Disclaimer: This story is erotic fantasy. The characters and events described are fictional. If you are under 18, and/or offended by descriptions of homosexual activity, and/or live someplace where reading such material is prohibited, don't read this.
TRAINING THE RECRUIT
1960 - Somewhere below the Mason-Dixon Line
My favorite pastime at this fucking 90º hellhole is humiliating the fuck out of recruits. Why? Because I can. I'm in charge of this fuckin 90º hellhole. There's this kid I noticed the other day. Just the type I like to break in. I lit a 7-inch Churchill Robusto and got it glowing a few minutes before he was ordered to report. Just to relax before I started -- how do you call it? Oh yeah -- humiliating the fuck out of him.
Now you might be thinking, this officer guy with his bigass fuckin ceegar is a sunnofabitch and a class-A motherfuckin jerk. And you'd be right. If you are looking for a nice friendly play-by-the-rules kinda guy who gives a fuck, then you are in the wrong place brother.
Now this motherfuckin Private -- I'll just make up some name and call him, let's say, Private "Peterson."
God-DAMN I love these dumbass farmboy recruits! This fuckin Private "Peterson" was one of those fucks who went from Little League to high school letter jacket. You know the type. Neat and tidy, keep up the crew cut every week, chinos show off his ass, steak for dinner, one of them boys that grow up tall and straight and every waking minute competing with some other athlete stud. So fuckin square that when he dates blondie they go to the local movie theater and watch a dumbass romantic movie and she dabs a tear with her handkerchief and he stifles a yawn, they shake hands good night at the door with the parents peeking through the curtains, he goes home jerks off in bed falls asleep dreaming about the locker room, gets Cs in every subject except baseball where he gets A+.
Here's what I been waiting for -- that knock. On the middle of the door, as per regulation. I cool off with the bigass fan I got trained on me and I let him bake for half a minute before I order him to enter. He marches smartly up to my desk, stops exactly two paces short, stands to attention and salutes. Coming to my office straight from the training yard -- fatigues, boots, white tee shirt soaked with sweat. Attention stance comes natural to these boys now. Chin up! Chest out! Shoulders back! Stomach in! Eyes front! No facial expression! No movement! I keep him standing there like that for a few minutes -- just for the fuck of it -- before I return the salute.
About -- FACE
Discipline! That's what I'm talking about! How sharp can a recruit turn on his toe of his fuckin Army issue boot? Damn, I love giving commands to these teenage recruits.
About -- FACE
When I've had enough fun watching him `bout facing and ten'SHUNing,
AT EASE, PRIVATE
And this is the drill stance gets my dick hard, where these young Joes stand legs apart and intertwine thumbs behind their backs. This is where I lean back in one of these new swiveling chairs the cheapskate fucks in DC finally coughed up the bucks for. I can lean back in this fucker like in a recliner, put my boots up on the desk. Fill my mouth with ceegar smoke and and slowly exhale a cloud, let the fan carry it away. Spread my legs so my big thighs lead right to my balls and dick.
I hear you are the big man on campus, Peterson. Or you were. About three months ago. When you were on the ball team at -- what's the name of that school?
He says SIR -- then the name of some fuckin high school nobody's every heard of -- SIR.
This ain't campus, son. And you're not the big man here. So let's see what you got. Strip down to your skivvies. Let's see how big you are, boy.
SIR!
And the cornfed midwest stud turns so red you can fry an egg on him.
What's the holdup Private? You gonna speed this up? Do I have time to waste?
SIR NO SIR
No you're not gonna speed it up? Or no I don't have time to waste?
SIR NO SIR I mean SIR YES SIR I mean NO SIR you don't have time to waste SIR
And he speeds it up. Unlaces those boots, unbuckles the belt, crosses arms in front in an X, grabs the bottom of the tee shirt, peels it off over his head. Big bushes of dark pubic hair in his pits. And the navel right there above the waistband like the cherry on a fuckin sundae. Yessir they built this boy real good. All that baseball MVP shit and what the fuck ever they do for fuckin farm work, loading pickup trucks and hauling crap around or what the fuck ever.
LET'S GO PETERSON! DOUBLE TIME!
That makes him unzip and drop em damn fast.
