Sam's Reluctant Submission

by Brad Vance

  Sam stood up. “Sir. Chapter two, paragraph one, last sentence.”

  “Read it, soldier.”

  Sam didn’t need to pick up the book. His excellent memory was already serving him well in this course. “Sir, ‘Having survival skills is important; having the will to survive is essential. Without a desk to survive, acquired skills serve little purpose and invaluable knowledge goes to waste.’”

  “Bradley, are you suggesting that the United States Army has made an error here?”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “You don’t think you need a desk to survive in the wild?”

  “Sir, no sir,” Sam said with a straight face, ignoring the snickers around him.

  “If the United States Army tells you to strap a desk to your back, what do you do?”

  “I would strap myself to the desk, sir.”

  “That’s not what I asked you, son.”

  “I don’t think I could carry a desk on my back, sir. But I would carry out the order to the best of my ability, sir.”

  The instructor’s face was impassive but Sam, without of course looking directly at him, could detect a faint smile in his eyes.

  “Well then, you’re not fit enough for this program, are you?”

  “No sir, no excuse, sir.” The next day, Sam had loaded his bag up with two pounds of rations, and he’d been the last man standing three days later, long after most of the others had been captured, or given up, faint with hunger.

  U – Use all your senses, Undue haste makes waste. Sam got to the stream and carefully picked his way along its shallow edge, just deep enough that it would erase his tracks. His mind was clear, cleansed of thoughts of money or daily worries, only one thing to occupy it: Where to go next, what do to next, how to do it without Derek detecting his actions.

  R – Remember where you are. He was in enemy territory. This was Derek’s land, and Derek would know it better than Sam ever could from just aerial photos. Derek would know all the best hiding places, and would be systematically checking them over and over the next few days, just to make sure Sam hadn’t stumbled and picked one of them himself.

  As dusk approached, he found a culvert where the stream had been channeled through a hill. Exactly the kind of place an amateur would hide, Sam thought. Exactly the kind of place Derek would know Sam wouldn’t hide. Derek would check it to make sure, then move in another direction. It wouldn’t occur to him that Sam would hide so close to an obvious place. Or so Sam hoped.

  “Keep the following formula in mind when selecting a hide site: BLISS. B - Blends in with the surroundings. L - Low in silhouette. I - Irregular in shape. S - Small in size. S - Secluded.”

  In the trees on the slope above the culvert, Sam made a hiding place for himself where they were thickest. He could look down on the culvert and, if Derek decided to head his way, he would have time to make a break for it up the hill. Then he settled in and waited.

  That was the hardest skill he’d had to learn – doing nothing. Watching and waiting. He was a man of action and he hated, hated, hated, sitting still and staring into space. Guard duty on base was the worst, because there was nothing to see, nothing to do, and reading or listening to the radio was forbidden. You had to balance drawing on your internal resources, thinking about something to keep yourself occupied, while maintaining a sufficient awareness of your unchanging unexciting surroundings that nothing could take you by surprise.

  Dusk came, and Derek with it. Sam watched as Derek crept along the stream just as Sam had. Derek looked around before he crept into the tunnel to check for Sam, and Sam deliberately looked away. He knew that some men had a sixth sense about when someone was watching, the way an animal knows it’s being stalked by a predator, even though it can’t see, smell, or hear it.

  But he had to look again. Derek was a big dude, 200+ pounds of solid muscle like Sam, and the black tights showed every curve of his round calves and oak-like thighs…and his firm bubble butt. He’d have to be big and strong to take down guys Sam’s size, of course, but the surprising thing to Sam was that Derek’s movements were so…catlike. So light and agile. If Derek hadn’t been European, Sam would have marked him as a wide receiver. He reminded Sam of Eric Decker of the Broncos. A lot.

  Sam shook his head. That was a gay fucking thought! Why do I know so well what Eric Decker looks like, anyway?

  Derek was in and out of the culvert in a few minutes, then back the way he came. Sam’s heart rate had risen just slightly, and lowered again. He watched to make sure Derek was long gone back the way he came, before he allowed himself a few minutes’ nap. It would be a long sleepless night, and ten minutes now would carry him through.

