Chapter 1

The seeds of this story were planted in Germany nearly twelve years ago. At the time I was a junior NCO stationed at a small Kasserne located just outside of Stuttgart. I wasn’t where I planned to be when I was planning my future. From the time I was thirteen or fourteen years old my dream had always been to become a proud member of the 82nd Airborne and make that my career. Before I joined the Army I beefed up and worked hard at an exercise regimen of pushups, sit-ups, pull-ups and running that had me well ahead of my peers when I arrived to start my military career. I even obtained and began reading Army manuals and just about anything else I could find on the subject of airborne infantry.

Basic training had been a breeze and Airborne training nearly as easy. I was slated to graduate at the top of my class by a wide margin when, on my last qualifying parachute jump, I shattered my ankle. Some fool who jumped after me experienced a partially malfunctioning chute and panicked. Instead of cutting away his main and deploying his backup he froze. He came down too fast and, whether it was his intention or not, he used my chute to break his fall. My chute saved his life but he all but collapsed it and I hit the ground much too fast.

It took me nearly a year to recover from the surgeries and complete the arduous course of physical therapy they laid out for me. When it was all over the doctors wouldn’t clear me for airborne duty. I was, however, cleared for other active-duty assignments as the Army saw fit. I could do anything but jump from an airplane, the one thing that had been my dream.

I ended up being retrained and assigned to the Signal Corps. The Signal Corps was nowhere near my first choice of assignments. Of the choices I was offered, however, it was the only assignment that wasn’t a desk job. I much preferred working outdoors to being a clerk in a stuffy office.

I was not a happy soldier but I kept my feelings to myself. Although I wasn’t happy, I still had my self-respect. I was back in peak physical condition. I took as much pride as ever in my appearance and, as always, I completed every assignment I was tasked to perform to the best of my considerable abilities. I was soon being promoted ahead of my peers and because of my appearance, my job performance, and my high scores on the battery of tests all new recruits take upon being inducted into the service, the officers I worked with frequently tried to talk me into requesting assignment to Officer Candidate School.

I was flattered. But my desire for a military career ended when my ankle was shattered. If I could not be in the 82nd I intended to get out at the end of my enlistment. For that reason, I started attending evening college classes at the nearest Army Education Center, getting some of the basic courses out of the way before I got out and became a full time student.

My life wasn’t all about the Army and my studies, though. Unlike many of my friends and co-workers who spent almost all their time hanging around the barracks complaining about how much they missed home, I loved Germany. I loved the people. Of course, I loved the beer for which the Germans are famous. And I loved the food and the sights. I learned enough of the language to get by and I spent many a glorious weekend driving around the German countryside in my MGB.

When I wasn’t roaming the countryside making friends with as many Germans as possible there was a nice, handy little Gasthaus across the street from the front gate of our Kasserne. There were about a dozen of us who were regulars there. We had our own table in the corner, our Stammtisch. That’s German for a large table reserved for a clique of regulars.

The beer was good and cold and the schnitzel was excellent. We would gather there at the end of the day for a few drinks, a game of liar’s dice and the chance to flirt with the pretty German waitress. Towards the beginning of the month, many of us would eat a majority of our evening meals there. Army pay being what it is, many of us were unable to stretch our budgets enough to sustain that lifestyle for the entire month. During the last week of the month many of us were forced to eat our meals in the mess hall. We could usually only afford a few beers in the evening as payday drew near.

One of the guys in our group of regulars, Don, was actually more of a hanger on. We tolerated him more than accepted him as an equal. He worked for me and he seemed to follow me around like a little puppy. He wasn’t a bad kid, really. He was just somewhat challenged when it came to personality. He was quiet. But not quiet enough. He had a strange sense of humor and often made inappropriate comments he seemed to find amusing though no one else seemed to see the humor in them. He made us uncomfortable at first, but eventually we learned to ignore his stupid little quips.

