Hunting Jarheads: Chapter 17 – Rob Assumes the Position

After some forced labor, Ric gets his jarhead in an even more vulnerable position...

Hunting Jarheads: Chapter 17 - Rob Assumes the Position
by Amalaric
Series: Hunting Jarheads
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Three hours later Corporal Rob Corlis USMC was grunting his exhaustion, pumped muscles of back, biceps and thighs shrieking agonized protest and as predictably slick from sweaty exertion as anyone (with the possible exception of himself) could desire. I’d set him to work stacking bales of hay followed by demolition with pick and sledge and subsequent removal of an old cinder block wall. Good, clean forced labor to exercise a young male’s muscles and prove the axiom; no pain, no gain. Every now and then, if his pace seemed to slacken for one reason or another, I’d lay a few strokes on his back or chest with an old riding crop, wondering which hurt most- the physical sting or raw humiliation? All in all, I reasoned, it came down to the same thing and, besides, my strapping jarhead was merely sampling the first course of what I planned to be a veritable feast. ‘Break time, boy- let’s not over do it!!’ I tried to look fresh and cheerful as he sighed and, hefting one last five-pound cinder block into a wheel barrow, sat with his legs spread wide and head bowed on the nearest bale of hay. The buck was clearly exhausted and I reckoned the day’s work detail might be finished, which left time for the next phase of the festivities.

‘Can I put my clothes back on now?’ Rob obviously considered the question rhetorical since he had his dusty pair of levis in hand. ‘No, not yet,’ I answered, calmly…almost distracted, ‘we got a couple more things that need taking care of first.’ Well, the good news, I suppose, was the implication that at some point, at least, he would be allowed to ‘cover up’ but Rob seemed oblivious to that bonus, cursing under his breath instead and tossing the jeans in a corner. ‘What you want me to do now?’ The question was almost peremptory, clearly impatient and I glanced up to confront the sight of a spirited, probably thoroughly pissed off young buck disgusted with all of this steamy nonsense. Well, you can’t deny someone their fantasies…even the likes of Rob Corlis USMC, but the hard facts were very different; I was only just getting to the good stuff and, where that was concerned, well any kind of measurement- time, quality, quantity- was just about meaningless, but Rob couldn’t be expected to realize that and, at this point, I didn’t want him to. ‘Well, it’s like I said, there’s still one important thing to accomplish but I wanted you thoroughly rested before that…’ Good, I can tell by the look in your eye that you think I have some more chores for you to do. He sighed and stared dumbly at the pile of cinder blocks still waiting to be hauled away. I took a deep breath and mentally prepared myself for an extremely difficult, even delicate and dangerous task- not dissimilar to bridling a high-spirited stallion for the first time- the muscular young jarhead needed to be gotten used to shackles, and that might not be an easy job.

I led him over to one of the odd standing posts that littered the barn at strategic locations and, hand pressed against one warm shoulder, backed him against it. I could have tricked him into submission at that point, Rob clearly wasn’t all that bright, but for reasons I will eventually explain, decided not to. ‘Put your hands behind your head.’ I modulated my voice to a measure of firmness almost hypnotic in its assumption of authority. Even so he hesitated. ‘Why? What you want to do to me now, Ric?’ Ah! The second time that very pregnant question was asked in a single afternoon. I decided to give an (almost) honest answer. ‘Look at it as a sort of mental exercise (Oh yes, indeed!!). Let me put it this way and I know you won’t be offended if I speak bluntly (Really? Who gives a shit if the buck is offended??); I’m going to tether you to this post like a dog, that’s right- point of rest and unsupervised and all of that. You start acting responsibly and maybe (I lied) things will slowly begin to change. Or, to put it another way- you act like a dumb animal- rutting with the fucking Colonel’s wife, man!!!- well, then you get treated like one.’ ‘Fucking hell…’ muttered in a basso whisper, but he did as he was told, clasping long fingers behind his head and affording me yet another view of masculine splendor- arms now raised, deep pits lined with damp silky hair, all of his muscles flexed with subtle isometric tension. I bound his wrists to the posts, each clad in cold steel, and left him helpless and at my mercy to think about things for an hour or so while I prepared an early dinner. Working over a captive jarhead always gives me a ravenous appetite.

