You couldn’t have created a finer, more perfect Marine than Brian Nelson, PFC, fresh-faced 22-year-old from Lincoln, Nebraska, who was one part Norman Rockwell painting, one part gruff fighting machine. Already, after four months in the Corps, he’d distinguished himself, using his tight, smooth musculature on his 6’1″ frame to excel at training exercises, drills, and squad competitions.
Naturally, his looks got him attention. His blond hair wasn’t pale or platinum, but it was striking in its sandy innocence. Azure eyes twinkled whenever he smiled. That smile, pearly-white and perfectly straight, was framed in a setting of deep dimples. His cheeks were full, fitting for an ex-jock of his build, and would have seemed jowl-like were it not for the strong lines of his jaw defining his face. His lightly-tanned face would either beam in his trademark smile, or else curl into a grimace of determination.
It was that way one Saturday night as Pvt. Nelson shifted on his bar stool in the Husky Boar, a bar not too far from the base. It wasn’t a gay bar, per se, but there was little doubt about why the patrons were there. It had taken Brian weeks, months even, to build up the courage to come. He’d heard his marine buddies making fun of the fags at the Boar. And he’d heard others, many more as he thought back, talking in hushed voices about it, when they thought Brian was out of earshot.
“Made it to the Boar this weekend, Jefferson?”
“Yah. The place was packed.”
“Any luck?”
“Yeah. Big strapping Navy Seal. We went at it all fucking night. Can’t remember his name.”
“You’re unbelievable, Jefferson.”
Lots of backslapping, whispering and deep baritone laughing would follow. Nelson would slink away to the latrine and beat his oversized meat furiously.
Now that he was here, Brian was horny as a goat. Military men of all stripes, trim, taut or beefy, stood arm to arm with local businessmen and workmen nursing their second or third afterwork drink in the crowded bar. Pvt. Nelson eyed one gorgeous specimen of masculine beauty after another. He wondered what he’d like to do to each hunk that walked past his fixed spot against the back wall. He’d never so much as touched another guy outside of the officially sanctioned rituals of the locker room, the football field, the barracks. This would be different. Deeper. More primal.
He wondered if he was conspicuous. Other men were in full uniform, but most were more circumspect by dressing in civilian clothes. Not that their regulation military cuts didn’t give them away; it’s just that given the military’s official rules there was no reason to flaunt their service here. Brian was dressed simply in a pair of faded jeans that barely stretched over the leg muscle he’d gained in boot camp training. They look poured on, and Brian had found no room for underwear beneath so had gone commando. His ample cock and plump oval-shaped balls were clearly defined as he spread his thighs and drank his beer nervously. His shirt was similarly form-fitting, a white T with his brother’s fraternity logo emblazoned on his left pec. His body was hands-down the most perfect in the place, even given the stiff competition. Nice, sweeping lats, meaty pecs that nonetheless seemed lithe in the way they tapered down to a firm, rippling eightpack shaped by innumerable crunches. Thick, knotty arms capped with softball-sized biceps. A corded neck and sinewy shoulders that communicated power, youth, agility. Skin smooth and waxy as Ivory soap.
A hulking figure blocked the light. Large, imposing… brick shithouse from head to toe. The man had dark brown hair, buzzed close, with brown eyes to match. A deep masculine smile curled up, seemingly etched into his gruff demeanor.
“Private…”
“Oh, shit, Sarge! I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know…” Five thousand fears flashed in Pvt. Nelson’s brain. The fear of getting caught, the fear of being tossed out of the Corps, the fear of being less of a man in front of his Sergeant. At 5’11” his superior was a couple inches shorter than Nelson, but in every other way, the younger man looked up to the 33-year-old tough-as-nails father figure.
Sgt. Clint Driscoll sized up the young grunt. He couldn’t tell if the angelic hunk looked better in uniform or civvies, but right now the kid in front of him sure was hot-to-trot in jeans and a T-shirt. The man felt his asshole pucker deep in hairy asscrevice, but he maintained his tough act. “Can it, Nelson. I’m here for the same reason you are. Here,” he added thrusting out a beer into the private’s strong-knuckled hand. “Thought you might be getting thirsty sitting here all alone.” Sarge gave a subtle laugh as he drew up a bar stool and sat next to the young buck marine.
“Pretty good crowd tonight, huh, Nelson?” he asked as he scooted into his perch on the stool.
Brian always admired the man’s powerful frame and demeanor. Tonight, Driscoll was dressed preppy like some suburban dad: pressed khakis, blue-and-white striped button-down shirt tucked in, running shoes.
The young private didn’t know what to answer. “I guess so, sir.”
The Sergeant eyed him suspiciously. “Boy, I hate to burst your bubble, but the pickings don’t get any better than this.”
“I didn’t mean…” he could barely speak. He’d spent the last months dreaming of seeing Sarge’s human side, and now the cat had his tongue.
