Active Duty_Gay Military Erotic Romance Read online

  “Hell yeah! Sweet,” he muttered as he began to rub the slippery goo all over the quivering hole.

  Keith’s broad shoulders were beautifully outlined by his olive-green T-shirt while his narrow waist emphasized the swell of his perky buttcheeks. One of Abe’s brown hands clasped a white cheek while the other probed the crack. The contrast of brown on white was sharp, especially where the darker fingertips played with the spit-coated pink hole.

  The kneeling soldier’s ass wriggled and jerked as those fingertips began to work the spit into the quaking center of his hole, then slowly slithered past the defending ring of snapping muscle. Abe spit on it again, and again, then worked the gooey lube deep into his buddy’s hot ass-channel.

  The brown index finger disappeared up the pink hole. Keith moaned deep in his chest and heaved backward toward the deep insertion, then jerked all over as that buried finger twisted inside him and jabbed at his prostate. More spit landed on his open crack and a second finger eased its way into him.

  There was spit everywhere as Abe continued to hawk down gobs of it into Keith’s crack and the fair-haired soldier on his knees slurped noisily around the huge dick in his mouth. More spit dribbled from his pursed red lips, glistening on his chin and foaming over the dark shaft sliding in and out of it.

  Feeling the warm innards and clinging asslips surrounding his pair of buried fingers had Abe thinking of what else he could do to that obviously hungry hole. It was still tight, even with two big fingers stretching it from the inside, so he knew he’d have to work on it before his monster dick could breach it.

  He knew what would work. First he would lather it up good with more spit and dig deep with those probing fingers. Then he’d eat it out!

  The brown fingers pushed in and out, spit bubbling around the puckered asslips, then twisted, stabbed and pulled on the rim from the inside before finally slithering out. The hole gaped open momentarily before clamping down again with spit dribbling from the snapping center.

  Keith’s pale ass wriggled all the while then reared upward as the fingers slipped out of him. He was ready for the next stage of Abe’s assault. “Get up and lean over the windshield,” Abe ordered. “Get out of those pants too. I want you spread wide open.”

  The kneeling private pulled out the dark cock buried in his throat and snorted for air. The big thing bobbed in the air in front of him, shiny with his spit and flushed a deep purple. He briefly contemplated how it would feel shoved in his ass, which is what Abe certainly had planned. It would be interesting.

  “I hope you’ve got some kind of lube besides my spit and yours, Abe. This thing is big.”

  The understatement uttered in that gentle drawl had Abe’s cock jerking wildly. He smiled as he moved his hands to grip Keith under the armpits and lift him. The dude was heavy—solid muscle from head to toe. The only soft spot on his body was that spit-gobbed hole deep down in the smooth crack.

  “There’s something in the glove box that’ll work. Get stripped, spread your legs and don’t worry about it.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Keith joked.

  Abe laughed as he dropped his own pants and underwear and kicked them off over his boots. He knelt in the backseat while his buddy completed his own stripping and placed a boot on each of the bucket seats, then leaned over the windshield as he’d been told.

  “How’s that? Private Smith’s ass is ready for service, sir,” he joked.

  “Yum! Time for a tongue-lashing, Private,” Abe replied as he reached out and gripped the full cheeks with his hands and spread them even wider.

  The spit-wet hole was pink and moist and already pushing outward in anticipation of his attack. A pair of pink balls hung down between the muscular thighs but the soldier’s cock was pointing sky-high and not readily visible from behind.

  As Abe buried his face in the open crack he reached around with one hand and found that rearing boner. He began to pump it slowly as his tongue swiped over the twitching hole and his lips grazed the rim.

  Now was the time to really loosen up the slot for what would come next. A good licking and sucking always worked, in his experience. He lapped at the entrance with his broad tongue and was pleased when it yawned open. That was a good sign, considering his cock was bigger than most and would test the limits of any hole it attempted to breach.

  He used one hand to stroke Keith’s stiff cock while he used the other to squeeze and massage the solid buttcheeks surrounding his buried face. The pale ass was smooth all over and incredibly firm, although the cheeks quivered and jerked as his tongue tickled the pink entrance to the soldier’s ass-channel.

