Sergeant's Submissive Dreams

My introduction to BDSM began on a weekend trip to Munich. I mean, I'd read and fantasized about D/s and BDSM, but this was my first real experience. Little did I know that a long weekend would change my life.

At the time, I was a 28 year old Platoon Sergeant in a Military Police unit assigned to a nuclear weapons storage facility. I was one of few females in the company, and the senior female noncommissioned officer. I'd been in the Army 10 years, and had only recently been promoted to my current rank. So far, my record was exemplary. Soon, I wasn't going to care about it at all.

For the uninitiated, assignment to any physical security unit was considered, at best, something to be avoided. During the cold war, however, roughly 70% of the MPs in Europe were assigned such duty. Generally, it involved working 24 hour shifts, one day on and one day off for a week, followed by four days of training and three days off. During the duty days, most soldiers worked two hours in a tower, and four hours on standby in a guard shack, repeating the two on, four off schedule until the end of the shift. Training days were usually at least 12 hours long, and often involved everything but training: covering the other platoons during staff shortages, vehicle maintenance, mowing grass, even painting rocks white (yes, we really did do that). Of the three scheduled days off, you'd get two if you were lucky...and if you were real lucky, they'd be in conjunction with each other. In short, the job sucked, and given that this particular unit was considered the armpit of the Army...well, let's just say it really sucked, okay?

Now that I was a Platoon Sergeant, though, I didn't have to work the same shifts as my soldiers. I usually did anyway, but it wasn't required. My job now wasn't to supervise a shift on the site, but to do everything else...scheduling, counseling, performance evaluations, training, etc. The other Platoon Sergeants usually worked 8-to-5, Monday to Friday, but that wasn't me. I didn't always work the 24 hour shifts, but if my guys were on the site on a weekend or holiday, you can bet your ass I'd be there. We were a platoon - a team - and by God I was going to show them that I was their leader, that I gave a shit about them. They knew I fought for them with the idiots at the Head Shed...the Company Commander and First Sergeant, mostly. They were so damned worked up about "political considerations" and sucking up to their superiors that I often felt like puking at staff meetings. The other platoon sergeants and lieutenants were ass kissers, too, and since they were all men, I was doubly outcast. And, so typically of hard-working, assertive, physically strong women, I was labeled a dyke.

This might be an opportune time to tell you something about myself. Five feet, six inches tall, a muscular 140 lbs at the time. 34C, with a 26 inch waist. Blue eyes and brunette hair cut straight just above my collar line. Sort of a lean, muscular look. I ran marathons for fun, at ten minute per mile pace. I wasn't a world-class athlete by any standard, but could still run two miles in under fourteen minutes and do sixty pushups - real pushups, not those pussy kneeling girl ones - without stopping. I hadn't maxed my physical training test in several years, but I always came close. When I played sports, I played to win. Combat basketball. Tackle football. Same thing with military training. I took my profession seriously. If I was going to lead troops, I was going to be at least as good at everything they did. Expert marksman. Technically proficient. Had my "ticket punched" at all the appropriate schools...advanced NCO course, jump school...would have done Ranger school, but that was open to neither MPs nor women at the time. Never backed down from a fight.

I played hard, worked hard, and partied hard. Of course, now I couldn't party with the troops - senior NCO's couldn't do that - so I usually wound down in my room with a few beers - Parkbrau was a nice local brew - or sitting at the corner of the bar in the NCO club, downing a few and listening to music whenever they had a decent band. There weren't many people I could (or wanted to) socialize with; .the other senior NCOs were either married, drunks, assholes, or most often, all of the above. Officers, of course, were out, as were my troops. Sure, it was okay to be seen with them at official functions, or at work, but to go out on a date? Never, no matter how much I liked the guy. Looking back on it, I thought the assignment sucked, but in reality it was me. I was unhappy. I was lonely. I was getting burned out.

Anyway, the shit was getting to me when I finally decided I needed to take a few days off. My request for a four-day pass was approved, and after a quick trip to American Express to change some dollars into D-Marks, I headed to the train station. No idea where I was going to go...just catch the first train to wherever, find a Gasthaus, have a few drinks and relax. The first train was to Munich. Great...I'd never been there, and it was one of those places I'd wanted to visit. Maybe visit the Olympic Village, where the 1972 games had been held. Mark Spitz, and all that.