“‘s OK, recruit. I get it. You don’t need ol’ Sarge spoiling your fun tonight.” He started to get up.
A hand stopped him. Damn, Driscoll didn’t know the kid had that kind of death grip in him. Fingers clawed a vice grip on his meaty forearm and clung for life. “Sarge. Don’t.”
The man was curious what was going on, but he relaxed back in his seat. Besides, he was in no rush to leave. Sitting next to Brian Motherfucking Nelson. The grunt who’d been pushing his forbidden way into Clint’s nightly dreams and afternoon jerkoff sessions. The 6-foot-some piece of wholesomeness that had all the bar patrons sneaking glances their way. Driscoll relished their envy.
Brian was gulping down that beer fast. Either he was real thirsty or was trying to work up some nerve. “It’s my first time here,” Brian finally blurted out, unable to look at his superior. “First time to any place like this.”
“No different than any other place, Nelson,” Sarge reassured him. “Guys like to come here, get drunk, let off some steam, maybe pick up a piece of tail for the night.” Just then he caught the eye of a roving server and motioned for another beer for the kid. “Is another OK?” he asked Brian.
“Yeah, thanks.” He held up his near-empty bottle. “Don’t tell anyone, but I think I’ve developed a taste for this stuff.” His deadpan seriousness broke into a broad smile, causing Sarge to laugh and Nelson to laugh right with him.
“What happens at the Boar stays at the Boar,” Sarge added thoughtfully.
“You mean…?”
“Like I said, recruit, I’m here for the same reason you are. None of the men at base need to know about it.”
“No, sir.” He paused. “I sometimes hear guys talk about this place.”
“Those guys oughta be more careful.”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed, before adding, “but you know something? I’m glad they weren’t. It’s how I found out about this place.”
The second beer arrived. Driscoll tilted his beer bottle up to take a good gulp, while the young private just stared at him and started chuckling.
“What’s so funny, private?” The gruffness came back naturally to Sarge’s demeanor.
“Sorry, Sarge, it’s just that I’ve never seen you with… or maybe I just never noticed, but, well, sir, your nipples stick up real high when they’re hard.”
Indeed the tips of Driscoll’s paps bored noticeable ridges in his ironed shirt. He laughed. “Yeah, it’s why I wear two undershirts sometimes. These puppies are supersensitive.”
“Yeah?” Brian teased, raking his beer bottle across the points capping his sergeant’s pectoral mass.
Driscoll’s big body shuddered as he slapped away the intrusion defensively. “Better not wind me up, private, I’m raring to go as it is. Hell, I’m even horny enough to have a tangle with Waxler.” Josh Waxler was a gawky orderly that none of the men in the unit liked much.
Nelson chuckled and now shuffled in his seat, desperate to rearrange the crowbar-hard cock trapped in his jeans leg. Finally, he reached down to his excited genitals.
“You too, private?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When I saw you sitting here alone, I didn’t know if you were drowning your sorrows or looking for a lay.”
“I guess both, sir.” Brian’s blue eyes met Sarge’s brown stare. Communicating desire. Breaking protocol. Sarge finally tore his gaze away.
“How’d you like a wingman for the night, Nelson?”
The private thought back to his nights out with his buddies in Omaha. Funny, he’d always been the wingman for his buddy Jeff, selflessly helping him score with a hot chick while he went home alone. Looking around the bar now packed with scores of incredibly handsome men, he wondered if he’d have the guts to tell Jeff why his bud Bri spent those partying years perennially single and celibate.
“Sure, Sarge. Only, I should help you out, too.”
“Trust me, Nelson, you have. My stock went up big time just sitting here with you.”
Brian blushed and felt the warm glow of his sergeant’s approval.
Driscoll set about surveying the room, touching Brian’s arm or patting his back as he pointed out one young buck after another.
Sarge was starting to guess what the young private was looking for. “How bout that one?”
Sarge didn’t point this time but he didn’t have to. Both men had a clear view of the man who just walked into the bar. Tall, large, muscular guy. He definitely topped 6’4″, maybe 6’5″ and in service dress. Air Force, definitely a commissioned officer. Muscular but compact frame with strong legs. Blond hair cropped short enough to see the waves of gray flecks on the side.
“Wow,” Brian sighed. “He’s incredible.”
The steely grin returned on Clint’s visage, happy he’d latched on to his private’s type. The kid’s deer-in-the-headlights stare and stammer returned as he soaked in the sight of the humpy officer.
The man walked along the far wall a minute before he noticed the two men. He started a bee line through the crowd.
“Damn, Sarge, he sees us,” Brian whispered.
As the guy sauntered toward them, Brian couldn’t help but think he looked even taller up close. The man’s uniform had an impressive taper to a trim waist, then flared out over some awesomely powerful thighs. In between, a packed mound protruded in a round mass from his crotch.
“How are you gentlemen tonight?” Deep, mellifluous voice. Those green-grey eyes were both hungry and calm.