He was a good worker, though. I didn’t mind looking out for him a little. That’s why I find it so hard to explain what happened. I could offer a few lame excuses. But what I did was so far out of the norm for me that I really don’t understand what came over me.

The men’s room at the Gasthaus is in the basement. I went down there one evening, not much before closing time and used the facilities.

I was pretty drunk. I seldom drank to excess but that evening I’d gotten a pretty good buzz on. I normally had two or three beers and went back to the room I recently began reoccupying in the barracks.

Until a few weeks earlier I’d been living with a German girl in an apartment in the small town that surrounds our Kasserne. All was fine until she began pressuring me about marriage. She was very pretty. I liked her, a lot. We had a lot in common and we had a lot of fun together. But I made it clear from the beginning of our relationship that I was not interested in getting married. I was too young and my life was too unsettled. After several emotional arguments we ended it. I moved back into the barracks. Not the ideal place to live, but very affordable.

My friends and I were having a good time that night. I probably drank twice my normal limit. Don’t forget, we’re talking about German beer here. Not watered down, pasteurized American beer.

When I was leaving the men’s room I had to wait at the foot of the narrow stairs for Don to come down. He smiled drunkenly and stopped to engage me in inane conversation.

He’s a skinny guy without any more muscle on him than he needs to propel his body from point A to point B. He was twenty-two years old at the time. He was blonde and just effeminate enough that if he hadn’t shown me pictures of his fiancée I would have guessed he was gay. I wouldn’t have cared. He wouldn’t have been the first homosexual I had working for me in the Army. I don’t have a problem with them. I don’t give a shit about “Don’t ask don’t tell.” I don’t get rid of a good worker for something that isn’t any of my business. This all took place before the Government came to it’s senses and stopped kicking people out of the service because they were homosexuals.

What happened next is all pretty hazy. We’d been standing outside of an unlocked storeroom while I pretended I was listening to him talk. I didn’t plan to do what I did next. I don’t even remember making a conscious decision to do what I did. I don’t know; maybe I just decided to do what I did in order to shut him up. I remember pushing Don into the storeroom, forcing him to his knees, pulling out my cock and forcing him to suck me off. I guess he resisted but I don’t recall him putting up much of a struggle.

I don’t know why I would have done such a thing. I’m not gay. I’m not even bi! It had only been a few weeks since I broke up with my girlfriend. I wasn’t all that horny and, despite what happened that night, and the subsequent events I’m going to relate here, I’m actually a pretty nice guy if I do say so myself.

Like I said, the events of that evening are a bit hazy. I remembered that he didn’t fight very hard. I don’t remember either of us saying a word during the entire assault. He cried quietly when it was over. But he did it.

When it was over I felt like a real shit, which was totally appropriate. Instead of going back upstairs to rejoin our friends I went out through a backdoor and went to my room.

When I woke up the next morning I felt a gut-wrenching sense of remorse for what I did to Don last night. Until I actually did it, I wouldn’t have believed myself capable of ... well, of raping anyone, much less a man who works for me. I went out to the morning formation on the company street in front of the barracks fully expecting the MPs to be there waiting to arrest me.

I tried to act like nothing had happened. When I looked at Don he blushed. But he didn’t say a word about what I made him do last night.

I was uncomfortable around him for a week or so after that. But he never said anything and eventually it was, if not forgotten, at least pushed into the background.

That would have been the end of it, if it had never happened again. But it did.

A month later I was in a barracks room just down the hall from my own. I was playing spades and drinking good, cheap, German wine with some friends. When the game was over I went back to my room at the end of the hall. Because I was an NCO I had a private room. I shut the door and got undressed. I was not as drunk as I had been that night at the Gasthaus. But I wasn’t sober either.

I intended to lie in bed and read for a while and then get some sleep. I had just finished stripping down to my jockey shorts when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Don standing there.

