Field Maneuvers
FIELD MANEUVERS
by R. Keith Peck
Story Codes: MM/mast/foreskin
Copyright 1996 R. Keith Peck; All Rights Reserved
Originally Posted: Sat, 19 Oct 1996 [Usenet]
Outside the tent: a heavy susurration of sound. Metallic groans replete with squeaks and clanks. The ground throbs.
Inside the tent: a nylon floor covered with forest detritus. Ammo tins heavy with unspent rounds near the flap. A sleeping bag rolled up tight as a gymnast. Another sleeping bag, unrolled ... with a man named Ray in his boxers sprawled on top.
He's a sergeant. His fatigues are crumpled in the corner, but the bright yellow Seventh Cav patch gleams in the dark. His black hair is streaked by gray -- the effect is of stars newly appeared in the night sky. It's plastered to his skull from sweat. Ray's looking down past his erection, towards his mud-streaked boots laying discarded by the flap.
A big man, with a big erection. The thickness of the meat strains the fly to the point of ripping. The cock throbs in time with the tanks. The naked head steams with sweat. Pubic hairs leak through, snarling the base.
Sweat trickles down his face as he stares at it.
This is Man: broad shoulders, hard pectorals, nipples nearly invisible behind the black C's of wet hair, biceps like cantaloupes. A smell -- potent, energetic -- wafts from armpits. A hard tower jutting proud.
But Ray's not jacking it. He holds it motionless in his hand. Fascinated. His cock rears up. Big balls shift under the yellow-stained cotton boxers. He touches the naked cockhead with a finger from his free hand, a scientist examining a glowing gram of radium. A gold band encircles that finger.
He lets it go and it smacks into his belly. Ray gets up on an elbow. His eyes shift back and forth. Hulking M-1 Abrams still rumble outside, but with sharp ears he hears twigs cracking under boots.
He tugs on the boxers, stretching a week's worth of piss stains. He shoves his hardon back inside the boxers.
Now his groin bulges massively, but he's acceptably civilized. For a horny man.
"Master Sergeant, I -- " The voice, from outside, squeaks like a startled rat.
"Shut the fuck up, Jackson, and get it done!" The voice sounds clearly over the tanks' reverberation.
Ray grins.
The tent flap opens. A man comes in -- body big as Ray's. He's tagged MADSEN and his stripes proclaim him a master sergeant. A man happy to be prime stud meat. A clipped mustache clings to his lips. Stubble descends down his neck, merges into the curls of hair under his tee-shirt.
"Trouble, buddy?" Ray asks.
Madsen starts unrolling his own sleeping bag. "Fuck! That goddamned idiot Jackson. Stupid as a goddamned jarhead." He flings himself back on the bag, kicks off his own boots and socks, starts to peel off his fatigues. "Got a friggin' jeep stuck in the mud up on the fucking mountain and he wants to fuckin' sleep before he gets his sorry fuckin' ass up to fuckin' get it!"
"His dad was a marine." Ray laughs.
Madsen kneels down, undoing the laces on his boots then pulling them off. Sweat-wet socks follow. "And his goddamned mother too."
Ray's eyes glitter like moonlight on a dark sea.
Madsen reaches up, unfastens his fatigue shirt, pulls it off. He "Yeah, me too. Kept popping boners right and left. Hell, I about broke my dick off in one of those." He nods towards Madsen's swollen jock. "That's why I wear boxers." He snaps the elastic against his stomach.
"You gotta learn how to pack it in, Ray," says Madsen. "You gotta get your balls situated first. Then you tuck your dick in." Madsen demonstrates, pulling down the waistband so that his equipment shows. Long cock, foreskin hanging loose over the head by several inches, balls shifting nervously in the big sac.
Ray's eyes don't even widen. He sees such monsters every day in the barracks. Or swinging between his own thighs. Ray always shows crotch. His meat never really shrinks. >From time to time it just looses the rigid, unyielding urge, but it never really shrinks.
Madsen finishes tapping his gonads into his jock. He's done it with the ease of someone putting fine tobacco in a pipe.
Ray says, "Let me try that."
Madsen looks over. "You got a strap?"
"Naw."
Madsen shrugs, arches his back. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband, yanks them down. Cock and balls flap and shift again; the smell of cockcheese is pungent. He flips the strap over to Ray. "Try it with mine."
Ray grabs the jock. He holds it up by an elastic ass-strap. Dark hairs line the pouch so thickly that it looks like Madsen's shedding for the summer.