“OK,” Brian croaked.
“Yeah, it’s an on night tonight here.” Sarge added in.
The officer looked around as if he were judging the clientele for the first time. “Yes, I guess it is.” Returning his gaze to the two men, he asked, “You military? Navy guys?”
“Marines,” Brian asserted proudly.
Driscoll smiled at his private’s quickness. The kid was pure Marine, all right. “Sgt, Clint Driscoll,” he said, shoving his beefy mitt in to the outstretched hand of the new arrival. “And this here is PFC Brian Nelson.”
“Captain Ben Walsh,” he volunteered as he shook their hands. “I guess you figured out the Air Force part. Mind if I join you?”
Driscoll stood up and offered him his stool. “Here, have a seat. I’m getting the next round. What can I get you, Captain?”
“Jack on the rocks. Thanks.”
The Sergeant pushed his way to the crowded bar. He felt relief. He hadn’t known if he’d have the will power to keep his grubby paws off Nelson. That Midwestern hunk definitely had the ability to twist the sergeant’s nuts into knots. He’d broken his rule about fraternizing with his charges only once before, and he’d regretted it then…
Now he didn’t have to worry. Another guy was sweeping in. Some Olympian god of an Air Force officer. Shit, the sarge reflected as he picked up two beers and the bourbon off the bar, Nelson deserves nothing less than the Captain there. A little sad, Driscoll knew he probably never even had a chance with a hot number like Baby Face Nelson.
When he returned, the two were swapping stories of their respective branches. This was Nelson’s first base leave in two weeks, and the Captain had just come from an all-day strategy session and popped in the Boar to blow off a little steam. It was an unlikely pair for conversation, but Sarge came back to see two men talking like bosom buddies.
“Your private is saying some pretty good things about you, Sergeant,” Ben smiled.
“I could probably say some pretty nice things about Nelson, only I don’t wanna make the kid blush,” Clint teased. Sure enough, Brian’s face flushed red, making the older men laugh.
“Seems like your sergeant knows his men,” Ben smirked, his stern demeanor being melted by the whiskey and the company of two hunky marines. His eyes bored into Clint’s – probing, questioning.
Driscoll returned the gaze. He knew the score, knew the Captain was trying to suss out if he and Nelson were an item. “It’s my job,” he shrugged.
The three chatted for the next ten minutes, till Walsh excused himself to make way for the rest room.
The second the man was out of ear shot, Driscoll scooted right next to Nelson and growled conspiratorially, “Well, whaddya think?”
“What do you mean, Sarge?” Brian asked in trepidation. His muscles were tense, but that only made his figure that much more impressive.
“Do I have to draw you a map, Private? That guy can’t take his greedy eyes off you. He’s a hunk, too. Unless you’re strictly top. Cause I’m pretty sure the Captain is.”
The Sargeant paused.
“Well… are you, Private?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Versatile, then.”
“I don’t know. I never have done it before.”
Driscoll breathed a low whistle and sat back against the wall. His cock throbbed heavily in his khakis. “You mean you’re virgin?”
“Not with women, sir… but yeah, I guess I am.”
“Well, fuck me!”
Brian felt flushed red, embarrassed. “I know sir, I was just hoping that maybe tonight, I could, you know…”
“Yeah, I know. Fuck, kid, you don’t have to do much more than bat those baby blues and you’ll have this whole place lining up to punch your dance card.”
“Really?”
“Damn straight. I’d be lining up there with them to, if only…”
Brian leaned forward expectantly. He almost heard his sergeant say what he’d secretly dreamed of. “If only what, Sarge?”
“If only I wasn’t your superior. I can’t go fucking around with my men, Nelson, no matter if they are hot as you. Besides…” Clint paused to soak in the hangdog private squirming in his seat. Damn, this would take willpower! “your sarge is a big ol’ bottom.”
Nelson smiled, pleased that his sergeant confided in him, and feeling lightheaded from the blood that was filling his dick by the minute. “I didn’t expect that, sir.”
“Yeah, well I am. I don’t want it advertised on a big fucking billboard, Private, just remember that. Anyway, even if I did decide to fraternize with a private, I couldn’t offer you the full experience. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Brian replied, unsure if he did really understand. “But, sir,” he added. “I’m afraid to do it alone.”
“Need someone along to look after you, Private?”
“Something like that, sir.”
Sgt. Driscoll smiled a toothy grin, then patted Pvt. Nelson right between the shoulder blades. “Anything for my private.”
The Captain returned, and after a few pleasantries, cut to the chase.
“Well, fellas, I’m calling it an evening. They’re putting me up at the Marriott. I was gonna ask the private here is he’d like to come back to my room for a little R&R.” The whole time, he talked to Clint, not Brian. “If he’s spoken for, I’ll back off.”
“Nelson’s his own man, Captain, but I promised him I’d accompany him if wanted me to. Look after him. It’s his call.”