He looked nervous. He said we need to talk and he pushed past me without waiting to be invited in. I thought I smelled beer on his breath when he went past but he wasn’t drunk. I guess he drank just enough to work up some courage. I shut my door and he started talking about that night at the Gasthaus and how upset he was. He had come to demand an apology.

I swear I don’t know what happened. As I said, I wasn’t all that drunk this time. Maybe it was just that he sounded so god damn whiney. All I know is that I pushed him back down on his knees. He hardly struggled at all as I pushed my shorts down and forced him to suck me off again. This time, though, I was at least sober enough to realize that, although he was crying and not doing it willingly, he wasn’t fighting me at all.

When it was over he struggled to his feet and in a quiet, hurt, much too effeminate voice he exclaimed, “God damn you, Sarge!”

As soon as he left I felt like a total shit ... again. I was more sober this time, though. And I couldn’t help but wonder at his reaction, his lack of a struggle. Hell! If someone tried to make me suck their cock they’d have had to beat me half to death, and I still would have bitten the damned thing off for them!

It happened once more before I was discharged and returned home to start attending college full time. My unit went out on a two-week field problem, something we did frequently. One night Don and I were alone in one of the signal rigs working the night shift. I pulled out a bottle of Crown Royal I had hidden in the rig. We both had a few shots. This time, though, I was sober.

After a long silence I asked him, “Why don’t you fight?”

He looked at me and just shrugged.

I had to ask. His failure to resist me was totally incomprehensible to me. “Do you want to be made to do that?”

He shook his head violently.

I looked at him in wonder for a minute. Then I stood up and pulled out my cock. I think I did it more to see what he’d do than because I actually planned to make him do it again.

He didn’t move.

I walked over to his chair and grabbed his head. He still didn’t move, not even when I forced my still flaccid cock into his mouth and began to fuck his face. I didn’t even have a hard on for Christ’s sake! He only had to keep his lips pressed together or turn his head! He did neither and my soft cock slid into his warm, wet mouth effortlessly. It only took a few minutes. When it was over he just sat there for a few minutes. He didn’t cry this time. He didn’t swear.

He looked over at me after a minute or two and asked in a hurt voice like a petulant little girl, “Are you done?”

I seemed to be more embarrassed than he was!

He didn’t even get up and storm out of the rig! I gave him another shot of Crown Royal and then we sat around in silence just waiting for something to do.

The funny thing was, I had another month after that before I was sent back to the States to be discharged and he didn’t avoid me or mention what I did to him that night. I even began to wonder if he wanted me to do it again!

That wasn’t the only thing I wondered about, though. I wondered at my own reaction. I was not the kind of person who did things like that. I was just as put off by the idea of sex with another male as any other heterosexual male would be. I guess there was just something about Don. Not that he turned me on. He didn’t. But that he let me dominate him.

I thought about it from time to time. I wondered why I had done it, and why I continued doing it. I never did it to anyone else. I was never tempted to assault anyone else of either sex.

I went back to real life after that. After my discharge from the Army I returned home and with the little bit of money I managed to save up during my enlistment, the help I was given by Uncle Sam, and the tuition assistance I received from the school to which I applied I was able to attend a good college and I had a great time.

I learned a lot in college; probably more than most of the kids with whom I was attending classes. I was three or four years older than those kids and that much more mature. I wasn’t a recluse. I partied now and then. But not like the rest of the kids. I managed to get my heavy duty partying out of my system while I was in the Army. I applied myself and got a good education. Thanks to my quick mind, my excellent memory and a lot of hard work I graduated Summa Cum Laude.

I considered hanging around long enough to get a graduate degree. I enjoyed school. I was anxious to stop being poor, though, and I received some very good job offers as graduation approached. I took the job which offered the highest potential for rapid advancement combined with the best salary and benefits package. I was off to climb the ladder to success.

I did well, too. A lot of my success in college and in business can be directly attributed to my airborne training. They taught me a lot about perseverance during my brief stint in the airborne. I don’t give up easily and I believe I’m more apt than a lot of my peers to think outside of the box.