I had the cash, so splurged on a seat in an upgraded compartment. Rather than sitting on wooden benches, I'd have a seat that padding, at least. Since there was nobody else in the compartment, I was able to stretch out across three seats and nap for the first hour.

So...there I am dozing on the train, when we come to our first stop and a couple walks into the cabin. If I had to guess, I'd say he was in his mid-20's, stereotypical blond haired, blue eyed German. About six feet tall, wearing black leather. Boots, trousers, jacket over a once-white, now dingy, tee shirt. Piercing blue eyes, and kind of a strange smirk on his face, a haughty look, like he owned the world.

She was younger, maybe late teens. About my height, but much skinnier, maybe 90 pounds at most, maybe a 22 inch waist. Skinny, waif-looking, with her ribs showing. Long black satin hair, down to the middle of her back. Mascara and eyeliner like Elvira from television. She also wore black leather; a mini-skirt that almost covered the bottom portion of the globes of her ass (which was very obviously bare), a halter top that barely covered her rather minuscule breasts (probably A or maybe B cup, at most, I figured), and spiked heel boots that had to be at least six inches high. But what caught my eye immediately was the collar. Black leather with diamond-shaped silvery metal pieces imbedded in it. A leash led from the collar to the man's hand. He sat down across from me, smiling. She knelt on the floor between his feet, facing him. The train started to move. He murmured something in German, and her hands disappeared under her skirt. The smell of her need soon permeated the compartment. He just sat there, staring at me while his slut continued to finger herself. I fidgeted, trying to avert my eyes, but I couldn't.

"Does my slave disturb you, Miss?" the man asked in a quiet, deep and soothing voice. "I make her stop if you wish."

"Uh, no, that's okay," I replied. "But maybe I better move to another compartment."

He jerked slightly on the girl's leash, and she immediately responded, clasping her hands behind her back.

"I see this makes you...what is word...uncomfortable?" he said, pronouncing it in five syllables, un-com-fort-a-ble, with the emphasis on "fort."

"Uncomfortable," I corrected, "But, no, it's not really that. I don't know how to explain it. I feel embarrassed for her...hell, just the way she's dressed would embarrass any woman." I felt strangely at ease with this stranger and his slave. Perhaps it was his voice.

"I do not allow women to curse in my presence," he said sharply. "Please do not use those words again." I lowered my eyes and mumbled an apology. "Please look at me. You are not my slave, you may look at me, but a beautiful woman to use harsh words...it is unbecoming."

"Yes, I know, but it is how I speak," I explained.

"United States Army, yes?" he asked. I nodded. "It is difficult for a woman to make good in Army. You must be like man. I am sorry for you, but I can tell, you are leader, yes?" Again, I nodded.

"I, too, am leader. I lead women, and they obey me. I train women to obey, like you train soldiers, only for different purpose. You train soldiers to make war, I train women to make sex," he looked at me with a toothy grin. "You wish slave to continue? She is punished for bad sex, but today she pleases me so I allow her one orgasm, but only in presence of other woman."

"Bad sex?" I asked.

"She is still new...not good slave yet. Not obey good. I take her to party, she makes many mistake. So I not feed her, not let her cum for three days."

"Oh, my," I replied, staring down at the girl. I couldn't decide whether she understood English or not, but she obviously knew we were discussing her, as she blushed beautifully. "What has she done to get back in your good graces?"

"I give her to old girlfriend. She make happy," he shrugged nonchalantly, as though there was nothing unusual in his comment."

"Ewww...you made her have sex with another girl?" I sputtered, disgusted.

"No, not sex. Only free woman and man have sex. Slave is used. Girlfriend make her give bath with tongue, clean house, cook. Then she makes slave go find people who wish fuck for money. She bring friend home DM 500. She is slut, slave and whore now."

Now I could tell the girl understood English, probably better than her Master spoke it. Her entire body turned a deep, bright red. I was undoubtedly blushing, too, but I was too absorbed in the tingling between my legs. My panties were getting soaked.

"This excites you," he flatly stated. It wasn't a question. "You are in charge at work, but you are away from work and need change, yes? I think you are not ready to be slave, but you wonder. To have no decisions, to only do what Master says, is like holiday for you, I think. I think you make good slave, but only if you want."