  His own cock soared upward and jerked in sympathy. He loved to eat ass, and now he launched a slobbering, wet attack that had Keith crying out with groaning pleasure, but his cock was far too stiff and eager for him to deny it for long.

  Offering a final lap of big tongue along his pal’s deep crack, he rose to his feet then reached around the bent-over soldier to open up the glove box. He’d planted a bottle of baby oil there when they left base earlier and was glad he’d been so optimistic! Now it would be useful.

  He squirted a stream of the slippery liquid over his rearing boner then planted it between his pal’s white asscheeks. The dark tool glistened against the pale flesh, twitching and leaking. He was so excited he desperately wanted to ram it deep into that sweet ass. But he didn’t.

  Now was the time for a little tenderness, he figured. He had what he craved, Keith’s gorgeous body bent over the jeep’s windshield and squirming back against him with obvious need, but there was more.

  He really, really liked the sweet Oklahoma stud. He wanted more than a quick and exciting fuck. Time to show him that! He rubbed the huge length of his dark cock in that deep crack and leaned over to place his lips on the soldier’s neck. He kissed him tenderly as he slowly pumped Keith’s crack with his slippery cock.

  He fucked the crack for a few delicious minutes, teasing the wriggling soldier with the length and girth of his hot rod before finally planting the dark knob directly on the trembling entrance. He slowly pushed as Keith turned his head and their lips met.

  They kissed deeply as that giant cockhead slithered beyond the twitching asslips and slowly burrowed home. Abe’s big hands roamed all over Keith’s torso and crotch as he pumped in and out in a steady grind, slow but deep, then faster and faster as they both got caught up in the steamy pleasure of cock massaging hole and the irresistible need for orgasm.

  Keith groaned around Abe’s tongue in his mouth as he gripped the windshield and drove back against the giant tool invading him from behind. His greed for all that stiff heat up his ass overwhelmed all of Abe’s patient regard. He fucked himself over the giant cock, groaning and humping and slobbering until his own cock erupted in a spray of gooey spunk all over that same windshield.

  Abe felt his buddy’s asshole convulse around his buried cock as Keith spewed. He’d managed to hold back while the muscular soldier rode his cock with his steamy slot, but now he finally gave in to the boiling need for release. He yanked his cock out and let fly. A geyser of spooge coated Keith’s wriggling white ass.

  They remained locked together for a few more minutes as they caught their breath and allowed their pounding hearts to return to a more normal pace. It was Abe who spoke first.

  “I gotta ask you something, Keith. Did you have the hots for me before you got that letter from home?”

  “What do you think? Of course. But I wouldn’t want to cheat on my boyfriend.”

  “So does that mean you’re all mine now?”

  “Appears so.”

  It was a few months later when the proof of that quiet statement became all too clear. The day had been a violent one. The armored carrier Abe drove struck an IED and was blasted off the Afghanistan highway into a roadside ditch. It wasn’t the first time his vehicle had been unfortunate enough to hit a roadside bomb and Abe managed to control their crash to a certain extent. Dazed, he scrambled out to check on
the men in the back.

  “Damn, you’re okay,” he cried out with relief, as he helped Keith from the wreckage.

  They hugged briefly but fiercely before pulling the rest of the men to safety.

  That night back at their base, the two managed to catch a rare moment of privacy behind the mess hall in the darkness of a starry Afghan night. They kissed passionately, glad to be alive and glad to be in each other’s arms. Neither could resist the urge to fuck, and with their dusty khakis around their knees, Abe tenderly and deeply plowed his pal’s pale white ass with his fat black cock.

  While they fucked in the starry darkness, Keith turned his head to whisper in his soldier-lover’s ear. “I got a letter from home today. Seems Peter wants me back after all.”

  Abe hardly missed a stroke, sliding his immense meat in and out of Keith’s hot hole slowly and steadily. “What are you going to tell him?”

  “What do you think? I’m going to tell him ‘Sorry, pal. I got myself someone with a much bigger cock,’” he teased.

  Abe made sure to slide his dick all the way home, burying it to the balls and turning Keith’s snicker into a deep groan.

  With the two soldiers happily grinding and groaning in heated lust, the dangers around them seemed far, far away that night. Home, for now, seemed as close as each other’s arms.