The climax of the first evening came soon after dinner. It was time to acquaint Rob Corlis with some serious pain. The barn by this time had cooled off a little as the sun hovered just over the horizon; an angry red ball of fire in a darkening desert sky. Lengthening shadows obscured the dejected young buck tethered to the post in his jockey shorts, waiting for the last anticipated ‘chores’ of the day. I flicked a switch bathing the tall form of grade-A male flesh in soft light. He blinked with irritation, refusing to look at me, fully aware that nearly every inch of his body was helplessly on display as he stood with his arms raised, flexed muscles cramping against the iron post. After a moment spent drinking in the sight, I crossed the room in silence and, producing a set of keys, wordlessly released Rob’s arms from their servitude to cold iron. He dropped them with an audible sigh, rubbing sore wrists that were, nevertheless, still encased in steel shackles. Without giving him any time to think about things, I guided his shambling steps- clearly the day’s hard labor and enforced time at the post had taken a toll- around the corner to another section of the barn that I had long ago dubbed my ‘work shop’. Releasing a coil of chain from its hook on a wall, I lowered a sturdy branch of scrub oak suspended by the chain from the rafters to the level of Rob’s chest and attached the shackles that still decorated my victim’s wrists- wide, in the spread eagle posture- to the ends of the branch before giving another hoist to the chain, this time upward, raising his arms once again spread wide, like an ecstatic supplicant reaching for the sky. Well, well stud- you’ve crossed the Rubicon, no going back now… He sensed, through his dumb weary daze, that some really bad shit was coming his way; that the dreaded ‘chores’ that obviously weren’t about to materialize might not have been such a terrible thing after all. The fire, if not the resolve to endure in true jarhead fashion, had gone from his eyes as Rob finally raised them to mine. ‘Fuck, Ric…why can’t you just let me go? Tell the CO I paid my dues…I swear, Ric, I’ll never…’ Cutting him short, I ripped off his briefs, finally achieving the longed-for total display of my captive marine, buck naked and ready for action. The all-American stud was definitely not a disappointment. My action also had another, highly desirable, side-effect; having another man rip his shorts off seemed to galvanize the young marine- fire fully restored he twisted angrily in his bonds, but it was too late…much too late for any meaningful resistance. ‘Goddam sick pervert…what the hell! LET ME THE FUCK GO!!’ He brought the full force of his arms, biceps engorged with blood and bulging, down on the sturdy oak branch that held him half-spread eagled, to no avail. Time to complete the picture and get down to business.

‘Spread your legs.’ His wordless answer was a wet gob of spit that landed on my boot. I liked that sort of thing and favored him with a well-deserved smile before turning and extracting a wide paddle from a nearby cupboard. Not in the mood for negotiation, I aimed and landed a single, full-forced hit across the rubbery expanse of his clenched ass. The smack of polished wood against skin sounded like a bullet and, sure enough, the shocked marine acted like he’d been shot. A look of serious pain registered on the buck’s chiseled face even as a grunt of surprised agony tore like a barking dog from his gulping throat. Beginning to enjoy myself, I handed him three more before repeating the command, ‘Spread your legs, stud. Yeah- wide as they will go. That’s right, let me see that big cock of yours and ripe set of nuts swing in the evening breeze.’ Staring with hurt amazement at the paddle still clutched in my hand, the suddenly cocky marine swallowed hard and did as he was told; spreading his legs as far as he was able without any more prodding. The naked form of Rob Corlis USMC made a perfect ‘X’ of masculine perfection, the taut muscles of his widely spread, over-developed thighs already quivering with tension, fat cock and low hanging balls indeed swinging freely in the breeze. I quickly tethered his hairy ankles to a second oak branch and stood back to survey my work. What I saw was a heartwarming mix of terror, humiliation, revulsion and anger- all shaken not stirred, so to speak, in the captive form of a twenty-six-year-old jarhead at the pinnacle of his physical prowess. And, speaking of prowess; the stud’s well-endowed cock and balls were magnificently framed by a dark bush of short, wiry pubes, which I lightly brushed with the palm of my hand before grasping his pendulous balls. ‘Get your fucking hands off of me!!!’ Ignoring the protest, I marveled at the fact that every inch of Corlis’ strong body was on display- from the prosaic to his most secret and private places- all strung up like a fine musical instrument waiting for the touch of the maestro. I examined each of his testicles in turn, taking my time, separating first one and then the other in Rob’s sweaty sack and then, with a firm flick of my forefinger, giving him another taste of a very different kind of pain. He gagged, trying again to twist away, to free his most prized possessions from my grasp. I finally let him go only to turn my attention to the proud contours of his arcing penis, stroking the thick warm shaft before circling the flaring perfection of the large, perfectly formed head. ‘You’ve got a fine set of equipment, boy,’ the compliment was unfeigned, ‘and I will freely admit that working them over- hard- in the next few hours is going to give me a lot of pleasure; want to thank you for that.’ The expected reaction was immediate. ‘Wha…?!!’ he stammered, stark fear raising his deep voice an octave. ‘Tell you what,’ I smiled, hefting his balls again, ‘after a few days recovery, you and I will drain these together. I think you might enjoy that.’ He turned his head in dejected shame, a hoarse whispered protest dead on his lips. ‘So, shall we proceed to the night’s festivities?’ I said, rummaging in another cabinet, ‘Yeah, time to rock and roll.’

CONTINUE THE STORY:
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1 Comment

  1. 31118azti - September 12, 2020, 9:57 am

    Good story and great pics…too have a body like that!

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