I think I also have a firmer grip on my ethics than a lot of the people around me. I’ve always had a pretty well-developed sense of right and wrong, despite what you might think of me after the way I treated poor Don in Germany.

In a very short time, my business life and my social life were both doing fine. I have no love life to speak of, nothing serious anyway. I date from time to time. But I almost never date the same girl twice. They all seem so vacuous. In one way they all reminded me of my German girlfriend. Far too many of the women I’ve dated gave me the impression they were looking for a ring on the second or third date. I’m getting to be of an age that I can imagine myself falling in love and getting married in the not-too-distant future. I’m about to turn thirty-one. It’s time to settle down. I’m already past the age when most people marry and start a family. It just seems like every time I meet a woman who really appeals to me and really seems to have it all together, she’s already married.

I didn’t spend too much time worrying about it, though. If I meet someone, that’ll be great. If not, well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I’d been working for Miles, Gunn and Lewis for only five years when I was selected over a room full of men and women who had more seniority than me to take over a major branch office in another state.

There were some mixed feelings about that from the people I work with. Most people realized I was more than qualified and that I really earned the promotion. I suppose they couldn’t help being jealous, though. Luckily I’m a fairly personable guy and I’m popular enough that there weren’t a lot of hard feelings. I’ve been a stand-out since I came to work thanks in large part to my military training and my natural tendency to go above and beyond. Good enough has never been good enough for me.

I couldn’t help getting pretty excited when informed of my promotion. The president of the company called me into his office and even told me he likes the sometimes-unorthodox manner in which I approach problems. He’s giving me free rein when it comes to how I run my office. I can’t wait to get started. I have some ideas I’m anxious to try out. I’m also excited about the huge pay raise, of course.

I packed my clothes and headed for my new hometown. The company is paying to move the rest of my belongings once I find a place to live.

I found a suite in a medium-priced extended stay inn and after unloading the car I drove out to my new office. I went in and walked around without letting anyone know I was there just to get an idea of what it was like. I saw a few problems, like the lack of security, but I was impressed by how hard everyone seemed to be working. It was too soon to judge but my initial impression was that it doesn’t look like there will be any need for a bloodbath when I start work.

I left the office and drove around town aimlessly for a while, just trying to get a feel for the place with an eye toward looking for a nice area in which to buy a house. It’s not a big city. It’s a medium-sized town that’s a distant suburb of a nearby city and it seems like a nice place to live.

I saw a few areas that look promising: quiet, tree-lined streets and well maintained homes. I contacted a realtor the next morning and started looking around for a nice house in a good area. There was no need to hurry. I have two weeks before I’m supposed to officially check in. I’m anxious to get to work, though, and serendipity being what it is I found the house I want on the second day of my search.

Since I started work five years ago I’ve lived frugally. I’ve managed to put aside enough money that I’m able to write a check for half the asking price of the home I selected and still have some savings left. I financed the remainder for five years. My new salary is so generous it will allow me to make those payments and even toss in a little extra and still have an amount left over that’s equal to my previous salary. Life is good.

After spending half a day doing paperwork, and after getting permission to move in right away, I arranged for utilities in my new home and the movement of my property from my old home.

Four days after driving into town I’ve put my affairs in order and I’m ready to go to work. I went in to my new office the next morning and this time I let it be known that I’m here. My predecessor is still there, waiting to help me settle in. He was very gracious. We talked about the operation for a while and a few problems he’s had before he showed me around. I was introduced to the key people and he helped me settle in. He had already removed just about all of his personal belongings from the office. About the only thing left was his coffee cup.

We spent the next couple of weekdays together. He was very accommodating. He really helped me to hit the ground running. On the third day he started his retirement and the place was all mine. I spent the next couple of days going around and meeting the people, all of the people, all the way down to the cleaning crew. That’s another thing the Army taught me. Know your people and take care of them. If you do that they’ll take care of you.