AT EASE
Now he's standing in his Army issue boxers and nothing else, sweat on his face and chest, chin up, eyes front, hands behind his back. And I'm thinking Jesus H Christ they make em nice wherever the fuck he comes from Ohio or Kansas or whatever the fuck state. Hell yeah let's make this interesting.
Drop and give me 20, Private.
He crouches, supports himself on his arms, flips his legs out behind him forming a rectilinear plank at a 30º angle with the floor, except for his butt which bubbles under his boxers. He bends his elbows and his chest touches the floor, then straightens his arms, comes back to starting position. He's showing off now, perfect pushup positions, controlled motion, rigid body line, delts dimpling . . 15, 16. . please the coach. . 17, 18 . . please my sarge . . 19, 20 . . be a good boy.
On your feet, Private. At ease. . . . . Why are you looking at my dick, Peterson?
Course he is not looking at my dick at all. He might WANT to be looking at my open legs and crotch. But he is keeping eyes front at the motherfuckin wall like a good boot with no expression on his purdy face.
SIR . . . I am not . . I am not . . . doing what you said SIR
Well then you better start doing it, Peterson. That's an order.
So I'm sittin back, got my legs spread and Jesus Christ I am one redhot motherfucker hell yeah one big hardon all the 8 inch way up my belly, dick outlined in my Army issue uniform pants and my big balls bulging between my legs. Damn! I am one fine motherfuckin officer and gentleman.
I leaned back and put my feet on the desk with my legs wide apart and puffed on the fat ceegar for awhile. And I started stroking my dick in my Army issue trousers. Real slow. All the time the dumbass recruit has to stare at me stroking my hard dick. And he's getting uncomfortable. Very fuckin uncomfortable.
Are you a faggit, Peterson?
SIR! NO! SIR!
Well you sure are staring at me while I'm feeling my dick. Looks to me like you're a fag.
SIR --
I did not ask you a question, Private. I said you look like a fag. Does that sound like a question to you, Private?
SIR NO SIR
And still he's got his eyes on me watching me stroke my cock real slow. And here's the interesting part. I can always pick em. I knew first time I saw him training on the obstacle course that Mr. All American baseball MVP eyes-to-himself sonnyboy homerun Peterson was a fuckin queer.
Are you getting a hardon, Private?
SIR . . I DON'T KNOW SIR
It sure looks like you're getting a hardon, Private. Because the front of your Army issue motherfuckin boxers looks like you're pitching a fuckin pup tent.
And I kept puffin on the ceegar and started rubbing my balls. And the dumbass farm boy is staring at my crotch and getting a hardon.
I am considering imposing an Article 15, Peterson. Two weeks custody. Three days bread and water. And a fuck of a lot of extra duty, most of it kissing my ass. . . . . Or, --
Pause here to make let his imagination go where it will. Hold the Robusto a few inches away, study the ash for awhile.
Or -- I can kick you in the balls. Your choice.
That made an impression on the big haybaler.
SIR did you say kick me in the balls SIR
I did say that. Yes, Peterson. Kick you in the fuckin balls. Or an Article 15. Confinement, bread and water, extra duty. Your choice.
SIR is there some other way . .
This is a choice between two alternatives, Peterson. Non-Judicial Punishment. Or the alternative. There is no some-other-way.
SIR if it means avoiding two-weeks of NJP. . . then I choose to get kicked in the balls SIR
That's why your Army issue boxers are sticking out in the front isn't it? You're queer for me kicking your balls.
I just sat there awhile smoking, feeling my dick and balls, enjoying him watching me do it. And the big teen still standing at ease with his hands behind his back and his dick getting hard as fuck.
How come you're sweating Peterson?
SIR I don't know SIR it's hot SIR perhaps because I'm not looking forward to getting kicked in the nuts SIR
Well I'll tell you what you're gonna do Peterson. Before I kick your nuts you're gonna get over here on your knees and kiss my balls.
SIR on my knees SIR?
Don't make me repeat myself, Private! Move! Now!
Sure enough the hunky boot gets in front of my chair and get down on his fuckin knees. And starts kissing my nuts.
That's good. Keep doing that. Kiss my nuts like you kiss your boyfriend. And that's what he does, he closes his eyes and purses his purdy lips and smooches all over my nuts.