  The dream was as surreal as dreams always are, but just real enough to be convincing. Sam was running through the forest in the dark, and Derek was chasing him. Sam could see his feet, because Derek was wearing white sneakers, same as the one he’d tied around his balls the other night, that had pressed into his ass in his sleep. Sam ran fast and Derek ran faster, and then Sam tripped, and Derek was on him, on top of him, the weight of his big solid frame pressing Sam into the dirt.

  Sam struggled but it was no use. Derek had the sneaker in his hand now, and he thrust its toe into Sam’s crack. Sam yelped with shock and terror as Derek rammed it up against Sam’s ass, and Sam’s pants magically split along the seams to let it in.

  “You want it,” Derek whispered in his ear. “You want to be caught. You want it up the ass.”

  “NO!” Sam yelled, waking himself up with a jolt. He rolled over, his ass sore. He looked behind him – a tree root. He’d been enthusiastically rubbing his ass along the root, as big and fat as Derek’s cock…

  “No,” he repeated, careless of his training, careless of being heard. “Fuck no.” He jumped up, grabbed his bag, and started moving.

  It’s hard for a human being to move in truly random directions. Sam had to keep his mental map in focus as he moved, deliberately doubling back some times and not others, making sure no pattern emerged that Derek could zero in on.

  He hit the stream twice to refill his canteen, dosing it with the pills that would kill any giardia or other random bacteria. He ate once, but his body was running now on adrenaline, only needing water to keep going.

  It was Saturday evening now, over 24 hours down and less than 24 to go. It was hard not to start thinking about what he’d do with $10,000, but he had to vanquish the thought. They taught you V – Vanquish Fear and Panic, but they didn’t teach you about how idle dreams of your next hot meal could be just as corrosive to your alertness, your survival, as any fear.

  At dusk he heard it. Or didn’t hear it. His subconscious mind was tuned to the birdsong, its rising and falling patterns through the day, and he could hear the absence as clearly as the presence. Little drop outs as something – someone – passed through their midst, ensuring discreet if brief silences.

  Derek. He was moving now with little care for being heard. Closing in. Sam wondered if he’d been on his tail all this time, just waiting for him to relax, let his guard down. Had he? Or was Derek just that good?

  “We need stress because it has many positive benefits. Stress provides us with challenges; it gives us chances to learn about our values and strengths. Stress can show our ability to handle pressure without breaking; it tests our adaptability and flexibility; it can stimulate us to do our best.”

  Yeah, Sam thought. Well, I’m under stress now. But it was time to slow down, not speed up. To think. Why was Derek letting himself be heard? Or was he underestimating Sam’s ability to hear the drop outs in the bird song? Few people had hearing as acute as Sam’s. But he didn’t peg Derek as someone who’d underestimate him.

  It was time to head for deeper cover. And as much as he hated to do it, Sam took his boots off. It was time for a lighter tread on the ground. He tied them around his neck and moved deeper into the woods.

  He didn’t see the snare. The pressure of the rope agai
nst the top of his foot made him freeze. He looked down – he’d almost triggered it. He would be hanging upside down right now if he hadn’t taken his boots off. Damn, that was close.

  “Movement in enemy-held territory is a very slow and deliberate process. The slower you move and the more careful you are, the better. Your best security will be using your senses. Use your eyes and ears to detect people before they detect you.”

  Eyes and ears, hell. It was his sixth sense he’d need to detect Derek. He walked lightly, his thick socks and hard-soled feet protecting him from the worst the ground could do, until he found a small clearing, with an old sawed-off stump in the middle of it.

  He heard something moving through the air and turned around, but it wasn’t behind him. It had been above him. Derek, landing on him now and his velocity and weight slamming Sam to the forest floor.

  His solar plexus was jammed right into a rock. The impact knocked the breath out of Sam, and as he struggled to get Derek off him, he grew weaker. He couldn’t breathe, he had to breathe…

  “Fear is our emotional response to dangerous circumstances that we believe have the potential to cause death, injury, or illness. This harm is not just limited to physical damage; the threat to one’s emotional and mental well-being can generate fear as well.”