"I'm not sure," I whispered hoarsely. "What you say...it's true that I would like a time when I could just have someone else make all the decisions for me, but I don't think I can give up total control. I know I couldn't have sex with strangers like you made her do!"

"My slave does not have sex, is used for fucking," he carefully explained. "Sex is two-way, for pleasure of both. Fuck is for person using slave. Nobody cares if slave enjoys. Slave not get fucked by for own pleasure, but for Master's pleasure. And, by giving Master pleasure, slave has pleasure. Verstehen Sie?"

Yes, I nodded, I think I did understand.

"You wish to be slave?" He finally asked the question I'd been dreading.

"I don't know," I answered as honestly as I could. "I don't think I could give up total control like she has, but like I said, the idea of not having to make any decisions, it does intrigue me."

"Good. Then we talk more. Maybe have try where you see if you like being slave, but with...limits. We make limits, and don't go past. But for now, you spend weekend with slave and me, to see what is like. Only to watch, not to be slave. Maybe I let you use slave, see if you like being Master. Only I not let women wear panties or bras, so you go to WC and take off. Leave in trash, you don't need."

I really couldn't believe what I was doing, but there I was, sitting in the tiny restroom, being buffeted around by the movement of train, trying to get my jeans back on. My plain white cotton panties and bra...I hadn't even thought of ever owning anything else...were hidden in the middle of a mess of paper towels in the trash receptacle. I couldn't help but give myself a quick, quiet cum while I had the chance. Sitting on the toilet, totally naked except for my socks, my finger brought me off more quickly than ever before. I was sopping wet, and was afraid I'd leak through my jeans. A one mark coin in the machine on the wall, and I quicky slid a sanitary napkin over my crotch before I pulled the pants up and returned to the coach.

The slave girl was nowhere to be found when I returned; her Master sat alone in the cabin, waiting for me.

"Where did she go?" I asked.

"She is good slave," he responded. "I have her for one year now. Today she make me money. Now she go find man or woman who pays to use her, then later I think I sell her. There is auction tomorrow night, many slaves, boy and girl. Maybe you like to see?"

He was sending this young teen out to prostitute herself? And then he was going to actually sell her? My pussy spasmed at these thoughts, my skin flushed.

"I see you think of this, too. You have thoughts of slaves, masters, whips, chains?"

"Yes," I answered weakly, not daring to hide my true feelings for some reason.

"You dream of wearing collar, of serving a man or woman for their pleasure only. Of being chained and caged. Of doing only as Master says."

"Yes," I again answered, more softly this time, my eyes downcast.

"I cannot train you," he said suddenly. "No, I have not enough time, and you are U.S. Army. But I think you make someone good slave. I will show you this weekend some things, and help you decide. It is safe for you, I make sure nobody touch you unless you say. No sex, no fucking unless you ask. Okay?" His smile disarmed me once again. "Is deal?"

"Deal," I said, extending my hand to his, formalizing the agreement.

Gerhart - that was his name - was true to his word. I didn't get fucked that weekend, though I have no doubt it could have happened. I was simply too engrossed in watching what was going on around me. I wanted to experience this new...thing...vicariously, I told myself. I wasn't ready for anything else. Another time, after I learn a bit, and I might offer myself to the right person. That's not to say I didn't enjoy myself; I had more orgasms over the next two days than I'd had in any other year of my life.

Gerhart's slave came back to the compartment a few minutes later, blushing beautifully as she handed her Master a wad of Deutschmarks. A flick of his hand and she lifted up her short leather skirt, displaying her swollen nether lips and the semen drooling out of them. I saw a bright red hand print on her asscheek; at some point in her encounter, whoever used her had obviously given her a spanking.

He took me to a club that night, and I saw slaves - male and female - being abused and humiliated by their Masters and Mistresses. I was actually surprised that there were more male slaves than female, but even more so that they all looked so delicious. I'd never seen a man who shaved down there before, but none of the slaves - male or female - had any pubic hair. Their cocks looked so big and beautiful that way. I could even see how excited some of the women were, their bare lips swollen and red, visibly wet. I noticed that a couple of them were so wet they were actually dripping fluid on the floor between their splayed legs.