You know and I know that back in the high school locker room he had thoughts about kissing the catcher. Had to hide his boner when he saw the players come out of the showers, naked with their cocks swinging or a towel around their waist with a curved bulge in front.
Lean back and spread your legs, Private.
SIR YES SIR
I stand up and get in front of him, dick to face level. Now picture this. He's on his knees, sitting back on his heels with his legs spread. That exposes his cock and balls to any motherfuckin jerk who wants to kick him in the nuts. Like me.
The big stud leans back in this position, he can't resist showing off how ripped his abdominals are. Even better -- Private Peterson keeps his hands behind his back. Shields down.
I get off on looking down at some big dumb farmboy at my feet with his legs spread, sweating. And me -- I look like sex, I smell like sex. Fuck it -- I AM sex.
The objective of the mission is not target destruction. Gauge velocity to impact target with force calibrated to effect pain level within a range of 4.5 to 6 on a scale of 10. Mission statement: Kick the recruit in the balls.
So taking a few more puffs on my ceegar I swing my jump boot between his legs and whomp the motherfucker in the balls from underneath.
The private got the message. He took it pretty good. Course it knocked some air outta him. But being a proud motherfucker he didn't budge, and not so much as grunt. And his cock was still stiff as a fuckin M14.
Now I'll let you kiss my dick, Private. But -- I might have to kick you in the nuts again if you do.
Sure enough the stud leans forward, still on his knees, legs spread and arms behind his back, puts his lips smack up against my bulging dick in my Army issue uniform trousers. Gives my pecker a big smooch.
And me -- being a man of my word -- I kick him in the balls again. Bring the level up to 6, let's say. He growls, a strangled ooooohhh sound, and nearly doubles over -- at least as much as he can, considering the position he's in.
Pain tolerance! That's what I'm talking about!
Cock out of your fly on the double, Private!
SIR YES SIR
And despite just getting another hit in the nuts, the big boy was pretty damn fast getting his fuckpole out. It stuck up out of his fly like a goddamn howitzer.
Get your hands back where they were, Private. Behind your back.
Puffing on the Robusto. Puff puff puff. Saunter over to the desk and break off the ash on the edge of the bigass ashtray. Cone it. Back between my lips, roll it around a bit to get the cap wet. Puff puff puff. Smoke cloud curls. Fan whirs. Smoke drifts away. Puff puff puff.
You queer for my dick, Peterson?
SIR. . . . I don't . . . I don't know SIR
Your dick knows. It's been at attention ever since I kicked you in the balls. Do you appreciate your officer -- that's me -- permitting you to plant your lips on my cock, Private?
SIR -- then a pause as he tries to figure whether that's a sir-yes-sir or a sir-no-sir. As you can understand, his mind's a bit muddled at this point.
I asked you a question, Peterson. Are you grateful to your officer -- that's me -- for allowing you to kiss my dick?
SIR YES SIR THANK YOU SIR
Unsat, Private. Thank me for what?
He had to think for a few seconds to come up with it. Then loud and clear,
RECRUIT PETER PETERSON THANKS MASTER SERGEANT SLAUGHTER FOR PERMISSION TO KISS HIS COCK SIR!
Respect! That's what I'm talking about!
The kid was blushing like his ears were on fire. Face red as a motherfukin rocket's red glare.
I clenched the ceegar in my teeth and stood over this just-got-kicked-in-the-balls fucker kneeling at my boots, and I flexed my arms. God-DAMN I'm a good looking motherfucker. Chiseled features. Use my stomach for a washboard. Bounce a bazooka off my butt. And big fuckin dick and balls. You want the best lookin studliest officer in the US Army you got him. Right here. God's gift to queers.
He's looking up at me the way he looked up at the big football players when he was in high school. Half of him is still back in high school, kid back there in the dugout with a boner.
Let's see your guns, letterman.
And the big fucker athlete on his knees with his stiff cock sticking out of his boxers flexes his elbows and contracts his muscles for all he's worth, making mighty clenched fists with his big farmboy hands.
Keep it up, Private.
Might as well be talking about his cock as his front double biceps pose. And the high-and-tight is straining, sweat running down from his pits and chest, cock saluting, determined to keep em big and pumped for his CO.
Now let's see what you're made of, Private. I'm ordering you to keep those guns pumped no matter what. Is that understood?