  Derek had a knee in his back, and Sam could only claw at the ground, at Derek behind him, his lack of oxygen sapping his strength as his diaphragm locked, convulsed, at each attempted breath. Derek had his hands zip-tied behind his back before he knew it. How the hell did he do that to me? How could this happen?

  “Relax,” Derek said. “Breathe.” His prisoner restrained, he let up the pressure on his back.

  Sam finally took a long gasping breath.

  “Good, that’s it,” Derek said, calm and professional as a paramedic. “Take it easy.”

  Sam relaxed. Derek wasn’t really going to fuck him in the ass. The hunt was over. Sam had needed more motivation than just the run of the mill…

  That was when he felt Derek run a finger through his rear belt loop. Pull his pants up and away from his ass. And quickly and efficiently slice a hole in them.

  Sam struggled now, but Derek was stronger, so much stronger, and in the better position. He hauled Sam up by his wrists and Sam’s body followed, to keep his shoulders from getting torqued out of joint. Then Derek thrust him down on top of the tree stump so Sam’s face was in the dirt and his ass was pointed at the sky.

  “Nice,” Derek whispered. “The view through a hole’s not enough of you. I want to see all of this ass.” Derek yanked Sam’s pants down, and laughed. “Gray boxers. You are straight.”

  “Be realistic. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” That was all the manual had left to offer Sam.

  “Let’s get it over with,” he said.

  Derek froze. “What?”

  “Just fucking do it,” Sam said defiantly. “Just fuck me in the ass and get it over with.”

  Derek laughed, a huge, disbelieving, happy laugh. “My my. You know, that is the first time anyone I’ve caught has actually asked me to fuck him in the ass.”

  “I’m not asking!” Sam shouted.

  Sinuously, Derek covered Sam’s body with his own, his huge and rock-hard cock pressing against Sam’s bare ass, only the thin fabric of Derek’s tights between them. His weight pressed on Sam, his head next to Sam’s, Derek whispered in his ear.

  “No? You think you’re in control? You think you get to say how this goes?”

  In a flash, Derek was up and off him, in front of him now, a strong hand lifting Sam’s head up off the ground. With his other hand, Derek yanked his tights down and all Sam could absurdly think of was a Jack-in-a-box, as Derek’s massive cock was pulled down by the tights and then released, bouncing wildly around as it came free.

  Derek put his hand around it, his huge hand still barely enough to completely encircle it, and he aimed it at Sam’s mouth.

  Now Sam really struggled, like a wild animal, recklessly, carelessly. It was one thing to be captured and ass fucked…maybe because he’d already seen that on the video in Derek’s car and some part of him had adjusted to that possibility. Some part of him had thought of how to disconnect his head from his body and not…be there when it happened. But to have Derek’s cock in his head, in his mouth….no. No, no no.

  But he was no match in his current position for Derek’s huge strong hands, one of which held the top of his skull like a ball player would hold a ball, as the other one forced Sam’s mouth open. Sam could taste the forest on Derek’s fingers, the pine tar and the old leaves, the salt of the sweat he’d wiped off his brow, the acrid soil. Then Derek’s other hand came off his skull and grabbed his cock, pointing it at the hole he’d opened in Sam’s head.

  Sam closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what was coming. Then as Derek entered his mouth, he opened them in surprise.

  The head of Derek’s cock was huge, but…so soft as Derek pushed it slowly past his lips. Like silk, like a woman’s skin. Sam had no idea cocks were so…it made sense, duh. How else could his own dick be so thrilled by his strokes, if the skin wasn’t so sensitive. His own fingers were so rough and desensitized that they’d never detected the softness of his own dick’s head.

  Derek’s cock kept coming, and Sam flashed back to his first time, losing his virginity, the sensation of...entering a woman, for the first time, after so many fantasies, so much porn, so much jerking off. Now he was losing his virginity again, being entered, being taken. Derek was slow, but insistent. Sam was too stunned by the sensations to resist them, to resist this…invasion.

  Only when Derek’s cock touched the back of his throat did he react, choking, coughing, his head coming off it. He wanted to vomit.

