s mind until he grew sick of them, but the irritating chorus wouldn’t stop. It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair!
Signaling a passing waiter for another drink, Patrick slumped farther in his chair and wondered when the relief that a scotch and soda usually provided him would take hold. He’d had two already, but still felt as miserable as when he’d first come into the bar. It might just be that it wouldn’t take the edge off this disappointment—the bitterness of being passed over for promotion to major ran way too deep.
By most measures, Patrick knew he’d had a very successful military career, making it to captain while still in his early thirties. But when measured against the standards of the rest of his family, he felt like a total failure. Every Bosworth male since his great-great grandfather had served in the army with distinction, including an ancestor who had been a member of one of the first graduating classes at West Point. Patrick’s grandfather had held the position of Vice Chief of Staff of the army, and his father had risen to the rank of lieutenant general. And his older brother, Greg, showed every promise of following in their distinguished footsteps with his recent promotion to lieutenant colonel.
Patrick had tried his best to live up to the legacy. Although he hadn’t elected to go to West Point like his brother, he’d graduated summa cum laude from Yale University, and immediately enlisted in the army. After serving two tours in Afghanistan, he’d returned to America to work in military intelligence, and had seen his career plateau ever since.
A waiter placed a fresh drink in front of him, and Patrick gulped it, still wondering what, if anything, he could do to get his career back on track. He wished he could turn to his family, but he knew they would most likely counsel patience. But the only thing he could see patience getting him was a permanent place as captain in career purgatory.
“Now, how did I know I’d find you here?”
Patrick looked up to find his superior officer, Jake Moretti, standing over him with a sympathetic expression on his face. “Mind if I sit down?”
Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, Patrick wanted to say, preferring to be alone right now. But he gestured for Jake to take a seat, which he did in an opposite facing chair. “How many of those have you had?”
“I don’t have to report in until oh-eight hundred Monday. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Touchy, touchy. Obviously, you haven’t had enough of them. Give me a sec.” Jake got up and came back a few minutes later with a tray that had four shots lined up on it. “If this doesn’t loosen you up, nothing will.”
Patrick looked with distaste at the small glasses filled with amber liquid in front of him. “No, thanks.”
“Come on, drink up, it’s on me. It’s the least I can do after getting your hopes up. I really believed you were going to get the call this time. Your scores are perfect, your recs are perfect―”
“But my timing isn’t. With budget cutbacks and downsizing occurring, I know it’s not the right time to seek a promotion. I don’t have a Bronze Star or some other award for combat, and those are the guys getting first consideration for promotions. Not military intelligence geeks like me.”
Jake picked up one of the shot glasses and downed the drink in one gulp. “Okay, maybe you have a point on the timing, but the rest of it is bullshit. I’m a military intelligence geek, too, and nothing has stopped me from climbing up the ranks.”
Except I’m not a world class ass-kisser like you. Patrick felt bad for being so cynical when Jake was obviously trying to cheer him up. However, it was no secret that Jake networked and used every connection he had to propel his military career. Sometimes, Patrick envied Jake his charisma, because while it might not have been the noble Bosworth route to advancement, at least he’d advanced, which was more than Patrick could claim.
Feeling more depressed than ever, Patrick pick up one of the shots and swallowed, trying not to wince while the fiery liquid made its way down his throat.
“There you go!” Jake cheered. “Watch if you’re not seeing the brighter side of things in five minutes.”
“There is no bright side. There’s just me being passed over for major. I don’t care how many shots you bring over here, nothing’s going to change that.”
“What if I told you there might be a way for you to get your promotion?”
Patrick looked up, expecting to find a teasing glint in Jake’s eye. Instead, he only saw a solemn expression. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. What if there’s something you can do that would attract the attention of the upper brass and put you in a better position to get that promotion, if not all but guarantee it?”
“Yeah, and what’s that? Osama’s already dead—the SEALs took care of him. What do you want me to do? Go out in the sea, find him and kill him all over again?”
“Good to see the shot’s taking hold.” Jake’s mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. “No, nothing like that. This is much closer to home, but still something that needs to be dealt with.”
The edge in Jake’s voice made Patrick take him seriously for the first time. “Something like what?”
“Do you know Craig Harwood, a captain in the Medical Corps?” Patrick shook his head and Jake continued. “Well, he’s been working at the Andrew Packard Army Hospital for the last couple of years, and is making waves about the lack of support and supplies, and so forth.”
“So? It’s hard times all around. What does he expect, and why are you so worried about it?”
“Because he’s talking to the press and attracting too much attention.”
Patrick straightened up in his seat. “Talking to the press? Without clearing it first? Why hasn’t he been disciplined?”
“Because Craig’s very careful to remain neutral in his on-the-record comments, referring most media queries to the army press office. However, we have it on good authority that he’s the source behind several leaks that have made it to the general media. Remember that story in the Philadelphia Chronicle last week about the hospital’s delay in getting prosthetics to the wounded soldiers?”
