MEN, MUSCLE, and MAYHEM (11 page)

He penetrated me ever so gently but with a steady movement, and before I knew it, that hard, thick pierced tool was all the way in, and I oozed another quart of precum. The metal ring just added to my pleasure as doing me from behind allowed it to rub my prostate just right. He continued to lick my neck and stroke my cock while he fucked me slowly never increasing nor decreasing his pace. I was in heaven. And, I was getting close.

Within a minute, I shot with a loud growl and painted the tiles with my thick load while he continued his steady fuck. Once he was sure I was drained, he withdrew his cock, and I ached for its return. It was over, and I wanted it to go on all night. I was embarrassed at my quick orgasm, but he seemed not to mind.

He turned me around and proceeded to soap me up again as he did before, but this time he leaned in and planted his full lips on mine. Not only was he a great fuck, but also the best kisser I have ever known. My cock, which I thought was through for the night, got hard again (his stroking it didn’t hurt).

This time instead of turning me around, he turned around and rubbed his big hard muscular ass on my cock. I got the message. I found the hole with no problem and penetrated him with the same gentle but firm steady stroke he had shown me. I ran my tongue up his back and all over his neck, while I reached around and stroked his cock. He moaned with pleasure as I fucked him steadily, figuring he liked it as he gave it, slow, steady, firm and sensual. I have learned from years of casual encounters that if someone does something to you, they usually like it done to them.

He liked it.

Within a minute, he growled out his own thick load and painted the tile floor.

Strangely, we had only been at it for no more than ten or fifteen minutes, yet we had both come and fucked each other. I could have come again, but I withdrew. I also decided to return the favor and scrub him up.

His body felt fantastic; the more I felt of it, the more I wanted to go at it again.

“Come home with me,” he said.

Those were the first words either of us had spoken since he entered the shower.

“OK.”

We rinsed off, and as I walked toward his car, I wondered what a guy like him wanted with a guy like me.

That was more than twenty years ago, but I no longer wonder what he sees in me as long as he fucks me slow and steady and lets me return the favor every night.

THE ONE GIVING THE ORDERS

Another scorcher on Paris Island, South Carolina, and Master Sergeant Masters was ready to call it a day. Seven weeks into boot camp with the latest flock of recruits was taking its toll on Masters, and he swore after week eleven, once they were done with him and off to infantry training, he would retire. Twenty-five years he had spent in the Marines, and he was damn proud of his service to his country. Although he never saw combat, he had trained by last count over 11,000 recruits – the majority of whom arrived as long-haired pussies and left as jar-headed fighting machines.

His once deep resonating voice had matured to a prematurely raspy quality due to years of yelling orders and berating the greens.

After marching his boys into the barracks, he handed over control to Master Sergeant Earl, completed some paperwork, hopped into his Dodge pick-up, and drove to his home in Beaufort. He had chosen to live off base a few years before when he spotted the little house while out for some R&R one weekend. There was a for sale sign on it, and once he had contacted the real estate agent and taken a tour, he knew it was the home he always wanted. Having always lived modestly, driving an almost thirty-year-old truck at the time and always living on base, he was able to pay cash for the house with a little to spare to fix it up. His favorite feature was the basement. Basements were rare in these parts being so close to the coast, but this house was over 100 years old.

Masters pulled up to the house, parked his truck around back, and hopped out. He inspected his garden, then he stretched his arms and let out a roar. Barking orders all day had taken its toll, and at forty-six, he was getting seriously tired of always being in charge. Masters looked down at the garden and noticed some weeds popping up, so he started pulling them out. The sun was baking, so he pulled off his olive-green T-shirt, revealing his hairy, muscular torso. All he had on were his fatigues and boots. At six-feet even and over 225 pounds, Masters was a solid mountain of muscle. Prominent veins, which could be seen over the matt of salt and pepper hair on his arms, popped from his forearms up across his biceps right over his deltoids. His chest was two solid mounds of pectoral muscle covered in the same salt and pepper hair, which didn’t conceal his large protruding nipples – nipples one just wanted to suck and chew on for hours. And, Masters wouldn’t have minded that as they were hot-wired right to his gigantic dick.