  “Easy,” Derek said. “Slow down. Take a deep breath.”

  “This is crazy,” Sam said. “Let me go. I don’t want any money.”

  “Okay,” Derek said, putting his cock away, startling Sam. “You lose. Loser. Quitter. Cheater.”

  Sam saw red. “No. I’m not.”

  “You are. A deal’s a deal. But if you want to renege on it, break your promise…”

  “No!” Sam shouted. There was something at stake here, something more important than losing his “gayginity” to Derek. “No…”

  “You sure?”

  Sam nodded.

  “I need to hear it. I need to hear yes.”

  “Yes. I’m sure. Go on, then.”

  Derek stood in front of him now. “Open wide. Open up for me.”

  So this was how it was gonna be, Sam thought. Fine. V – Value Living. “All of us were born kicking and fighting to live, but we have become used to the soft life. We have become creatures of comfort. We dislike inconveniences and discomforts. What happens when we are faced with a survival situation with its stresses, inconveniences, and discomforts? This is when the will to live – placing a high value on living – is vital. The experience and knowledge you have gained through life and your Army training will have a bearing on your will to live. Stubbornness, a refusal to give in to problems and obstacles that face you, will give you the mental and physical strength to endure.”

  Sam would submit, but he wouldn’t surrender. By accepting Derek’s cock everywhere it was going to go, he would win, not by refusing to take it, but by refusing to quit.

  Sam opened his mouth wide, as wide as it would go, and yet still it seemed it was hardly wide enough for Derek’s huge tool. When it met the back of his throat, he suppressed his gag reflex with all his might. Just as he thought it would smother him, Derek’s cock moved backwards.

  “Watch your teeth,” Derek said. “Keep your lips over your teeth.” Sam obeyed. “Not that far, now I can feel your stubble on it. No wait…that’s fine. Feels pretty good.” Derek’s hand caressed Sam’s face. “Couple days stubble, it gets a little soft. Nice.”

  You are gay, Derek, Sam thought. You don’t admit it, but you are. I’m not
. I’m not.

  Derek moved slowly, methodically, in and out, and his dick began to leak in Sam’s mouth, a slippery salty precum. So that’s why girls hate to swallow, Sam thought. It’s like…caviar. You have a taste for it or you don’t.

  “That’s it,” Derek sighed. “So good. Get it ready for your ass.”

  When’s the last time you were with a woman, Derek, Sam thought defiantly. Then Derek was out of his mouth and behind him. Sam braced himself for the worst. It would happen and it would be over and he would be free and he would be gone and he would never see Derek again or think about this ever again.

  He heard a pop, familiar enough to any single man, the sound of the flip top on a bottle of lube. So it wouldn’t be the Albolene for him, then. Then Derek’s fingers were on his asshole and he jumped.

  “Whoa, easy now,” Derek said as if calming a horse about to be broken. “Steady, fella.”

  Sam gritted his teeth. Derek’s slick fingers touched his asshole. “Relax. Take a deep breath.” Sam did. “Let it out.” Sam did. And as he did, his asshole relaxed automatically and Derek’s finger slid in.

  Sam’s asshole had been penetrated twice now, once by a doctor in the service and once by the girl who’d tried…this. He remembered the doctor’s words, cool and distant, right out of the script: “The more you clench, the more this will hurt.” Words he said to every man every day who came in and bent over for his fingers.

  Sam started breathing, steady, regular, calming exercises he’d learned long after SERE training. Maybe they taught those now, meditation techniques and all that, he thought – they sure as shit should. He’d seen the Marine Corps survival manual; they told you to pray – dumbasses, he smirked. In, out, in, out, one two, one two…

  Derek had two fingers inside him now, generously lubed. Sam had no idea how sensitive the flesh inside him was, how…well it responded to being touched. Derek was massaging his asshole, giving him time, giving him space, in a way he hadn’t given the man in the video, who’d been quickly and ruthlessly ass-rammed. Sam relaxed. That was the reason for the greasy Albolene. This wouldn’t be so bad. He wasn’t going to just slam it in there and…