Brian’s heart pumped. His admiration for his sergeant swelled and his heart pumped nervously as he realized he was one step closer to having sex with another man. Already he could feel the heat and smell the cologne and pheromones emanating off the USAF officer. “Yes… Captain, I’d like Sarge to come along. If that’s OK with you.”
Ben looked a little confused.
“Nelson here’s green,” Driscoll explained.
Capt. Walsh’s eyes went wide. “You mean?”
“Yep. New to the whole she-bang. I’m gonna make sure he’s not hurt and that he gets back to base a happy man.”
Walsh paused and finally exhaled a sigh. “Well, fuck me. You guys are something else. Come on. Both of you.”
Sarge put a reassuring arm around his private’s shoulders. Brian’s face broke into a wide, pearly white smile.
The men filed into the hotel suite. “Make yourself at home, fellas,” Ben said as he took off his coat and carefully hung it up. Nelson followed suit by kicking off his shoes and peeling off his shirt. The Captain whistled as he saw the smooth chest bared for his gaze. Clint felt a twinge of horniness and then jealousy as Ben stepped up and began running his hands over the hot, eager flesh. Brian cocked his head up and placed his lips right next to the officer’s. They kissed and made out, as Walsh gripped the private’s body possessively. This kid was a tall drink of water after a long day in the desert. Brian was hungry too as he got into the intensity of the kiss.
When they broke it, Capt. Walsh cupped Nelson’s chin with his fist. “Your first mankiss?”
“Yeh,” Brian croaked, thrilled and nervous at the same time.
“Man, you greenhorns are something else. I’m SO gonna love this.” Their lips met again, and the younger man’s horniness got the best of him, as his hand reached down to paw the man’s full crotch.
“Go slow, Captain,” the sergeant warned. He was apprehensive and protective, yet turned on. He’d unbuttoned the top few buttons of his dress shirt and started running his thick fingers through his chest fur, tantalizing the sensitive nipples poking up from beneath the hair. Those paps were obscenely hard by now.
“Don’t worry, Sarge, you haven’t even seen careful. I’ve done this before, gonna make the private here happy. Aren’t I, Brian?” he asked attacking the young man’s neck.
The grunt whimpered. “Oh Sarge… God, this feels great.”
Driscoll gripped his aching crotch. “It should, Marine. Look, I don’t think you guys need much warming up. Why don’t you just go to the bedroom and do your thing, and I’ll stick around out here.”
Ben nodded and started guiding the private toward the other room in the hotel suite. “I thought you were gonna angle in for a threeway.”
“I’m trying to be a good boy. Now go on before I change my mind.”
Clint leaned back and closed his eyes. He could hear the two men making out in the other room. Kissing. Groping. Moaning. The sounds were torture. He questioned why he was here. Why he was crossing this line with a private. Not touching the young man, but this had to be the next worst thing. At least his will power had held out.
And he’d have some wicked fantasies to fuel his edging j.o. sessions for months to come. Baby Face Nelson, he sighed as he unzipped. His meat was hard and hefty and lodged nicely into the well-worn groove in his palm. Softly, slowly, up and down. Might as well whip one out while listening to Nelson losing his cherry.
“Ahem!” Clint opened his eyes to see Ben’s magnificent body bared head to toe. That silver-blond hair dusted his ripped torso and gathered into a veritable forest around his crotch. The impressive thing, though, was that cock. Between the Captain’s legs swung a stiff eight, maybe nine inches, sheathed tightly in foreskin. Big, hard dong, erect and long. “The kid wants to talk to you,” the man said gruffly then turned back to the bedroom, showing off a sculpted backside.
Sarge came to his senses and got off the couch, stuffing his meat back in his pants. The sight in the bedroom stopped him nearly dead. Brian, nude and erect, was a thing of beauty. Never before had he seen such perfect muscle definition, it was like each sinew popped at the slightest move of the kid’s torso. “What’s wrong, Nelson?” he asked paternally. Unable to resist a closer look, Clint stepped up to the bed, where the Captain was climbing back in.
“I want you here Sarge,” Brian pleaded, his abs crunching as he leaned up and put his hand on his superior’s hairy arm. “Please, sir.”
Sarge tried to say no, really he did, but there it was again. His erection. Nelson’s grip of death on his arm.
He relented. Kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed. Nelson’s hands were on his shirt, pulling the tails out, while the Captain’s firm hands were unbuckling his belt.
The sergeant now bared, Walsh leaned back on his haunches, pushing his erection to a rigid straight-up salute. “Private’s a little nervous about blowing a man. Maybe you can show him the ropes.”
Driscoll licked his lips and cocked his head toward Nelson. A look of pure lust and excitement was in the boy’s eyes. “You say anything about this to anyone, and I’m making that tenor voice of yours a castrato… got it, Nelson?”
Brian nodded. The private couldn’t speak he was so horny. The man he admired so much, his sergeant, was about to suck dick!