He continued pulling the weeds and was working his way across the garden, when he heard a vehicle pull up in front of his house. He then heard a door open and shut, then another.

“What have we here?” came a voice at the foot of the garden.

Masters looked up and saw two men, both wearing fatigues and boots and no shirts standing there in his backyard looking at him. He recognized both of them. The man who had spoken was Private First Class Boneman, who finished boot camp a little over a year ago. Boneman was around five-foot-ten 170 pounds with light blond hair covering his young, muscular body, a handsome face with blue eyes and a blond high-and-tight haircut. Standing next to him was his boot camp buddy, Private First Class Firestone, who was considerably shorter than Boneman, but weighed the same, displaying a thickly muscled frame. The little man had dark features, smooth skin and hauntingly black eyes. One could tell immediately he was not the brightest guy, but sexy nonetheless.

“I think it’s our favorite drill instructor, Master Sergeant Masters,” Firestone answered.

Masters stared at the two boys, expressionless. He didn’t know why they were here, nor did he care. Once the boys were done with boot camp, he was done with them.

“So, growing pretty flowers, Sarge?” Boneman asked as he walked toward Masters with Firestone beside him.

“What do you boys want?” Masters said as he stood up.

Instantly, Boneman lunged toward him while Firestone grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. Boneman held a hand at Masters’ throat while he grabbed the top of his fatigues with the other hand.

“We’re here to have a little fun with our favorite drill instructor,” Boneman said as he spit in the sergeant’s face.

Masters just stared him down.

Firestone removed his military-issue belt and tied Masters’ wrists behind his back, and Boneman grabbed the older man’s dog tags and led him into the house. They entered through the back door into the kitchen, where Boneman opened the first door he saw, which turned out to be a broom closet. He opened a second door, which opened to a staircase leading to the basement. After feeling inside the wall for a light switch and turning it on, he continued to lead Masters by the dog tags while Firestone held onto his bound wrists and pushed him from behind as they descended the stairs into the dimly lit basement.

“Woo hoo, lookey here,” Boneman said as he scanned the room.

There was a sling hanging down in the middle of the room, off to one side was a wall with permanently attached restraints, a weight bench was situated in one corner, and in the opposite corner was a claw-type bathtub. Interestingly, hanging over the bath tub were chains with wrist restraints attached at the ends. Various brushes, hoses and other odds and ends were sitting on a table next to the tub.

“Get him into the tub!” Boneman barked at Firestone, who did as he was told. Masters tried to resist, but the little muscleman was still able to steer him over and into the tub. Boneman reached up and pulled down the two chains, removed the belt that Firestone had used, while the little man held onto the sergeant’s wrists. Boneman grabbed one of his wrists, brought it in front of him, and restrained it on the chain then he did the same with the other. He then pulled the chains up, so Masters’ hands were above his head.

Boneman looked him in the eyes, and when he did, Masters spit in his face. Boneman wiped the spit from his face then punched Masters in the gut, which to the young man’s surprise was like a brick wall. The feel of the older man’s rock- hard abs against his fist sent a shockwave to Boneman’s crotch, and he punched him again. Three more punches, and his dick was drooling. Masters only grunted with each punch, being no stranger to pain.

“Get his boots and pants off!” Boneman ordered the little man.

Firestone did as he was told, and when Masters tried to resist, Boneman punched him again.

Masters was now standing in the tub only wearing his olive green boxers, which Boneman wasted no time ripping off him.

“Hey Firestone, look at that?” Boneman said as he scanned the big naked man in front of him. “What do you think, eight, nine, maybe even ten?” he continued while pointing to the older man’s dick, which was flaccid but hanging a good seven thick inches nonetheless.

“Those hairy balls are as big as apples,” Firestone chimed in. “Pretty impressive for a girl with a flower garden.”

Boneman chuckled at the little muscleman’s joke then he ran his hand down Masters’ body, feeling the salt and pepper hair and then grabbing his nuts, which barely fit in his hand. Masters’ dick started to grow with Boneman’s handling of his sack.

“Clean him out,” Boneman said to Firestone, while still holding the sergeant by the short hairs.

“With what?” Firestone asked dumbly.