Ray slips it on, adjusting it in an easy mimicry of Madsen's routine. He shifts his meat around, coiling it to fit it inside. Now he really shows crotch -- his babymaker's enormous -- the pouch actually frays and his balls spill out on either side.
"Damn, Ray, you do have problems."
Ray laughs. He yanks the jock off and tosses it back. Cock flails like a striking rattlesnake. "Hell, when I played center, those 'straps made me show so much crotch our quarterback didn't know which ball he should grab."
Madsen tosses the jock down to the other end of the tent. It was too hot to be wearing anything. He grabs his meat, stretching and pulling on it. The drying sweat makes him itch, and the motion gives him some relief. "I can believe it, Ray. You were looking pretty big in my jock." He winks. "I bet Karen likes it."
"You know it, buddy." His hands remain on his prick, adjusting it, cooling the flesh. He grabs it by the base, swings it through the air like a lasso.
"You get it often?" Madsen's eyes cloud over.
"You bet."
"I wish I still did."
"I thought that's your problem, buddy. Dipping it into too many places." Ray pauses. "You said Beth caught you."
"Yeah." Idly he gives his prick a stroke. He feels blood gush into it, feels the meat stir and roll across his belly. "Yeah, she did. And now I'm fucking paying for it."
"Who was it with?"
"Her kid brother."
"Her brother?" Ray leans up on his elbow, looking down at the hairy man next to him, the man who's fisting a growing prong.
"Yeah. I can't believe I did it. But he just kept beggin' me. He used to watch me and Beth do it. He knew how big this guy got." That guy was now pretty firm between Madsen's curled fingers, and coming up into Ray's range.
"Couldn't resist?"
"Nah, he couldn't."
"I mean you."
"Fuck no. Hot ass on that guy."
"So Beth walked in -- "
"We were doing it on his bed. He was bent over and I was fuckin' like a stud stallion." Madsen's prick snaps into erection, a tower of stone rising out of a forest of hairs. Hair climbs halfway up the shaft. The foreskin's so long that an inch or so dangled at the end like a nipple.
Ray's stiffens too. The heat, the smell. He always had a hard time dealing with male smells. Maybe had something to do with why number 22, his quarterback, liked his package so much. "Was it good?"
"Fuck yeah, Ray. I mean, I felt more like a man pluggin' him than any time with Beth. And she used to turn my back to hamburger from her nails." He pauses, remembering. "Man, I feel like a kid at camp."
"No shit." Ray's boner now rears out of the fur in his groin. Already his pisslips cup a droplet of dew. He lets his cock go; it slaps against his belly.
"I get you hot, Ray?" Madsen asks. His fingers slowly massage his cock. He foreskin moves but the sphincter at the end doesn't wink because there's so much slack in the skin.
"Yeah."
"Talkin' about me and Beth's brother?"
"Yeah." Ray pauses. "Never been with a guy."
"Not even as a kid?"
"Well, yeah, but that doesn't count. Not been with a man." He watches Madsen playing with himself. And he responds -- his hands go back onto himself, his hard stinking hairy flesh that juts so far away from his groin. His juices are rich -- he's the type of man who goes and jacks off in the bathroom after he's just shot a huge wad into his wife because he's still horny.
"But at least you get off, Ray," Madsen touches his balls, winces. "These things're so fucking loaded with cum. And a week out here -- hell, I ain't even jacked off."
"Me neither, buddy." In a dry throat: "You wanna?"
"Fuck yeah." Equally dry.
"Let's pound 'em."
Two sets of hands start motions at the same time, up and down shafts sticky with dried sweat. Ray stops after two strokes, hawks up a huge wad of spit into his palm.
"Should've brought Vaseline, Ray."
"Hey, buddy, not all of us got the extra skin you got."
Madsen laughs. "Makes it easier."
Wet sounds come from Ray's crotch as his motions get vigorous as Madsen's. Ray's eyes roll up and a shudder goes through him. "Man, you got me hot."
"Why?"
"'Cause there's some guys in my platoon I'd like to make into my kid brother."
"Really?" Madsen feels a fire erupt in his balls. He feels on the verge of spurting.
"Benson," Ray says, a simple word meaning blond-furred muscles and a cock-begging ass.
"Yeah. I wouldn't mind him. Make sure Karen doesn't find out. Else you'll end up like me." He cups his testicles. "Swollen balls. Only you won't have this extra skin to make draining them fun." Madsen stuck a finger up the skin and swirled it on the cockhead, now swimming with juices.