Going from office to office, talking to people, finding out about them and their concerns was when I received my big surprise. I was shocked to discover that one of my lower-level executives is Don! The surprise was all mine, though. He knew I was coming and much to my surprise he greeted me warmly. He even invited me to his home to meet his wife and have dinner. I accepted easily, having nearly forgotten about our previous relationship, if it can be called that.

I agreed to follow him home the following day, Friday. It wasn’t until after I left him in his office that I felt strange about it. I shrugged it off. I’ve put that all behind me now. It seems he has, too.

I followed Don to his nice, middle-class home in a pleasant little subdivision after work on Friday and met his wife, Kylie, for the first time. She’s still every bit the cute, wholesome looking young woman I saw in the pictures Don so proudly showed me in Germany half a dozen years ago.

Kylie is about thirty now. She’s still very beautiful and looks very youthful. She seems reasonably intelligent, but not very well informed. She didn’t do much to dispel that opinion of her when she bragged about never reading the newspaper or watching the news on television. That kind of pissed me off. That’s exactly the sort of lazy, ignorant behavior that got Bush and Trump elected, and then re-elected in the case of Bush. You’ve got to have your head pretty far up your ass not to see how that turned out for our country.

But I just bit my tongue, smiled and let it go. It isn’t my job to tell her what a pinhead she is. It’s a shame, though. She’s obviously not stupid. That made the idea of remaining intentionally uninformed that much more difficult to overlook.

She may not be much of a brain but she’s one hell of a cook. The meal she prepared was excellent. We sat out on the patio after we ate and talked. She kept bringing up what close friends Don and I were in Germany so I have to assume that for some reason Don must have talked about me a lot after he got home from the Army.

The more she brought it up the more I was reminded of the way I dominated and abused him. My conscience bothered me but I glanced at Don from time to time and to look at him you’d think we were long lost buddies. He continued to act as though nothing happened between us, though. Even when our eyes met it was as though the memory of what I did to him had been wiped from his mind. Maybe it had.

They have a small pool in the backyard. After we ate they invited me to go for a swim to cool off and relax. They offered me a choice from a selection of spare suits and it seemed like a good idea. I’ve spent almost every evening since I arrived in town sitting alone in my small suite or swimming laps in the hotel pool. I thought it would be nice to have someone to talk to for a while. Even these two!

We went inside to change. Kylie led me to a spare bedroom and laid out a selection of trunks in various sizes for me. I found a pair in my size, put it on and went outside again.

Kylie was saying something to Don when I opened the patio door. When I stepped out onto the patio she suddenly went silent. She stared at me as if she had never seen a man with his shirt off before.

I’m certainly not a body builder. I’m in very good shape, though. I’ve maintained my exercise regimen since getting out of the Army and I lift a few light weights. Not to bulk up, just to stay toned.

Kylie realized she was staring. She blushed, recovering slowly. She smiled and to cover her embarrassment she said, “It looks like you found some trunks that fit.”

We all headed for the pool. After swimming around a little, Don said, “You two splash around a little. I think I’ll go in and make us a pitcher of Long Island iced tea.”

He got out and left me alone with his pretty wife. Kylie is wearing a conservative two-piece swimsuit, not even a bikini. Even so, she looks very sexy. If I didn’t know better I would never have guessed her age at thirty. She has a tight, hard little body. She may not exercise her mind, but she obviously exercises her body. With the right clothes and hair style she could easily pass for ten years younger than her actual age.

She’s shy and over the last few hours I’ve begun to form the opinion that she’s just as submissive as her wimpy husband was when we served together in Germany. I’m amused at the way she still seems unable to keep her eyes off of my chest and my arms.

I tried to engage her in polite conversation but as I’ve already discovered we don’t have much in common and she doesn’t seem to be able to stop staring at me long enough to form a thought. It was a relief when Don came back out with the drinks and we joined him at the table on the patio.