Humiliation and torture seemed to be the favorite pastime here. There was very little actual fucking going on; this, I discovered, was pretty much restricted to the private rooms upstairs. I watched one poor young man - he couldn't have been older than twenty - have his dick and balls whipped with a small crop until he was crying aloud. Another was strung up and given enemas until his belly was so swollen that he looked nine months pregnant. A group of about six males were placed in a daisy chain on the floor, forced to suck each other's cocks. I found out later they were new subs, and decidedly not gay. This was just one of the first of many tests to see if they were going to be worth the time and effort to train.

The female slaves got their due as well. I was watching one get a new tattoo directly on her cunt lip - her Master's name - when I heard an ear-curdling scream. The smell that assaulted my nostrils was unmistakable; I looked over at the next cubicle and saw I was right. One of the older subs - about my age, in her 30's - had just been marked on her asscheek with a branding iron. The word she'd forever be carrying on her body - "SLUT," in large capital letters - were burned into her body in the angry red and black of charred flesh. No amount of surgery would ever completely rid her of that scar.

After that, everything else I saw was mild by comparison. Piercings - nipples, tongues, noses and labia. Pussy whippings, so hard and brutal that the girls were nothing but a mass of swollen, bleeding flesh between their legs, useless for sex until they healed. A game of darts, using a male slave's ass as the target, his asshole being the bull's-eye. Oh, how he screamed when a misplayed dart imbedded itself in his scrotum!

The one thing I noticed missing, though, was Gerhart's little slave. He was there, of course, taking an active role in just about everything from a game of darts to betting on how long one slave girl could last. She'd been tied onto a Sybian - the first one I'd ever seen - and forced to ride it to orgasm after orgasm until she finally fell unconscious. Gerhart didn't win, but I doubted I'd have been able to last five hours of near constant cumming, either. I wondered about Gerhard's slave, but when I asked, he just said she was being prepared. I wasn't sure what for, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

It was early morning when things finally quieted down. I sought out Gerhard and told him I was tired, and was wondering if there was a place I could sleep. He smiled, then led me upstairs.

"You may have your own room," he said with a grin, "or you can share my bed with me. I will not use you as slave, but as free woman, this time. Maybe it will be last time like this for you?" I almost accepted his offer.

"I think I'd prefer my own room for now, Gerhard," I said. "Please understand, it's not you. I just need time to think. I don't know if I'm ready for this, or if it's what I want."

"Understand," he replied, showing me to my room.

It wasn't much, just a bed and a small nook with a shelf and clothes rack, but I'd slept in worse. There was a deadbolt on the door, which caused me great relief. I could have complete privacy and not worry about anyone bothering me. I stripped off my clothes and laid down between the clean, crisp sheets. It was full daylight now, but shutters effectively blocked most of the light from coming through my third-floor window. I lay down on the bed, exhausted yet excited from the day's activities. Without realizing it, my hands began to stroke my body, fingers working my sopping gash while the other hand pinched my nipples. The walls must have been paper thin, because just as I was finally falling asleep, I heard the "thwack-thwack-thwack" of what sounded like leather on flesh, followed by definite female squeals, coming from next door. I masturbated to three huge orgasms before finally falling off to sleep.

I woke up six hours later, feeling not quite rested, but having to pee. I put my pants and shirt back on, and padded down the hall in search of a restroom. Finding it, I relieved myself and then decided to find Gerhard, to see if there was a place I could get cleaned up and perhaps find a bite to eat.

Gerhard was in the main hall, where all the action had taken place the night before. When I explained what I needed, he showed me the where the showers were and told me that a buffet meal would be served shortly. There was a dining room off the main hall, he explained, and food would be available 24/7. I thanked him, and went off to get cleaned up.

I returned to the dining room feeling mostly refreshed, although the German soap smelled much different than what I was used to. I was still very self-conscious about this whole thing, so I dressed in clean Levi's and a western cowboy-style blouse, and against Gerhard's instructions, put on fresh panties and a bra. I could see he was displeased, but I wasn't here for his pleasure. At least, not yet. The buffet was nice, attended to by a number of the slaves I'd seen the night before. They scampered around, refilling cups and removing used dishes from the table, many of them bearing bruises which told the story of the previous night's abuses.