The sergeant scooted his large, muscled body forward and bent forward. The man’s prick was hot against his face, and Sarge savored the fullness of it a minute before begin soft, soothing laps against its surface. The cock jumped and pulsed against him, and Driscoll teased some more. Giving gentle kisses on the nasty hard meat.
Finally, the Captain could take no more and punched his cockhead into Sarge’s mouth, spearing it straight back down his gullet.
Sarge coughed and sputtered but swallowed that prick. Fuck, buddy, go easy, Clint thought and about said, only he realized he loved it. Loved this guy taking charge. Loved showing his wanton submission in front of Nelson. He could feel the private’s eyes burning into him, staring straight on at the connection point where Ben Walsh’s family inheritance drilled deep into Sarge’s accommodating mouth.
Brian’s heart was racing ninety miles a minute. There was his stern, beefy authority figure bared for his eyes. Sarge was squatting, hulking over, inhaling the biggest penis Nelson could have imagined a guy to have. Inch after nasty inch pounded his mouth. He looked up at the handsome USAF officer. He loved watching the older man take charge, watching those veins in his hairy forearms bulge out as he grabbed the reins and held Sarge’s skull stationary. The cool determination of his sexual state intimidated the young private, but it also turned him on. He had a feeling he was next.
Ben Walsh looked down at the cocksucking marine. This guy was a pro. He’d been nervous letting the sergeant tag along, but damn if this musclebound lug didn’t have a submissive streak. It had been ages since he’d been treated to such a rough throat rut, and he was enjoying the hell out of it.
The real prize, though, was staring up at him with his baby blue eyes. Fucking cherry USMC private. Innocent yet masculine face, a body made to order. Best part was that the young stud didn’t know how goddamn perfect he was. How his sergeant was madly in love with him. How every full-blooded stud in that bar was drooling over his form. How a jaded, experienced Air Force Captain would crawl through broken glass for a crack at those creamy white buns.
After a few more minutes, Clint grabbed the Captain’s hips and stopped the face fucking in mid thrust. He wanted to demonstrate his cocksucking skill for Nelson. He worked the length, slowly, then faster. He teased and suckled at the dripping head. He punched the spongy-hard head further back into his oral cavity, into his throat. He unhinged his jaws and swallowed the staff whole.
“Holy fuck, Sarge!” he heard Nelson mutter approvingly. Time to pull off. The meat lollipop made a smacking sound as it cleared his wet lips.
“Want a go, Private?”
Clint was unprepared for the eagerness as Brian almost pushed him out of the way and gobbled Ben’s nasty prickhead. Hastily, the private started bobbing his head, trying to stuff that choice slab of Captain cock down his craw. Nelson immediately gagged on the size and started coughing, his eyes tearing up as the soreness in the back of his throat burned a little.
“Easy there, marine,” Clint said. He pulled Brian off the prick, making soothing motions with his hand on the young man’s back. “Captain here’s got a big one. You gotta take it slow, make love to that cock, worship it.” As he spoke, he gripped the iron-rigid tool and stroked its magnificent length, began kissing its firm, warm surface. “Show your top you’re grateful for his nine and a half inches and what it’s gonna do for you.”
Nelson took a breath, and gently pushed his sergeant out of the way. He repeated Driscoll’s actions, nuzzling, kissing, licking that pulsing Captain erection. He was just as eager before, but now the slow approach fed his inner hunger, stoking the fires in his guts and loin. He felt Sarge’s hands pushing him gently on that cock, assuring him.
“Now,” Clint grunted, “Eat that meat, Private. You can do it. Take your time. Yeah, that’s it.” The private popped the dickhead in his sucking mouth and moaned at the wonderful sensation. Yep, he was gonna take to cockeating and quick.
Ben sucked in a deep breath. He normally liked taking charge, but it was turning him on big to watch the greenhorn
Sarge coached his charge in the fine art of eating dick. “Oh God, yeah, Nelson, suckle that head… nibble the Captain’s foreskin, dig that tongue underneath. Taste the glans, the slit, all around. Learn everything an uncut piece has to offer, buddy. How’s he taste, Private?”
Brian popped Walsh’s prick head out of his mouth with a wet smack. “Good, sir. Real good.” He thought a second and added, “A little salty. He leaks a lot.” As he spoke the pissslit was oozing more mansap, so Nelson swiped it with his broad tongue.
“I think the Cap here’s real horny. Probably been a week or two since his last lay.” He looked up for confirmation.
“Yah,” Ben moaned. These guys were two much. Double teaming his cock. “And if you marines are good, I got a couple of rounds of ammunition stored up for ya.”
Brian pounced back onto that formidable erection. Sarge shuddered at the sight, amazed at how eager his private was for his first taste of spooge. Nelson was starting to really swallow that staff now. Driscoll egged him on, alternating between urging him to go slow and steady, and pushing him to take more. Nelson was a marine goddamnit, and a marine got the job done.