I let Don and Kylie guide the conversation as we sipped our drinks. I thought it strange that Don kept guiding the conversation back to our time together in Germany. Is he trying to remind me that there was a time when I dominated him and forced him to suck my cock?!

Things soon began to get stranger, though. After we each had a couple of glasses of that potent drink they started telling me far more about themselves than I wanted to know. Their comments weren’t blatantly sexual. But they were often filled with innuendo. I’m not normally a suspicious person but the more we talked the more I began to wonder if they had more than a nice dinner and some pleasant conversation in mind when they invited me.

I don’t know how much Kylie knows about what had happened between her husband and me in Germany. But I’m beginning to get the distinct impression Don invited me here and is plying me with alcohol in the hope that something will happen!

At first I thought I must surely be misinterpreting what’s going on here. But the thinly veiled innuendoes continued and finally I decided there’s one way to find out for sure. Kylie got up and went inside to use the bathroom. When she came back out onto the patio a few minutes later and passed within reach I pulled her into my lap without a word.

She looked alarmed. She even put up a token struggle. But her efforts to escape were mild and short lived and she never said a word! Even more telling, she never once looked to Don for help. I let her struggle briefly and then in my best command voice I snarled, “Sit still, Kylie!”

She did! She stopped moving, stared nervously down at the deck and made no sound at all as I put my hand on her thigh just above her knee and moved it slowly up toward the crotch of the modest suit she’s wearing.

I stopped when my fingers were within two or three inches of her crotch and took a moment to observe her reaction. Her eyes are closed now and she’s breathing rapidly. There’s a deep flush all the way from her chest up to where the light blonde hair on top of her head takes over.

I glanced at Don to see how he’s reacting to seeing his wife being manhandled and groped right before his eyes. He’s flushed, too! But even more telling, I can’t help noticing he has an uncomfortable looking bulge in the front of his trunks. He looks like he’s feeling totally humiliated. And he may be. But he’s also very excited whether he’s willing to admit to it or not.

I turned my attention back to Kylie. In a voice I might have used with him back in our Army days in Germany when I was his NCO, a commanding voice leaving no doubt I expect him to obey, I said, “Don, get up. Come over here and take Kylie’s top off. I want to see her tits.”

Kylie shook her head and groaned. I couldn’t tell if that groan was an indication of arousal or embarrassment ... or both. But she sat still and didn’t say a word as Don got up and came closer.

He fumbled with the catch in the back of her bra and finally freed it. Her bra slid slowly down her arms, drawn down by gravity until her breasts were free. I pulled her bra off of her arms and tossed it to Don.

Kylie has her eyes closed now and the flush covering her face, neck and upper chest seems even deeper, extending now to the tops of her breasts. She has perfect breasts. She’s a very petite woman and her breasts appear to be either an A or just barely a B cup, not that I’m an expert. I have a preference for small breasted women, though. Not that a B cup is small. But if I were to be placed in a position in which I’m forced to choose a woman by breast size alone I’d opt for an A or B cup. I’ve nothing against women with larger breasts. It’s just a personal preference.

Now that I’ve seen Kylie’s I have to say that I think they’re perfect. Except for the tiny brownish pink nipples at the tips they’re pure white. Her areolae are so small I could cover them with a nickel. Her pencil eraser sized nipples stand up firm and proud and her pert breasts don’t sag at all.

Her breathing has become rapid and shallow as I stare at her chest. I lightly touched my fingertips to one of her perfect breasts and she gasped loudly. I traced a path around her sensitive flesh and watched her reaction.

She’s fighting it. She doesn’t want it to be obvious but I can see how much she enjoys my light touch. She’s trying to conceal her reaction. But it’s obvious she’s quickly becoming very aroused by the touch of a man she has just met.

When I finally began teasing her nipples her head fell back against my shoulder and she groaned in pleasure. I can tell, though, that she hasn’t yet surrendered completely. It embarrasses her just that much more to show her feelings so transparently.