Lieutenant Koshelev’s bed was a better place to recover than the hospital. It was certainly softer than the hospital cot, warmer too, with the thick quilt and wool blankets that pressed down on Mikhail like a full body hug. From his position, he could watch as Koshelev got up and dressed himself, slipping on his clothes and buttoning his shirt. He seemed to be going slower than normal, making dramatic gestures each time he did his buttons or straightened his clothes. Mikhail would have thought that Koshelev was struggling, but the way Koshelev shook his hips and slowly adjusted his cock made Mikhail think otherwise. Koshelev wore his standard uniform, despite the fact that it was his day off. Mikhail’s heart sank when he saw Koshelev sit down on a stool to pull on his tall boots. They had grown dirty without Mikhail there to serve. Koshelev hadn’t said anything, but Mikhail still felt guilty that he had broken their agreement.
“I’m sorry.” Mikhail sighed.
Koshelev looked up, eyebrows knitted in confusion, before he realized what was wrong.
“You must recover, Mikhail.” Koshelev said as he slid his foot inside. “You can’t be a good servant until you’ve healed.”
Mikhail huffed as he stared at Koshelev’s boots. Yes, he must recover. The concussion had passed, but the pain in his side from the stitches and the broken ribs ached. It had been helpful to have Koshelev there to look out for him. Still, Mikhail felt out of place, as if he was a child. His place was on the floor, a servant who smiled as he helped his master dress.
Koshelev patted Mikhail on the head.
“Patience, Misha.” Koshelev cooed.
The apartment’s front door opened.
“Petya!” Roshchin called, “How’s our invalid?”
Mikhail could smell the pirozhkis before Roshchin entered the bedroom. They must have been freshly made at the shop down the road. The thought of the cabbage and mushroom filling made Mikhail’s mouth water.
“He’s not DYING.” Koshelev sighed. “He’s recovering.”
“Good thing, too.” Roshchin said, putting the bag on the table next to the bed. “He looks like he wants to lick your boots raw. I never knew a servant who WANTED to get back to work.”
“I live to serve.” Mikhail said.
“You’re a credit to the Soviet Union.” Roshchin smiled.
“How’s the pain?” Roshchin asked.
“Still there.”
“Poor boy.” Roshchin slid his arm around Mikhail’s shoulders. “Can I see?”
Mikhail hesitated. The wound was wrapped up, although some fluids might have stained the bandages since Koshelev helped him replace it. More importantly, he was only wearing a nightshirt and the sight of Koshelev and Roshchin in their military uniforms, with their boots and regalia, aroused Mikhail. The blankets kept his excitement hidden.
Koshelev took the initiative. He slid the blankets off Mikhail’s torso. The large nightshirt only barely covered Mikhail’s erection, the balls peeking out from underneath.
“Show Yuri your bruises, Mischa.” Koshelev commanded.
Mikhail lifted the nightshirt slowly. His cock rested against his lower belly. Precum formed on the head, threatening to drip onto his torso. The bandages were cleaner than they had been. Thank God the stitches had not become infected. Mikhail’s chest was still black and blue on the side where the car struck him.
Roshchin sat on the bed next to Mikhail, propping his boots up on top of the blankets. His boots were cleaner – he’d taken the time to wipe the dirt off before he came into the room.
“Ow.” Roshchin said, his eyes moving slowly over Mikhail’s body. He adjusted himself.
“It will get less painful if Mischa stays still.” Koshelev leaned back in his chair and let his boots rest on Mikhail’s calves, the weight pinned Mikhail’s legs down, leather rubbed against his bare skin.
“Yes, you must rest up. No extra action, hm? Can’t do anything until you’ve recovered.” Roshchin grins. He reaches down and undoes his fly, pulling his cock out. He jerks off slowly as he stares at Mikhail’s dick.
Mikhail watched. He licked his lips. If it did not hurt him, he would have turned over and helped Roshchin. Mikhail’s ass was able to take Roshchin’s entire length now. He’d learned to love the sensation of being stretched and prodded. Damn the injury.
Under his agreement with Koshelev and Roshchin, Mikhail was not allowed to touch himself without permission. Most of that agreement had been ignored while Mikhail was recovering. Maybe the ban on masturbation had too. Mikhail reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock. Immediately, Koshelev placed the heel of his boot on Mikhail’s hand.
“No, boy.” Koshelev commanded. “You must rest.”
Mikhail released his grip. Koshelev moved his boot back to where it had been. Mikhail felt strangely impotent – he could only watch as his cock bobbed slightly every time he took a pained breath. Precum dribbled out of his cock and made a sticky puddle in his pubic hair.
“Aw, is our little dog in heat while he’s forced to recover?” Roshchin teased. He made a dramatic moan as his hand moved slowly up to the tip of his cock, the foreskin sliding over the head.
“Mmm, that’s the perfect grip. So good. Nice and warm. I can feel it all the way up my spine.” Roshchin’s chest rose with each long, laborious stroke. He kept his eyes on Mikhail, grinning sadistically the entire time. Mikhail bit his lip. His dick ached. He hadn’t come in God knows how long and the sight of Roshchin enjoying himself made it throb.
“Are you jealous?” Roshchin sneered.
“Yes, sir.” Mikhail answered honestly. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the bed.
“It’s too bad you have to rest.” Koshelev said.
“Hmm, he has to rest, but…” Roshchin reached out and pressed the finger against Mikhail’s shaft. He kept pleasuring himself.
“Mischa has to rest.” Koshelev said. “That doesn’t mean he can’t cum.”
Roshchin wrapped his hand around Mikhail’s cock. Mikhail sighed. Roshchin’s left hand was not as skilled as his right, but it was still able to stimulate Mikhail well. The fingers slid up the bottom, right along the ridge that sent tingles down Mikhail’s spine. He imagined how he might look if he was reflected in the freshly-shined shaft of Koshelev’s boots.
“May I cum, sir?” Mikhail asked, his voice cracking.
“Yes. Cum wherever you’d like.” Koshelev commanded.
The last time he had been allowed to cum, Koshelev made him kneel in the bathroom while staring at the shiny leather, without being allowed to look at Koshelev’s face. He’d begged to cum and Koshelev allowed him to ejaculate on the floor. Koshelev ground his boot into Mikhail’s cum. The memory of it sent Mikhail over the edge. Cum gushed out and over Roshchin’s hand. Unfortunately, the sensation of cumming made Mikhail take too deep a breath and pain radiated through his chest. He screamed.
Roshchin quickly released his hand.
“Are you okay?” Koshelev removed his boots from Mikhail’s legs and rushed to his side.
Mikhail nodded, placing a hand delicately on his damaged ribs.
“I breathed too hard.” He whimpered. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, I should have left you alone.” Roshchin apologized. He kissed the side of Mikhail’s head.
“It’s okay.” Mikhail said. “It felt good.”
Koshelev stroked Mikhail’s hair.
“We want you to recover, Mischa.” Koshelev murmured. “We want you healthy?”
“You know what will help him recover? Eating.” Roshchin gestured to the bag of pirozhkis that had been left on the bedside table. “I got his favorite.”
“Are you ready for lunch?” Koshelev asked.
“Yes, sir.” Mikhail smiled.
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