The private was already salivating more and his throat relaxing, but when his sergeant appealed to his duty to the Corps, it was like a switch was turned on in him. His throat muscles undulated and more hard cock stuffed his gullet. Soon his nose and face were being pressed into Walsh’s blond bush and soft scrotum.
“Goddamn!” Walsh cried. “Eat that cock, marine! Choke on my rod.”
Nelson thought he would choke, too, only he held his breath and held steady for a good twenty seconds before bobbing back off. He’d done it, he thought as he sucked in air and licked his lips. wetting them back up, he was a real, bona fide marine cocksucker now. Like Sarge. He felt a little ashamed, but mostly horny as hell. He took the Captain’s prick back in his mouth and began his descent back down. Repeating his feat.
Now, Walsh started small thrusts, opening up the kid’s throat even more. Yeah, Nelson was a tough fucker, mouth warm and gullet vice-tight on the captain’s prick.
Driscoll leaned back on his haunches and watched the action. The kid gobbling dick and bobbing up and down, the captain asserting his primordial right to hot wet pussy. This was hotter than he’d ever imagined. Baby Face Nelson was a natural. Maybe the kid would be showing him the ropes before the night was over.
He almost didn’t notice that Ben was getting off. The man wasn’t a screamer, his body didn’t convulse like many men’s. He matter of factly looked down, grabbed Nelson’s jaw and held that mouth steady as he pumped out a thick flood of sperm into the young man’s throat and mouth. It was only when he saw Nelson struggle to swallow the copious seed that Sgt. Driscoll realized Walsh was ejaculating. “Fucking hot,” he muttered, his own hand jacking his prick now.
The Captain finally pulled out and ran his hand through the close bristle on Brian’s head. “Thanks, marine. That was something else.”
Nelson beamed as he reclined back, his meaty cock erect and dripping, his mouth wet with spit and sperm. His gaze took in the sight of the captain’s tumescent prick, now swinging firm and sticky between Ben’s hairy legs. The private ran his hand along his smooth, hard torso and reached down to grapple his fuckstick. He turned to his sergeant and nodded. I did it, he said with his twinkling eyes.
“You liked that, private?” Clint asked.
“Yes, sir,” Brian grunted.
Cpt. Walsh lay down and started running his hands along the young man’s body. “Want to take it to the next level, stud?” His thick fingers teased Nelson’s sensitive nutsac and probed deeped along the perineum, leaving no guess as to what he had in mind.
“You wan-na fuck me?” the private stammered.
Walsh nodded down to his still angry erection. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Nervously, Nelson’s hand wandered over and touched that impressive staff. He tried to imagine the immense cock fucking him, busting his cherry. “You’re big, sir. Real big. I don’t know if I can…”
Walsh rolled closer to Nelson’s heated body, and snaked his hand down lower, teasing the kid’s hole, circling the sphincter, prodding, pushing against it. The kid’s hand felt nice on his prick. “Don’t let the size intimidate you. The penetration’s tough going, but after that it’s gonna drive you wild.”
Nelson hesitated. He wasn’t sure he trusted the captain.
“Here,” Ben said, getting up on his knees and freeing the spot next to Brian. “Why don’t you let your sergeant show you?” He over at Clint. “All right with you, Sarge?”
Driscoll nodded in agreement. This man could fuck him to Wednesday, and it would be all right with him. “How you want me, Captain?”
Ben stroked his hard meat and contemplated. Finally he ordered, “Belly down. Ass up.”
Sgt. Driscoll had barely rolled over before he felt Walsh’s commanding hands knead his hairy muscle cheeks. “Nice, man,” Ben said to himself.
Sarge could feel the top man shift his weight on top of him. He turned his head to see Nelson looking up brightly at the captain’s preparations.
“Damn, Sarge, aren’t you gonna need more grease than that?”
Clint tried to look back but couldn’t see much. He had no idea how much lubricant Ben was slathering on. The kid was probably right: not enough. He gritted his teeth in determination and answered his private. “A marine can take it.”
It made Nelson smile big, but Clint regretted saying it when the captain’s big cock breached him roughly. “Ooof,” he cried then sucked in air. Walsh slapped his upturned buttcheeks as that rod brutally penetrated his rectum.
“You OK, Sarge?” Brian’s face was so close, Clint could feel the kid’s sweet breath on his face.
Driscoll knew the sweat was beading on his brow. The airman was one tough fucker. “I’m all right, Nelson. You can go watch the action, if you want.”
Nelson wanted. He was witness to the hottest pairing he could imagine, the gruff sergeant he’d gone from hating to admiring and the tall, imposing stature of authority. He visibly shuddered when he realized that maybe the authority was what drew him to the corps in the first place.
Brian’d have to sort through that later, now he was content to scoot up and lean down close to watch Ben’s long prick violate Sarge’s tender hole. He could hear the squishy sounds of penetration and of Walsh’s nuts press against the now wet flesh between Clint’s legs. He could feel the heat emanating of the two men. He could smell sex.