SIR YES SIR
So I take aim and kick the fuckin recruit hard in the nuts and his hardon bounces up from the impact. He grunts through his gritted teeth. His solar plexus contract, his thighs involuntarily move toward each other to protect his nuts, and he jerks forward and loses the flex. Hell, he loses it altogether. His arms drop and his hands cover his balls like he's cradling them.
Course I let him stay down on the floor hunched over while the pain spreads like waves up his stomach. Hell, next to feeling the impact of my boot against nuts, watching the aftermath is what I like best. Course now I got the Robusto in my teeth, grinning ear to fuckin ear. I let him deal with this shit for a while longer. Cause what the fuck -- it's how I get my kicks.
Back in position, Private!
He struggles to get upright, takes a lot of effort, but he raises his arms again and pumps those guns. He's shaking trying to hold the flex and sweating like a fuckin pig. I fuckin love this shit.
Whatya say Peterson?
Breathing hard, he still manages to answer loud and clear.
RECRUIT . . . PETER PETERSON . . . THANKS . . . MASTER SERGEANT SLAUGHTER . . . FOR KICKING HIM IN THE BALLS . . . SIR!
Get over my desk, Private.
SIR . . . Over your desk SIR?
Jesus H Christ, Peterson! Do I have to keep repeating myself?
And I get my hands under his fuckin sweaty pits and lift him up and throw him over my desk lengthwise on his stomach like he's a fuckin sack of hay in some fuckin barn. And the big jock goes thump against the desktop. I pull his shorts off and position him so he's bent over the desk with his ass exposed and his boner pointing down between his legs. I let him grab onto the sides of the desk so his chest won't be sliding around in the slick of his sweat.
All this manhandling and getting kicked in the nuts and kissing my dick has got farmboy horny.
Spread your legs, Peterson.
He's obeying orders real good now. Automatic submission.
You look like a faggit ready to get fucked, Peterson. Maybe I should get a couple of enlisted men in here so they can use you as their girlfriend.
SIR PLEASE SIR
Please yes? Or please no?
SIR PLEASE NO SIR!
I sit back down in my swivel chair and cross my ankles on the desktop right next to his face so all he sees is my boots.
I pick up the receiver. He hears me dialing, then a pause.
Lou, report to my office in 10 minutes. Find Jack and bring him with you. I got a faggit recruit here you men are gonna enjoy.
Course I didn't really make a call. Just pretend. My thumb pressed down the button thingamajig that keeps the switch closed. Course my dick-kisser didn't know that. Didn't seem to faze him though. Unless it made him hornier. If that was possible.
Stay right there, Private, so the men can get their rocks off soon as they get here. And here's something you can work on in the meantime.
I unzipped and took my dick out. Jesus Christ I got a big dick. Hard as a fuckin rock.
I moved his head to one side so his face was next to my dick, put my hand on the side of his face and pressed his head down against the desk, keeping him in place. And put the tip against the fucker's lips.
Open up, Private.
Please SIR --
Are you disobeying a direct order, Private?
This time the pause was short . . SIR NO SIR
Then open up.
So he parts his purdy lips about the width of a fuckin French fry.
Wider, Private. . . Nope. That's not gonna fit. . . . Jesus Christ, open your damn mouth wide enough for my dick.
Course, I don't put my cock in his mouth right away, just leave him bent over the desk with his mouth wide open, pushing his face against the top of the desk, my dick just touching his lips, making him wait for it. Making him savor the moment when he first opened his mouth for a man.
I take hold of my shaft. I'm already leaking pre. I outline his open lips with my wet tip, drawing a big O with the sticky juice oozing out of my prick. Then couple of millimeters by millimeter I slide my cockhead in between his lips like a projectile being loaded into a torpedo tube, keep pressing his face against the desk, til my dickhead is in his open mouth and I feel his lips around the ridge. I can do whatever I want with this boy. Right now I'm doing him a big favor -- only a select few get my cock in their mouth.
If I was a betting man, Peterson, I'd bet the fuckin farm that you tasted your own pre-cum once or twice. Now you know what another man's pre-cum tastes like. How do you like it, Private?
mmmmmfff.
I give him a couple of friendly slaps on the cheek.