"Hey, buddy," Ray says. "What's it like having that skin?"
Madsen looks down. "I dunno. I guess -- " he stops, grins. "I'll show you."
"What?"
"Roll on your side, Ray. Face me."
The first sergeant rolls. His prick arcs over the space between sleeping bags. Madsen rolls over to face Ray. His hand -- thick, callused, knuckles knotted with hair -- went around the beer-bottle fat prick.
"Buddy ... " Ray croons, his eyes slitted, balls tight to hairy groin.
"Hold off a sec, Ray. Don't shoot it."
Ray's stroking motions slow; the throb in his balls fades away. Madsen's eyes stare at the sergeant's rigid prong. Two fingers slip inside his foreskin, spreading it open like an asshole being warmly prepared. Cheese smears his fingertips. He pulls the fingers out, sniffs them, the smell causing his prostate to spasm and ooze a flood of precum.
"Smell," he says, and touches Ray's upper lip with his finger.
Ray inhales. His eyes close and a smile curls at his lips, remembering younger days. "Buddy ..."
"Yeah," Madsen says. "This is one thing you're missing." He bounces his hips once, moving a little closer to Ray. His cheese-soaked fingers seek the warmth under his foreskin again.
Ray moans, "You're making me so hot, buddy."
"Yeah. Don't pull it so much. I don't want you to shoot yet."
Ray stops his motions, cock pulsing. But he doesn't let go of his prick.
Madsen spreads his foreskin open. It yawns open like a mouth. Gleaming ropes of precum tie together the rose- colored flesh like a messy knot tied by a boy. He pulls his skin towards Ray, extending it. His fat cockhead sits at the base of it, a boulder blocking the entrance to a cave. The lips of the skin make a circle of hot flesh an inch from Ray's oozing cockhead.
Madsen looks into Ray's eyes. "Put it in."
"In?"
"Yeah. Like it's Karen's pussy."
A spasm passes through Ray, his eyes clench shut, his fingertips press hard against the fat tube on the underside of his prick. His throat closes tight, blocking the slow growl he's in danger of uttering. When it passes he looks at Madsen, who's staring at him with a big grin on his face.
Madsen says, "You just barely held onto it, Ray."
"Fuck, buddy, I'm hot."
"Put it in." He opens his foreskin wide. It beckons like a whore's throat begging for dick.
Ray moves forward an inch. Something hot touches his pisslips: Madsen's own drooling pisslips. Madsen lets go with his fingers. The foreskin closes over Ray's cockhead.
"Docking completed," Madsen says, grinning. His fist closes around the bulging juncture where their dicks are joined. Then he jacks them.
"Fuck!" Ray says. He convulses with the first motion. "Shit!" The second motion makes him put a hand on Madsen's hard hip, to steady him. He sees Madsen's mouth so close to his and he can't resist. His tongue slides into his buddy and again Madsen's hot flesh surrounds his own.
Madsen takes his free hand and runs it over Ray's chest. The hairs there are sweaty again. From beneath Ray's armpits comes a heady odor. He touches his buddy, moves his fingers over Ray's body, feeling the hard nipples.
"I can't -- " Ray chokes it off and explodes under Madsen's foreskin. It's massive. His balls contract like a sun collapsing under its own gravity; a hot gout of jism squirts against Madsen's cockhead. There's no space under that foreskin -- it's all taken up with hard cock -- so the jism backflushes and blasts down the length of Ray's prong.
And Madsen, who hasn't had any in so long, outlasts Ray only by a half second. The hot gravy flooding his foreskin causes his own orgasm. While Ray still shoots a stream of hot silver gushes from his own gaping pisshole. They meet under the foreskin hood. It's like two boys dueling with water hoses. The sperm explodes into a shower of hot liquid, which blasts out of their groin and coats hairy chests and legs.
When the cocks finish -- and they both shot about eight or ten jets apiece, so it takes awhile -- they're exhausted and roll away from each other. Ray's cock slips out with a slurp. They clasp hands and lay in the tent, chests heaving, their gasps audible even over the endless rumble of tanks on maneuvers.
"How was it, Ray?"
"Pretty damn good, buddy" Ray said. "I like this foreskin thing. Good thing I left my boys uncut."
"Both of 'em?"
"Yeah," says Ray. "Both."
End
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