“Like the view, Private?” Walsh had to admit the sarge was a great fuck. He loved manhandling a butch bottom, roughly spearing the anal entrance with his rammer over and over as the man beneath him whimpered. His grin widened as he realized Driscoll’s moans were definitely edging into the pleasurable end of the sound spectrum.
“Yessir, Captain.” Nelson’s puppy dog expression was back in full force.
“Your sarge can take a real pounding.”
“Yessir.” Softer. Hesitation creeping fast into his gungho voice.
“Don’t worry, Brian, we’re gonna take it easy. That fuck’s gonna be so smooth…”
“I can take it, sir. I’m a marine.”
“That you are.”
“Gonna be like Sarge.” Nelson was speaking to himself now.
Walsh’s prick was so excited it ached. He decided to get the show going. Pulling his hips back, he threw more force into his thrusts, pounding Clint’s head into the headboard of the bed.
Sarge didn’t mind. The extra pressure against his insides was fast driving him to his nut. He’d not been fucked off like this in ages. A real internal bruising. He should be mad, especially being abused this way in front of the kid, but damn it felt good. Driscoll’s fingers gripped the sheets and his cock pumped out their spray onto the bed sheets.
He momentarily blacked out from the pleasure. When his eyes fluttered open, Captain Walsh had already dismounted and the hotel room air felt cool on his now exposed and gaping asshole. He reached back to soothe it, and discovered that Walsh hadn’t cum.
Nelson now stared apprehensively at Walsh’s long, erect dick. Glistening, not too far from shooting its seed.
“Gotta cool off a sec, Private,” Ben huffed, his chest heaving as he caught his breath and tried to calm down. “Your Sarge almost made me blow.” He looked Nelson up and down. The young man was beautiful, a perfect masculine package. He was gonna fuck that young buck, all right. “Why don’t you get on your knees. Doggie position.”
Nelson almost said no. He wanted this bad, but was afraid. The Captain’s prick was big. Strike that, the man’s tool was huge. And he was virgin tight. How the hell was this gonna work?
No time for second-guessing, he told himself. Biting his lip nervously, he assumed the position and prepared for the worst. He felt Ben’s hand on his back, running their way down the curve of his buttocks, gripping him. He felt the man’s breath on his bared backside. Then hot, beautiful wetness.
“Oh fuck! What are you?! Oh man!”
Sgt. Driscoll, hairy chest sweaty and legs spread to accommodate his relaxing genitals, now sat up against the headboard and watched. “No one ever ate you out before, huh, Private?”
Brian could barely answer. “Oh Sarge!” his hand surged forward and gripped his superior. That hard grip again.
“I take it the Captain’s pretty good at it,” Clint smirked.
“Fuck yeah, sir. Why didn’t he do this for you, Sarge?”
Clint edged forward and started stroking his private’s face. Man, what he’d do for this guy. “You’re the main attraction, Nelson. I was just the warmup.”
“God Sarge, he’s stiking his tongue in me, I can feel it.”
“Enjoy it, stud. Some men like this better than the fucking.”
Walsh munched at that moist, perfect butt. Hard marine muscle pushed against his cheeks as his tongue drilled forth into unexplored territory. That cherry ring opened and clenched, then dilated again, fluttering against the top man’s tongue and teasing him to go further. He did.
Finally, after he’d made the pucker sloppy wet, he withdrew and pulled back. His index finger snapped into place, though, rimming and edging its way along the soft ridges of tissue.
“Man,” he groaned, “this kid’s tight but ready to be copped. Fucking marine cherry.” He leaned up and grabbed the bottle of lube. Slicking down Nelson’s hole, pushing his finger in. He expected a grunt at the violation but instead he heard soft, deep cooing as the ring opened up and accepted one digit, then two. Twisting, stretching.
That grip on Sarge’s shoulder held on even tighter.
“OK if I take him raw?” Ben was asking Clint permission.
Driscoll shrugged. “You didn’t ask me.”
“I know I won’t be able to last long in this ass,” Walsh replied matter-of-factly. His twitching cock seemed to confirm his promise.
“You clean?”
“As a whistle. And I know the kid is, too. An ass this tight doesn’t lie.”
Clint felt his protective streak swell inside him. He nudged Brian, who was zoning out on the preparatory finger fuck. “Nelson. What do you say? Want the Captain to rubber up?”
Those baby blues looked up as in a trance. “Whatever you think, Sarge.” He pursed his lips as his man canal got invaded by an extra finger. That made three. “You know the score.”
Clint looked back up at Ben and nodded his assent. His gut told him the captain was on the level. Still, he wondered if his lust for his private was driving his decision here. He’d long past the realm of propriety.
Ben greased up his gun, but had to remove his hand quickly. He was overcharged all right. Slowly, he ran his prick along Nelson’s crack and was rewarded by the sight of the young marine shivering in desire. He teased the hole, pressing then retreating, circling the hole with his dripping head. It almost gave way, but snapped tight once more.
