Some people like second-person fics, some people can't stand them. I propose that we put them here, so that they're easy to find for those as want 'em, and easy to ignore for those as don't. I'll start. ------------------------------------------- ORDERS (Soldier and You) "Drop and give me twenty!" you roar. "YES SIR GENERAL SIR," the Soldier barks, and goes from strict attention to face-down on the ground. It's a good look for him. Of course, you're no more a general than he is a member of any legitimate military. That's the whole point- anyone with four stars on their shoulder and the right attitude can do what they please with this man. He is in the dust on your say-so, and loving it, pounding out push-ups that would bring a proud tear to any gym teacher's eye. "One, two, three," he counts off his repetitions. "Bad form, maggot!" you shout. "Take off that jacket so I can see what the Hell you're doing so god-damned wrong!" Once again, he obeys immediately, stripping down to a T-shirt and putting his jacket neatly to one side. He resumes his exercise. "Spine straight! Arms right-angle! Christ, what a mess!" You castigate him while admiring the perfect bulge of his arms and the ripple of his back. "Ten, eleven, twelve." The more you sneer, the more he smiles under his helmet. "On the double, I haven't got all day for your lazing around!" "Seventeen eighteen nineteen twent-" his rapid counting cuts off with a rasping exhalation as you kick him soundly in the ribs. "What are you?" you rage at him. "Sir, a Soldier, sir!" "You are NOT!" You kick him again, eliciting a grunt. "You are a maggot! A crawling worm! A total mockery of human manhood! DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?" All this yelling certainly is therapeutic. "Sir, no, sir!" "You miserable scum! You can't even answer back to a direct insult! You are not fit to lick my boots!" You pause, waiting for a reply. "Sir, yes, sir!" "WHAT?" you roar. "Are you AGREEING that you are not fit to lick my boots?!" You're aware of your own sadistic smile. There is no right way to answer a question. The Soldier knows it, too- he's grinning. "Sir, yes, sir!" "Well congratulations, you waste of skin! You have earned yourself a promotion! Start licking!" You shove your right boot in front of his face. They're good boots. Knee height, thick black leather, kept polished to parade gloss. The hobnail soles make your feet look heavy, while the tight lacing makes your ankles and calves perfectly sleek. The contrast has made you vain before now, and the sight of Soldier cautiously opening his mouth makes something warm shift below your stomach. "What are you waiting for, Christmas? Get to work!" He laves his tongue across the shiny toe cap, leaving a damp trail, then another. The leather there is so thick that you don't feel anything until he works his way up to the throat of the boot. Through the thinner leather, you can feel the warmth and pressure of his tongue. He holds your calf as he licks, and even through the leather you can feel how firm his hands are. He licks meticulously, painstakingly, clearly waiting for you to find fault with his work. And who are you to disappoint him? "Are you on fucking vacation?" you thunder. "Get the back of the calves, too!" Sir, yes, sir!" He crawls behind you and mouths the backs of the boots. You can feel his lips press against your Achilles tendon, sending electricity up your leg to your groin. "Now the other one!" He obeys, licking reverentially, his tongue tracing over every inch of your boots. "Stand down!" you bark when he's done. "Untie my boots!" He lifts a hand off the ground and reaches toward you, but you kick the heel of your boot into his shoulder. "With your teeth, you worthless son of a bitch!" He complies, delicately grasping an aglet in his teeth and tugging until the knot slides free. He does the other one, then waits on his hands and knees for further orders. You don't give him any, not just yet. Instead, you sit down and look at him. He looks good, even with that overlarge helmet. Hard, scarred muscle, scrubbed clean this morning and only just starting to sweat through his T-shirt. For all his efforts to resume a military-grade scowl, you can see a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. On his hands and knees, with beeswax from your boots on his tongue, he is in his glory. You sit down and extend your right foot toward him. "Take off my boots, maggot." He does so, carefully loosening the tight lacing from top to bottom before he even begins to pull. You notice that his hand shakes slightly as he puts aside the right boot and starts on the left. "Do it right, idiot!" You wrench your foot from his grasp and kick him in the chest. The boot print shows up well on his white T-shirt. "Sir, yes, sir!" He resumes his work and takes off your left boot. When he sets it aside, you stand up and shuck down your pants. You kick them away. "Clean that up, maggot." He folds your pants and sets them neatly to the side as you step back into your boots. He watches as you sit down. "See something you like, dog face?" You spread your legs. "Sir, yes, sir!" All his efforts to the contrary, he's practically beaming under that helmet. "Good answer, private numbnuts. You think you're worth what I got here? You think your dirty boot-licking tongue can do anything for me that I can't do for myself?!" You slide a hand between your legs and stroke yourself. Sweating, smiling and practically drooling for you, the Soldier has never looked better. "Sir, no, sir. Permission to try, sir?" Soldier barks. "Get to work, you sub-human." You put one hand on his helmet, not forcing him down, but reminding him that you've chosen not to. He buries his face in your lap, first teasing with his tongue, then going in for broad, loving licks. You bite down on a moan. "Is that all you've got, maggot?! You're a sorry specimen if ever there was one!" He pushes down further and, you prop one boot heel up on his shoulder. "You are a sick and twisted individual! Anyone not terminally fucked in the head would run away from the sound of gunfire, and for some reason, you run toward it!" The Soldier attempts to say "sir, yes, sir," with his mouth full, resulting in some wonderful vibrations. You notice that he's got one hand between his legs, kneading his erection. "What is THAT?" you roar in apparent disgust. "Are you playing with your pecker? No-one gave you clearance to do that! You are lucky to be allowed to breathe without my express orders!" You hook your other leg over his shoulder and haul him closer. "What is your major malfunction?" you bellow as he licks and sucks more fervently. "If you were a reasonable human being, you would," you pant, "you would ignore the deranged, debased and occasionally depraved orders I give you! And you're just waiting to ask 'how high?' when I fucking tell you to jump!" You have to stop your tirade as pleasure rushes through you. So good, so good- you wrap your knees around Soldier's head, knocking his helmet askew, and scream hoarsely. "But you're not a normal person," you continue when you can breathe regularly again, "and that's what I like about you, Soldier." You treat him to a smile and stroke his cheek. "Sir, thank you, sir." He wipes his mouth on his hand and kneels at your feet. "You're welcome, Soldier. Now, let's see your gun." "Sir, yes, sir." Understanding you perfectly, he opens his fly and pulls out his cock. "That's a fine-looking weapon, Soldier. Do you know how to use it?" "Sir, yes, sir!" "Then prove it!" you roar. "Sir, yes, SIR!" He's always enthusiastic about taking orders, but he accepts this one with particular verve. You know he never touches himself; obeying a direct order must come as a profound relief. You cup his chin in your hand. "Eyes front, Soldier." You force him to look at you, those clear blue eyes full of need. In hardly any time at all, he is groaning and panting. His face is red, and every vein in his arms is standing out as his heart pounds. "Sir," he pants. "Permission to- sir, please-" "In your own time, Soldier," you growl. He comes, throwing his head back and roaring in pleasure. "Sir- thank you... sir." His whole body trembles as he comes down. "What in Hell have you done, maggot?" you thunder as he slumps into a state of bliss. "Wh-" he looks at you muzzily. "Look at my boots, you damn dirty animal!" You point at where his semen has splashed on the black leather. "Clean that filth up right the fuck now!" "Sir, yes, sir." The Soldier gets down on his belly and licks his own sperm off of your gleaming toe caps. He swallows, kisses each boot when he is done, and lies flat on the ground. You prop your boots up on his shoulders as if he were a footstool. "Well done, Soldier, well done."