The Colonel Behind Closed Doors (Is Your Good Boy)
summary °✧୨ৎ Caleb’s favorite place to be is at your feet, leashed like a dog. he tries to be a good boy, but you make it challenging, pushing him until he breaks.
content °✧୨ৎ pet play/collar + leash, humiliation/degradation. teasing, begging, bondage, spitting in mouth, stepping on him, praise, crying/dacryphilia, orgasm control (delay&forced), overstimulation, drugs mentioned as a metaphor, mentions he previously failed to pull out, calls himself your “bitch boy” once, sucking fingers, masturbation/fingering, squirting, pet names, he humps your shoe, he licks his own pre-cum, he cums untouched (again), some cuddling aftercare
a/n °✧୨ৎ may contain errors. I’ve looked at this too much & can barely tell how it sounds anymore. <3
The colonel instills fear with a mere glance. His name alone summons dread. He fits the role so well that it appears innate. Many assume it’s just his constant disposition.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
Plenty of layers lie beneath that mask of a cold-hearted superior. He sits at the hierarchy’s pinnacle, yet there’s someone he answers to, of his own volition; no ulterior motifs, hidden strategy, or power to be gained.
Their commander is under your command—under your heel.
That dangerous, imposing force pines for your approval. So, he’s made to work for it.
Stripped naked, he sits obediently on the floor, staring up at you like he’s seeing God. Uniform tossed to the couch, his authority is discarded, all transferred to you.
“Gonna be a good boy for me?” Your stiletto hovers over his crotch, nearly grazing it, before digging into his upper thigh.
“Mhmm, i’ll be so soo good.” He’s brimming with energy, livened by those two simple words. As always, they melt him into something so malleable.
His lips part as you brush over them, quivering under your thumb. Drool seeps from the corners.
“This is all you’re getting for now. Open.”
You’d been letting saliva accumulate. With his immediate compliance, it descends onto his tongue. Emitting a lengthy groan, he allows your spit to linger there, mixing with his. He revels in its presence, before swallowing. Eyes shining with excitement, he awaits further instructions, practically foaming at the mouth to serve you.
He’s your sweet little pet—striving for perfect adherence to each rule. If told to sit and roll over, there would be no hesitation.
He's on a tight leash, woven into your palm.
And it’s not solely metaphorical.
The ruthless colonel loves to be collared.
Red leather encircles his neck. Dangling from the center, is a silver dog-tag engraved with his name. The strap fastened to him is kept taut. He moans with each assertive tug.
To him, nothing is hotter than being thrust into submission. It has his tip dripping, tinged an angry blend of red-purple hues. The veins on his shaft are so pronounced, like marking a path, imploring you to follow.
“Aww, your cock is already crying for me, what a needy boy you are…gonna have to be still though, okay? Can you do that for me?”
He nods with genuine conviction. However, determination won’t be enough. Failure is a promise reinforced by each moment.
Especially, once the ultimate temptation is level with him.
Wrists bound by rope and a verbal order, he’s denied permission to touch. Escape would be easy, you both know that. Of course, some knotted fibers are utterly useless against him. But that adds to the fun. It’s harder to resist when giving in would be so simple.
Your bare pussy is so close. Its heat whispers against his skin, beckoning him.
He leans forward slightly.
That strict tone makes his cock dance. His shaky apology is silenced by the parting of your folds. The wetness is audible as they reveal your fluttering hole. A trail of your essence spans to your ass, each glistening bead chased by another.
The remedy to his thirst is smeared slowly over your pussy, flaunting what he’s been barred from. He tracks every movement, teeth puncturing his bottom lip. Unable to claw him from his trance, the blood goes unnoticed.
Two fingers slip past your entrance, a drawn-out sigh past your lips. “hah—everything’s so sensitive, even my small fingers are just sooo muchhh. Nothing compared to the stretch yours would give…mmm, down to the knuckle, prying me apart.”
Like a puppy begging for nourishment, his pupils are massive, fixed on the meal in front of him. The proximity stirs his taste buds; he swears they detect a faint trace of the flavor. It’s carved into his memory, taunting him with recollection that’s too vivid, yet too hollow. The urge to indulge is difficult to reject.
Watching him struggle to fight it turns you on.
You’re soaked, loud squelches produced by each motion. It’s hard to delay what you so badly desire. But watching the cracks multiply is too enticing.
You love having that power over him—the only one capable of crumbling something so sturdy. And he’s always so eager for it, welcoming any method.
This one is the most brutal. Arms tied behind him, he’s forced to observe passively. Arousal shines on your wrist, dribbling onto the tile. He wants nothing more than to lick it all up, shamelessly lapping at the ground. It’s a privilege he’d do anything to earn.
“Want some?” It’s not truly a question, you already have the answer. It’s just way more satisfying to hear it from him.
“Please pips—w-want it!” He bounces slightly, restlessness bleeding into every syllable.
Such an adorable reaction warrants a little treat.
Torso guided by your heel, he lies back, legs outstretched. His head is supported by the chair. Your right foot is raised to the cushion, settling beside the crown of his skull. The other is against balls, making him gasp.
Leaning forward, your cunt is positioned over him. Your fingers thrust aggressively. Droplets spill intermittently into the mouth awaiting them—injecting him with euphoria so intense that it hurts. You’re the most potent drug. He can’t stop himself from chasing that high, humping your shoe like an animal.
“Tsk, did I say you could use my foot?”
With a distressed noise, he goes rigid. Expression pinched in concentration, he’s straining to remain still. Everything within him calls for the opposite.