Mmmmmfffff
By now you know that I'm a patient man. I can stand with my cockhead leaking pre in this recruit's mouth, holding his head immobile while I smoke my ceegar. Let him deal with it. I can tell when he breathes through his mouth, cause I feel him exhaling, hot breath on my cockhead, and his tongue wiggling and poking as he struggles to adjust to my dick. And when he breathes through his nose, it makes his big soft lips automatically close around my head. He switches from one to the other, trying to find relief when there is none.
I press down on his face so he can't back away, and I slide in two inches of shaft, feeling my dickhead against the back of his throat. The exhales become strong short huffs, the huffs become coughs and gags, he grasps the desk and wriggles. He can't swallow -- can't close his mouth and anyway a dick is blocking his throat passage. His spit dribbles out on the desk. He calms down gradually as he realizes fighting makes it worse. He explores different positions for accepting the invader, opens his mouth wider, closes his lips around my pole as it slides in and out, making humming sounds. I know he's getting to like it when I feel his tongue pushing and sliding against the bottom of my shaft, licking it in rhythm with my fucking.
I pull out and let him catch his breath and relax his jaw. Release the pressure of my hand on his face too. He's breathing hard and coughs a few times. Run my hand down his back. The fan has cooled and partly dried his skin. I smack his ass. He's doing a good job for his superior. His superior is pleased. For now.
Time for more basic training, Private.
This time he doesn't protest. He opens his mouth wide and waits for it. I don't hold his head down yet. I come in slow, first just the cockhead, then the shaft til I feel the back of his throat. Now it's time for some motion. Almost all the way out. Wait wait wait. Back in nice and slow. Hold it there. Let him cough and gag some. Pull out slow. Let him breathe just long enough. Then back in. Hold the back of his bristly head to keep him on it and keep it in longer this time. He's slobbering all over my prick. Out quick. Back in quick. Out quick. Back in quick. Every time I get to the back of his throat he goes glug. It's glug - out- glug - out - glug - out . . . You get the idea. Course I'm not gonna go all the way in yet. There's plenty of time for that. This recruit will be making more visits and taking all 8 inches of my dick when I'm through with his training.
When I've had enough fun with him I withdraw and put my wet dick across his face.
RECRUIT PETER PETERSON REQUESTS PERMISSION TO SPEAK TO MASTER SERGEANT SLAUGHTER SIR!
Jesus Christ, Peterson. Since you can't shut the fuck up, I'm gonna shut you the fuck up.
I took off my tie and doubled it lengthwise and gagged him, tying it behind his head. And for good measure I used his belt to tie his wrists together behind his back.
So here's this buck naked stud laying over my desk. Gagged. Tied up. Legs spread. His big hardon pressed against the side of the desk. So fuckin big and hard it looks like his dick alone might topple the fuckin desk over. And this barely legal recruit has a nice butt. Two fuzzy bubbles and fuzzy hair starting to line his crack. His butthole is about the size of a pinhead.
How come your dick is hard Private?
Gggllllghhh
Oh that's right you can't say anything right now can you?
I patted his butt like I was a teammate after he made a home run.
You looking forward to the men fucking your ass, Peterson?
MMMFF! MMMMMFFF!
Enthusiasm! That's what I'm talking about! Maybe I'll just warm your ass up for em.
Now I am one hundred percent certain that some of you men who get your kicks from -- well, let's say from humiliating a recruit -- will agree that the sound of a man's hand making contact with a firm ass is a mighty satisfying sound. The feel of that smooth round cheek when you slap some studpup straight off the farm bent over from the waist who can't do a fuckin thing about it. And the tingle it leaves on your palm. Man, that's some fun. That is some good fuckin fun.
That's looking better, Henders . . -- oh wait, what's your name, Private? Penderson? Patterson? Whatever the fuck. I left a big red handprint on your ass. I bet you're feeling it even though you can't see it.
I came in from maximum range and slapped the other side of that boy's ass so goddamn hard the cherries in the barracks looked out the window to see where the lighting hit.
God-DAMN I'm good! And such a fuckin good lookin man! Jesus H CHRIST I'm good lookin!