Boneman reluctantly let go of the balls and grabbed the hose that was attached to the faucet. It was a chrome hose with a narrow spray attachment at the end, shaped too much like an enema.

“With this … I’ll loosen the chains, so he can be on all fours in the tub,” Boneman said as he handed the hose to Firestone.

Boneman loosened the chains and guided Masters down, so he was now on all fours with his big, hairy, muscular ass in the air. The sight of the sergeant’s hairy hole up in the air was almost enough to make Boneman cream his fatigues, and one look at Firestone’s pants confirmed that he also appreciated the view.

Boneman turned the tap on lukewarm, and Firestone inserted the hose into the sergeant’s hairy hole, and the drill instructor didn’t even flinch, for he didn’t want them to have the pleasure of knowing how much they were humiliating him.

“Fill him up. I want him clean before I go in there,” Boneman said with a smile.

“The hell you will!” Masters protested, speaking for the first time since entering the basement.

Boneman leaned down, cupped Masters’ chin and said, “Did I ask you to speak? You aren’t in charge here. I am. Maybe it’s time you learned to take orders rather than give them. You got that, you miserable motherfucker?”

“Yes, Sir,” the sergeant mumbled.

“I didn’t hear you, pussy!” Boneman barked.

“Sir, Yes, Sir!” Masters bellowed as his bowels were filled with the warm water.

Firestone removed the hose, and Boneman told him to push. As the water sprayed from his aching hole, it was not as clear as Boneman would have preferred.

“Do it again, and keep doing it until it’s clean enough to drink,” Boneman told Firestone.

And, again, Firestone inserted the hose. After five times with the hose and evacuating on command, the water was crystal clear, and Firestone used the hose to spray the excess water down the drain.

“Now, we’ll get him all cleaned up … the same way he used to order us to clean up that stinky recruit with a scrub brush … what was his name?” Boneman asked.

Firestone answered, “Robert Taylor.”

“Yeah.”

Boneman removed the enema attachment from the hose and attached a garden sprayer, while Firestone removed his own boots, pants and boxers, then put his boots back on, revealing his own hefty meat, which was secured with a leather cock ring, making his full balls swell.

“I don’t want to get wet … man I got to take a piss,” Fireman said, while handling his prick.

“Take a piss then, just be sure you aim for his face,” Boneman said as he removed his own clothes.

Firestone then positioned himself in front of the sergeant and released a healthy stream of his urine all over Masters’ face and hair, while the sergeant just closed his eyes. Boneman noticed how the older man opened his mouth slightly to taste the nasty stream and chuckled at what a pig the man was. Boneman then put his boots back on, and marveled that Firestone was still pissing, when he decided to join in and released a healthy stream from his own thick meat, which was supported with a chrome cock ring, all over Masters’ face and hair. When they were done emptying their bladders and shook the last drops on the older man, Boneman turned on the hose and sprayed down the drill instructor starting with his hair and working his way back to his well worked over hole. He then handed the hose to Firestone, while he pulled the chains bringing the man to a standing position again.

When the two young men looked down, they saw that the sergeant’s dick was standing at half-mast and a good ten inches in front of him.

“I knew it would get huge,” Boneman said to Firestone, who whistled. “Now scrub him down.”

Firestone sprayed the water into a bucket that was next to the tub, filled it with the liquid soap that was on the table, grabbed the scrub brush, and dipped it into the sudsy water. He then started with Masters’ head, which was a reach for the shorter of the two men, and worked his way down Masters’ entire body until he was covered in suds and clean enough for inspection. Boneman then rinsed the suds off with quite a hard setting on the sprayer, yet Masters refused to acknowledge even the slightest pain or humiliation.

“He’s a tough old fart,” Boneman said as he turned off the faucet.

“A hot one, too,” Firestone said. But, Boneman gave him an angry look for saying anything positive about the older man.

“Let’s get him over to the sling,” Boneman ordered as he undid the restraints on Masters’ wrists. “And if you try anything, you’ll be sorry, old man,” he said as he looked Masters in the eye, and again Masters spit in his face. Boneman immediately followed with another punch to his stomach. He then punched him two more times, and his own dick reacted at the feeling of the sergeant’s rock-hard abs against his fist.