The sight makes you burn, laugh rippling into a moan. “Now tell me how pitiful you are.”
“So fuckin’ gross, a dog that keeps makin’ m-messes.” He twitches with want, getting off on those words.
“Yeah, that’s exactly right.” Tension is ushered to your center as you push into that dizzying spot. More and more juices leak from you, claiming him inside and out. “Should I take you for a nice walk around the fleet? Show aallll those subordinates how fucking pathetic their colonel is?”
“Do whatever’ya want with me. Belong to you pips—mm’your little bitch boy, fuckin’ looovee it.”
The thought of being fully at your mercy drives him closer to the edge, as it does for you. He’s rutting against you once again, leaving streaks of pre-cum past your ankle.
“Yet, you still can’t control yourself, huh? About to shoot your dirty cum all over me, aren’t you?”
The tells are so obvious. His inhales are sharper, the snapping of his hips more chaotic. Seconds from his grasp, that peak is yanked away. Your leg shifts to the left, planting itself beside his outer thigh.
The loss of friction makes him flinch like he’s been kicked. “I-I didn’t mean to. Baby, please—I’m so sooo sorry! I’ll make it up to you—reaaally need to cum!”
His length is so engorged, screaming for relief. Tears fall towards his chin as he aimlessly thrusts into nothing. They’re collected with a swipe, swirled over your puffy clit—pleasure fueled by his frustration.
“Poor thing…gonna have to hold it, bad dogs don’t get rewards,” you pout mockingly. “Don’t sulk.”
That last part is insincere, you’d hate for him to stop; desperation makes him even more stunning, amplifying every sensation within you.
The pulse in your core sends shockwaves with each beat. Your hands accelerate to match its haste. “Hngh—aching so bad, might fill that whiny throat of yours. Think you deserve it?”
“I d-don’t deserve you, try so hard to be better. Please—need to drink it all up, miss that sweet little pussy so much, you’re killin’ me.”
Seems he has learned something.
Even if your mind had changed, it would be too late for interference. You squirt violently, struggling to stay upright. Gravity immediately adjusts to steady you. The feeling of release, paired with his evol’s embrace, is sheer bliss. If he wasn’t ensuring your balance, you’d certainly collapse. Strong spasms grip every inch of you so tightly. The consecutive gushes are almost too intense.
He treats each one like they might evaporate, Adams’s apple bobbing with avid gulps. Lids heavy, he consumes everything to the very last trickle. Staring up into heaven, he’s completely drunk off its taste, longing to be inside. It always greets him so warmly, hugging him like he’s been missed. That unrelenting grip insists that he stay. It gets him into trouble. His mind becomes too scrambled; when spoken orders conflict with your body’s, he sometimes follows the wrong one.
That’s why access to you has been revoked for a week; he failed to pull out—again. It hasn’t even been two full days, and he’s already distraught.
“Just the tip, pleasepleasepleaseee—I know you love my cock, always tellin’ me how good it feels. It can do muuuchh more than your fingers."
Amused, you expel a short puff of air. “Seems I haven’t trained you well enough. It's almost like you want to add another week…”
"Wait, please don’t! I won't do it again, swear!” His gaze is panicked, searching for forgiveness in yours.
“How cute.” Hand withdrawing from your cunt, you gather some of his pre from your shin. Fingers now lathered with both of you, they’re shoved past his lips. He sucks automatically. As the substance is consumed, satisfied noises continually flow from him.
When deemed to be enough, you stop him. Freeing his mouth, you point downward. “Clean up after yourself.”
His tongue promptly meets your leg, whirling over that remaining filth. The wet licks become more hurried as you smile down at him. His eyes are wide and glassy, brows raised and drawn together. Gazing up at you is a look of complete subservience.
One fluid of his simply replaces another. He still shines on your skin, now in strips of saliva. Once that’s all there is, he keeps going, as if trying to absorb you.
His moans drop in pitch as you pat his head. Lids squeezing shut, he fucks the air faster, and faster, before suddenly locking up. Unassisted by touch, all that bottled pressure bursts.
Lowering to your knees, you caress his face—contorting involuntarily, yet still unbelievably perfect. Pleasure has seized all control of his body. Thick strings of him repeatedly splash your top, sliding down your cleavage. Broken ‘sorry’s follow his strained growls.
“I know baby…you tried so hard for me,” you coo. One hand still soothing him, the other contrasts it—drawing invisible shapes on his sensitive tip, continuing once his climax subsides. You pull him closer, resting his head on your shoulder. “Since you wanted to cum so badly, let’s see how many times.”
His dick is bullied into numerous orgasms. Each one leaves him more disoriented than the last. He’s panting loudly, sobbing into your neck. But he endures it willingly—gratefully. Even torment is delightful when inflicted by you.
Nearly all his strength is depleted by the time you’re done. Once untied, his arms immediately wrap around you. You find him so endearing in this state. All toughness is gone. He’s completely vulnerable—exhausted to a rare degree, unable to pretend otherwise.
Around you, he doesn’t have to.
“I’m so proud of you, you did such a good job,” you whisper, stroking his hair. The praise offers a short burst of energy, before he slumps against you. Attempting to express gratitude, his words are muffled by fatigue. Nuzzling into your warmth, his breathing gradually slows. He dozes off within minutes.
Even when the position becomes uncomfortable, you maintain it for a while. Holding him silently, you admire this part of him.
It’s yours, and yours alone.
Dividers by: @anitalenia (MDNI) & @pixopix (glitter)