  DO ASK, DO TELL

  Julian Mark

  Skin it back and squeeze the knob,” Sergeant Baker ordered.

  Welcome to Monday morning short-arm inspection, a ritual to ensure that none of the troops had dipped their wicks into anything contagious over the weekend. Sergeant Billy Baker, our personal dick inspector, roused us with a shrill whistle at five-fucking-A.M. We stumbled out of our cots, uppers and lowers, and stood tall in a variety of undergear that would gladden the heart of Calvin Klein. To wit: boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs and come-fuck-me ball-huggers.

  “Drop your drawers,” was the sergeant’s next command, which was not necessary because after three months of basic training we astute recruits knew the drill. As the boys complied I always wanted to shout, “HOLD YOUR HAT AND HALLELUJAH, PAPA’S GONNA SHOW IT TO YOU.” However, being a legally gay PFC, as I now was, did not give me the right to break into song at the drop of a guy’s jockey shorts nor, for that matter, the right to drop to my knees.

  We were a dozen tent mates residing under a canvas tarp over a concrete slab. The accommodations gave new meaning to the word sparse. The tent held six double-decker cots, three on either side of the twelve-by-twenty concrete floor, each cot assigned a footlocker. This Monday-morning display of manly pulchritude often reminded me of the West Point dictum, “You can measure a man’s courage by the length of his foreskin.”

  Alas, there was only one courageous man among our snipped dozen.

  This was Julio Zapata, who everyone mistakenly called Julie. Julio was a cross between Fernando Lamas, Ricardo Montalban and Adonis. To watch Julio skin it back was like contemplating a vegetarian’s dinner treat. Mushroom head, cucumber and two kiwis. My jack-off dream was to skin Julio back with my lips while Sergeant Baker waited his turn. Yes, I’m assuming Sergeant Baker was a courageous man, however I never actually saw proof as required by West Point dick authorities. The sergeant never joined his charges on piss break in the field. Was he part camel?

  Jacking off was another activity being legal did not address, albeit being legal did not figure into the dilemma. Gay, straight, bi or trans, the American boy’s first affair is with his fist, to which he remains true till the Grim Reaper brings down the curtain. To quell our raging hormones and the urge to fuck with a partner, the ever-helpful Sergeant Baker recommended going into a corner to jack off. Cohabitating in our tent was obviously a no-no regardless of one’s legality.

  Do you get the feeling that being legally gay in the army is not much different from being illegal? In fact, it’s rumored that closeted GI’s have more fun (i.e., sex) than those who wave the rainbow flag. Straight guys with hard pricks and no women are reluctant to make a gay buddy know they are not averse to a good blow job. To court a gay is to be gay, or so many would deduce. But a straight could cozy up to a “suspect” and get his rocks off to the satisfaction of all concerned without the straight being compromised. Don’t ask about it, don’t tell about it, just do it.

  I’ve never seen any of the troops jacking off in a corner. If I did, I would join the bugger and perhaps initiate a twelve-man circle jerk. Jacking off in a double-decker cot would be as unobtrusive as dancing the twist (shake, rattle and roll), thereby depriving your bunkmate of a good night’s sleep. Also, where do you deposit the cum if you don’t have a willing receptacle? A condom? Then you have to get rid of the loaded rubber. A sock? It would be rather sticky in the morning. A towel? You can’t say nighty-night to your tent mates, then take a towel to bed. To let yourself cum on the sheets results in pecker tracks, signs of which the troops are constantly on the lookout for.

  Wet dreams can also result in pecker tracks; however, pecker-track inspectors know a wet-dream stain from a jack-off stain. In a wet dream the cum seeps out slowly, forming a spot about the size of a quarter. Jacking off lets loose a spray that anoints a huge area including the guy’s chest, belly and even his chin where an agile tongue can lick it off, and this ends up staining a large area of the sheet.

  The on-base USO is a refuge to troops in need of a place to defecate and masturbate without an audience. Ours had a latrine that boasted six stalls and a gay facilitator who organized bingo games, family visits, emergency leaves, Scrabble competitions and, so I learned, gang bangs. His name was Ralph. He was about fifty, slim, with graying hair, and from the outline of the long pecker in his chinos I would say he dressed to the left.