Being a military man I'm always in a state of readiness. I always keep around some cheap-ass 8-inch 32-ring stogies for occasions such as this. I get one from my stash and roll the cap around in my mouth for awhile, getting it nice and wet with my spit. Ordinarily I'd just use spit for lube but this virgin butthole is so fuckin tight that I break out the coconut oil, a lube I first came across in the Philippines while stationed at Subic Bay. My greasy finger rubbing it on his butthole startles the green teen. Naturally he involuntarily clamps down and tries to close his legs.
Keep your goddamn legs spread, Private.
I nudge his legs apart and hold him in position with by boots wedged aside his bare feet. I get my index finger lubed up with coconut oil and circle his tight-as-fuck butthole, greasing him up til I can insert it. At this invasion the big boy's hole closes around my finger like a fuckin Chinese finger trap. I hold him down with my other hand on his back and keep my finger up his butt.
Relax, Private. I am gonna keep my fat finger up your ass. So just take it. Course if you want to fight it, I'm happy to make it worse for you.
He's making stifled noises through the gag, not trying to communicate, just grunts as his mind tries to deal with what's happening. Eventually he lies still and his grip starts to weaken. I take the advantage to slide my long finger further and again he tightens up and wriggles in protest. Until I hit the prostate. Then there's lots of muffled Oohs and head shaking and squeezing. So I get the 8-inch stogie and as I draw my finger out I very gingerly plug the spit-wet tip into his lubed-up ring, with a screwing motion slowly insert it up his ass. One inch. Two. Three inches. Four. Four and a half. Preparation drill for when I decide to start fucking him. Just a little taste of what's to come, something much thicker and harder. He starts groaning like a beast in heat getting probed. Discovering the most intense sexual feeling he's ever had. I slide that fuckin stogie out and when I stick it back in he starts chuffing like some goddamn panther. That smooth tube sliding up his insides fuck yeah he's craving that like a fat boy drooling over a motherfuckin three layer chocolate cake. That slow in and out got him moaning uhhhhh uhhhhh uhhhhh like a rutting buck. His eyes are closed and he doesn't even know where he is anymore or care. Naturally the fucker's dick is still hard and dripping precum. But master sarge hasn't finished with him yet. Just when he's gonna blast so hard his spunk would pierce armour I interrupt the op, take the stogie out, and smack his butt hard to bring him to.
I lean over as untie his hands, get my fat dick wedged in his crack, my face nearly touching his. The fan has pretty much dried him off now but I can feel the warmth radiating off his purdy face. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, no doubt thanking his lucky stars he's got such a damn good-looking hunk paying attention to him. I get real close and speak real low right in his ear.
Now Private, I'm gonna let you get off of the desk, and you're gonna get back down on your knees.
And he complies, dazed as he is, pushing himself off the top of the desk and sinking down to the subservient position, assuming his inferior status.
Turn so you're in front of me, Peterson.
Now the fucker is on his knees with my hard dick sticking out and pointing right at his face.
Now, Private, I am gonna take the gag out and you are gonna stay right there with your hands behind your back.
So I unknot the tie and take it out. He closes his mouth and swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. Course, the part of the tie that's been in his mouth is pretty much sopping with his spit. I drape it around the back of his neck, let the blade and the tail hang in front. Army issue got a lot more ties for gagging dumbass fuck recruits with.
Open up, Private.
And I let him taste my dick and pre again but this time when I get to the back of his throat I take his head in my hands and turn it sideways so I can shove all 8 down his throat. Something about the larynx and the trachea, don't ask me what, that when the head is sideways you can get a big dick all the way down easier. Course he has a mighty reflex then, gagging like he's gonna upchuck, but what the fuck, nothing he can do about it. I look down cause there's nothing I like more when I got a cocksucker on his knees than seeing the thick base of my dick planted in his mouth with his lips sealed around it.
Submission! That's what I'm talking about.
Now you might be thinking I am gonna plow this motherfucker's face and make him take it till he starts choking and gasping and tearing up. Instead, I pull out cause I got a lot of self control. Like they say, there can be too much of a good thing. There's more training ahead. Gotta save the best stuff for another private training session. Agenda includes grabbing his ears and holding him steady while I choke him with my cock down his throat and getting on top of him ramming my dick up his ass and pumping my cum. Anyway, I got my dick wet with his spit and slime, makes for good lube for jerking my dick while I further dominate this cocksucker.