“On your back,” the captain ordered. He wanted to see Nelson’s face as he earned his manhood. Sarge helped Brian flip over and quickly, the young man’s hairy, muscled legs were parted and resting on Ben’s shoulders.
Walsh reached down and guided his angry prick back into position. He pushed forward. Resistance. He rested a half-second then pushed again. Now the head plopped in. That ass was hot, alive.
Nelson sucked in air, but said nothing. He wanted to savor the moment of penetration, but it felt new and uncomfortable. Oddly enough, it felt better as the Captain started inching more hard cock into his hole. Brian responded by pushing his ass up and toward the man’s groin.
The resulting penetration was smooth and deep.
“Oooh, kid, that’s hot,” Walsh grunted. “You been wanting that for quite some time, huh?”
“Yessir,” Brian cried, wanting so bad to get fucked. Ben’s cock felt so big inside him, yet so right.
The airman leaned over and kissed the marine deeply. He was balls-deep in the most perfect man in San Diego, hell he’d put Nelson up against any man anywhere. All was right with the world.
Sgt. Driscoll felt a pang of jealousy watching the two men mate in front of him. He was tempting to assert himself into the coupling somehow. But he knew what the kid was experiencing. He knew that the bond between a cherry and his top was a primal connection. He’d have to take satisfaction that he’d eased Nelson into it.
Not that he needed much easing now. Brian had expected the worst and was surprised by the sensations coursing through his body. Sure, there was discomfort – the Captain’s endowment was real big after all. But he liked feeling stuffed. Possessed. Fucked. Ben knew how to use his cock to provide the private with maximum satisfaction. To avoid direct assault on the guy’s buttnut, choosing instead a slow, steady massage along its length.
The two made out steadily as they fucked. Brian was fully submissive. Ben momentarily thought he was in eternal love.
It couldn’t last. The sensations were too great, too new for the deflowered marine. He huffed his breath and tried to hold back. That just made the orgasm come harder. As Walsh pounded his hole, a hot river of come flooded out onto his chest and abs.
The Captain’s ejaculation was simultaneous. With a roar, he erupted deep inside the young marine’s guts, spreading his warm liquid fire along the length’s of Brian’s spasming bowels. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he rode the cresting waves of his big O.
Clint was flagging his prick fast and furious now, and it didn’t take him a half-minute to send his second load spraying over the rutting men in front of him. As he flicked off the sperm from his cock, he noticed Nelson’s expression break into a wide smile. “You did it, kid,” he congratulated.
“Yeah, Sarge. Thanks.”
The three men were soon collapsed into a deep postcoital sleep.
**********
The next morning, Clint slept in. He awoke to find his private wide awake and staring at his body.
“Morning, Sarge.”
“Hey, Private.” He noticed that Brian was sporting a nasty morning fuckhard. After last night, that didn’t surprise him, but the kiss Nelson planted on his lips did. The shock did not stop him from parting his lips and letting the young man’s tongue conquer his mouth. Sarge was breaking protocol left and right it seemed.
“Fuck, Sarge,” Brian muttered as he finally broke the kiss. “You make me so horny, sir.”
Clint reached down and playfully grabbed that beautiful erection. “You don’t need me for that, Nelson.” Then looking around, he asked, “Where’s the Captain?”
“Left already. Said we could stay here. Hang out til evening if we wanted a repeat of last night.” Both men had an extra day on their leave.
“Is that what you want, Nelson?”
“Maybe. Last night was great. But I’ve been wanting something else, Sarge.”
Then Driscoll felt Nelson’s hands on his hairy, hard assmelons. Massaging, kneading. Possessing. His heart stopped as he realized: PFC Nelson wanted to fuck him.
As if reading his mind, the young marine cocked his head. “Whaddya say, Sarge? You gonna let me?”
“We shouldn’t be doing this, Nelson,” Driscoll said, even as he was flipping over on his stomach. Spreading his legs. Hiking his meaty sergeant ass up in the air.
Nelson smiled wide and reached for the lube. As he slicked his prick, he spoke to his USMC father figure. “Last night you said you couldn’t offer me the full experience.”
“Yeah. What of it?”
Brian climbed onto the older man’s burly form. The hot flesh and hard muscle felt great beneath him. He started humping Driscoll’s crack and licking and nibbling the man’s thick neck. “Maybe I’d be happy with the half you could give me.”
Sarge raised up a little and pushed his back against the private’s nude chest. “Aw, Nelson. Fuckin’ hell. Don’t you know, you don’t have to sweet talk me. Just snap those fingers, and I’ll put out for you, man.”
That hard private cock nudged his superior’s hole and pushed in. He was fucking Sarge now. “It’s not sweet talk, Sarge.”
“Aw, screw me, Private!”
“Yessir, Sarge”