  Ralph and I recognized each other as soul mates from the time of my first visit to the USO facility. Knowing I didn’t play bingo or Scrabble he asked me if I had come for a game of pool, the question spoken with a nod toward the sergeant who was at the pool table, playing solo. I shook my head, hefted the bulge in my crotch and headed for the latrine. “Take the last stall,” Ralph advised me as I went for the much pent-up release.

  I took the last stall because I had learned to follow orders as befits a lowly PFC, and I didn’t bolt the door because I suspected Ralph had it in mind to peek in or perhaps join me for a community wank. I dropped my pants and shorts, and sat and fisted my cock, which was already stiff with anticipation. I gave my balls a playful rub and drew precum after two strokes. Then the door opened a crack and a head appeared. It wasn’t Ralph. It was the sergeant.

  “I’m looking to get sucked off,” he announced.

  “Well, Sergeant, you’ve come to the right place.”

  He came in, closed the door and dropped his pants and jockeys. His prick was semi-hard, thick and displayed a helmet-shaped head with a drop of man juice at the piss-slit. His man bush was abundant and ran up his heaving belly. His balls were huge low hangers which I cupped as he shoved his cock toward my lips. “Kiss it, pal.”

  I tongued the piss-slit and got a mixture of salty cum and the unmistakable taste of man piss. He must have taken a leak before coming to the stall. I was so hot my own cum juice was flowing like water from a leaky faucet. The sergeant put his hand on my head and pushed me onto his cock. I lapped up the big head like a kid with a lollypop, the ones we called all-day suckers. I began to caress his prick with my lips and tongue. Holding my head he fucked my face with slow, circular motions, aiming for my tonsils. It had been a long time since I’d had a taste of cock, and I was lapping it up like a starved puppy.

  I put my arms around my sergeant to grasp his ass and—holy shit, I was touching not ass but skin in need of a shave. It was Ralph, who had squeezed into our stall and was licking the sergeant’s ass. From the moans the sarge was sighing I figured Ralph was giving him an in-depth rim job.

  “I’m the meat of the sandwich,” the sergeant quipped as he shoved his cock in my mouth and his A-hole onto Ralph’s tongue. The happy noncom was wi
ggling as best he could in our tight quarters. “Okay, men, let’s share the goodies.” With that the sarge disengaged his sucker and licker, then turned around as best he could with his pants and jockeys around his ankles until I faced his ass and Ralph got the prick with the helmet head and low hangers.

  I went right to work. Ralph had licked the sarge clean but I continued to polish the apple, so to speak. I reached between the sergeant’s legs and tickled his balls and Ralph’s chin. Then I dipped a finger in my abundant precum and shoved it up the sergeant’s back door. He jumped which must have rammed his cock down Ralph’s throat. “You fucking me?” he yelled.

  “Just a finger-fuck, Sarge.”

  “Had a major that liked to finger-fuck me. Got so loose he could put two fingers up my poop hole.”

  “Did he lick his fingers?” I wanted to know.

  “Fuck, no. He made me lick them. Rank has its privileges.”

  The sergeant backed into me (remember, I was sitting on the toilet to give Ralph room to stand up.) “He’s putting a raincoat on me,” the sarge informed me. (A raincoat, for you civilian readers, is a condom and if dicky has a hood always skin it back before putting on his raincoat; the army’s complimentary condoms came with these instructions.)

  Ralph turned and pressed his face against the closed door, giving sarge clear access to Ralph’s poop tube, a territory the sarge seemed to know very well because he buckled his knees a few inches, aimed his helmeted soldier at the mark and entered the fort without a moment’s hesitation. Ralph moaned, the sergeant moaned and I tongued the sarge as the sarge fucked the USO facilitator. We were a fucking team. (Excuse the pun.)

  Sarge was the first to drop his load, and his moans and spasmodic shivers told his mates it was a rapture supreme. I was next, spraying the sarge’s ass with my man cum. My rapture had me licking my cum and tonguing it up Sarge’s bumhole. Ralph brought himself off with his fist, rendering the stall aromatic with the scent of jism and man sweat. Exhausted, we untangled ourselves slowly, like sardines vying for fin room.