You can polish my boots now Peterson. Lie down on the floor.
Look of confusion.
With your tongue, Private.
Now I got this 18 year old full-o'-cum recruit belly on the floor with his tongue on my left boot. Course, my boots are already so bull polished you can see your fuckin face in em. Got a deal with a petty officer. I let him smell my socks and lick my feet. In return he gets to polish my boots. I check in once in a while to watch him melt the beeswax into the leather or when he rubs every fuckin inch with Kiwi, spitting on the surface in between each layer of polish. God fuckin damn! I like it when he's in his cammos, got that boot positioned on his thigh, pressing in on his dick and balls, one hand inside to hold it steady, the other polishing with a sock wrapped around his finger inch by inch, and the way the fan ruffles his blond hair as he works. He's awful damn cute and he fuckin loves smelling my socks and licking my feet. Course when he's worshiping my feet he's naked as a fuckin jaybird, dick hard as a goddamn brick. Every once in a while I tell him to look up and he looks up at me with his puppydog blue eyes knowing what's coming. I slap his face and push him back down on my feet and he laps my fucking toes and soles and just generally goes to town on my big size twelves.
Shine em up, Private. Shine.
SIR YES SIR
I take aim and bombs away, my spittle lands on my right boot.
Switch to the other boot, Private.
And I stand and puff on my ceegar looking down at the naked local baseball hero whose tongue is spreading my spit around my boot top. I'm jerking with anticipation of shooting my load all over his purdy face.
That's right. Give it a good spit shine. Shine em up, Private.
He's taken the first steps to becoming a man since I knocked him off the sports idol pedestal and shoved my dick in his mouth. He's realized that he wants to be subservient to a real man. And I'm the realest man going.
All the way around now, Peterson. Sides, heel.
He's butt-naked squirming around on the floor moving his face around my bigass boot licking every surface. Course now when he's licking the sides of the boot he has to turn his head, and I can see one side of his face and watch his tongue glide across the leather. And naturally I gather up a wad of saliva and ptooey splat! right on the motherfucker's face. My spit slides down his cheek and onto his tongue while he's licking. Now you're thinking what could be worse than being a man groveling on the floor with a big stud over you spitting in your face while you lick his boots. Well, that depends on if the big stud is me and you're a submissive queer. Cause Private Peterson was going at it with enthusiasm. He's so fuckin digging this shit that he's making these weird humming moans. Now that his hands are free he reaches around my boots cupping the heel on the one he's licking and stroking the other boot. I mean this fucker is fuckin in love with my fuckin boots. Or more to the point he's in lust with the stud wearing the boots.
Get those boots wet, Private! Shine em up!
I shower the right boot with spit like it's raining on the top of that boot, a big spritz that beads up on the polish.
Right boot, Private!
SIR YES SIR
Private Peterson switches sides, laps up my spit. The motherfucker is actually feeling me up while he services my boot, hand sliding up and down my muscular calf, and French kissing the leather. He's crawling on his knees and elbows, legs spread, like a goddam GI Joe toy to get to the heel of my boot so he can slobber on it. And while he's doing it he's glancing up sideways so he can watch me stroking my cock.
God-DAMN I'm right on the verge. I got total power over this raw boy, my jizz is pounding at the door watching him hump about to spill it all over the floor and wham! my load spurts like a fuckin water cannon and lands all over the naked motherfucker big strings splattering on his face and back and at the same time he starts panting and sweating stiffens up and jerks around with eyes rolling back in his head and he blows his wad with loud AHs each spurt making his butt clench as he humps.
He lies there in his pool of spunk whimpering with my load on his face. I zip up, relax in my new swively chair, lean back with the bigass fan keeping me cool.
Get your duds back on, Peterson.
He picks up his tee and starts to wipe his face.
Leave it, Peterson.
So with my cum dripping down his face I watch the Joe step into his boxers. Then he's got a nice surprise for his hot-as-fuck master sergeant. Before he gets back into his fatigues he gets on his knees and locks his hands behind his head. His boxers tighten up in his crotch as he opens his legs, showing the twin bulges of his balls on either side of the seam. He looks up to me like the high school kid who just fucked up a play on the infield looks up at the coach, and with a pleading expression he says
SIR . . . would you please . .. kick me in the balls. . . SIR