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Willing Recruit
By Paul Randal
posted by Mike

"Okay you mothers! Rise and shine! Drop your cocks and grab your socks! Let's go! Ten minutes to shit, shower and shave! Let's MOVE it! Rise and shine!"

Sgt. Kresky was what made basic training tough — Real tough.

Every morning, six mornings a week, at precisely 5:50, Sgt. Kresky would bellow his bullhorn voice all the way down the long double row of young government issues — G.I.'s for short — to wake us up the hard way.

He also played his favourite game at the same time. It was kind of like, "Tag — you're it." If he was able to twist your toes while he passed by your bunk, you were "it".

I managed to pop up, plunking both feet on the floor before he got to me each morning, but over time he had simply moved me further up the line closer to his entrance till my "pop" went from thin to threadbare to "snap" — and I was "it".

Sgt. Kresky even stopped his shouted commands for a second to put his hand on my bare shoulder and say, "19:30 hours, private. Class A's. You know where."

When he continued on his way, wreaking havoc down the line, the cute kid from South Dakota sitting on the bunk next to me flipped his blanket off with a grin.

"Good thing he didn't see my boner, man. He'd of twisted me for sure!"

I saw his boner — all eight inches of it.

"Better get rid of that thing before he comes back this way again."

Still smiling, but with a streak of concern in his baby-blues now, he struggled to conceal his pole in earnest, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"That's for sure. That's for damn sure!" He clumsily stuffed his meat wand into his skivvies.

"No, no, asshole! Not like that. Come here, stand up!" Just 20 myself, I always acted like I was 30 in front of somebody I wanted to fuck.

He bolted up promptly, making sure he had his back to Sgt. Kresky.

Grabbing his dick just below the head, I flicked my middle finger sharply on the tip of his mushroom five times, giving him wet eyes but a quick remedy he wouldn't forget on upcoming mornings. Then we joined the maddening crowd of bare-assed guys charging for the latrine. Trick was to get there before you irked Sgt. Kresky.

That night, I waited outside the Marietta House, a huge old landmark just off the base that rents huge old rooms at special rates to soldiers. The studs who'd already been "guests" there had long since wised up the rest of us — to the last lewd detail — on just what to expect.

Standing at near attention from force of habit when I'm in dress, I waited for the big wooden door to open, wondering why the hell starchy Class A's had to be his damned trip anyway. We couldn't wear civvies during basic but what was wrong with clean, open fatigues? At least you didn't need a tie and a cunt-cap squeezing your head.

"Yes? May I help you?" She sure could. Real pretty, twenty-fivish with beautiful Spanish eyes and bucket seat tits that were wasting their time behind a too small bra. I'd wear Class A's for this plate eight days a week.

"Uh, Sgt. Kresky, please. I'm supposed to meet him."

"Oh, yes. Come in. Up the stairs at the end of hall; connecting rooms."

I didn't see any bells, so I knocked. Then I knocked again. Maybe he was pissed that it was late. I was late on purpose so he'd be pissed. You get masochistic near a guy like Sgt. Kresky all day. You wanted him to beat you with a loaded cartridge belt. You wanted him to scream like a shithead: "PRIVATE CHALMERS! YER LATE! I SAID 19:30, GODDAMMIT. IT'S AFTER FUCKIN' TWENTY HUNDRED! I OWN YER ASS, SOLDIER! WHEN I SAY 19:30 I MEAN GODDAMN 19:30! GIT DOWN AN' GIMME 50! ON YER FUCKIN' FINGERS, PRIVATE!"

The door opened slowly, complete with its own creaking hinges.

"Private, yer late. Come on in." No shouting!

I entered a large, high ceilinged room as Sgt. Kresky closed the door. He went over to a small bar at the other end.

"Got the pass I gave ya? Bus workin' okay?"

He was dressed in a long, silky-looking robe with a large black sash tied tight in the middle. Turning around he came to me, a drink in either hand, the front of it practically open in a large, exposing V-shape. I'd never seen him raw before – non-comms don't shower with the recruits – and now his smooth, muscular chest sent a sudden jolt through me. Extending his left hand, he offered the glass.

"Hope ya go fer rye."

It was like him not to ask beforehand, but I drink anything alcoholic so it didn't matter.

One thing about Kresky, he was always clean. Even in the field when he was sweating, he was clean. Only now he seemed cleaner still, his steely grey eyes boring through me under a silvery blond crew cut that glistened like bristles in the harsh ceiling light's glare. I looked at him, wondering why the girl downstairs with the boobs wasn't making me think about her anymore.

He was two steps closer to me now. I could just make out the faint mark of each nipple hiding under either side of his robe, and I wanted to pull it away so I could see. Swigging his drink, he asked me again, "Bus workin' okay?"

"Yeah. Yes. Fine."

Going to a side table, he drained his glass then set it down.

"Y’ look good in sun-tans. Neat. Sharp. Come over here."

I moved quickly to him. I think it's nerves – I sort of jump whenever sergeants give me orders.

"Y' move quick! That's good. Officer stuff. Smart."

Reaching up to my cap, he closed his hand over it, holding it a long time there till I could feel the heat from his palms on my head. Then he lifted it very carefully, as if he were removing a crown, and placed it on the table behind him without turning. My hair, shaved trainee-close, was even shorter than a crew – I was practically bald – but he brushed me with his big hands, slowly finger combing hair that wasn't there. I could feel my hard on snaking out for air, bending up all crooked under my briefs as his fingertips fluttered over my prickly scalp in light, feathery strokes.

Not wanting to gaze stupidly into his eyes, I glanced downward – right into that chest with those pointy nips still hiding. Taking the knot in my necktie, he pushed it lightly against my throat.

"Lookin' good, soldier. Real army. Crisp tie. Not loose … not screwed up and crooked like sloppy recruits. Nice tie … Windsor-tight … lemme take it off so ya can relax."

He slipped the undone necktie from my collar in the same deliberate way he'd removed my cap, like he was pulling a long cloth snake away from me. Undoing the uncomfortable top button of my shirt, he undid the next one, and the one under that, and the one under that…

"Come over here to the couch, private." He moved at the same time, drawing a chair up close to me.

"You married?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Y' don't hafta lie about it. I ain't married either. Well, practically. Me and the old lady, we couldn't have kids so we separated. She's in Vermont."

He bent forward with his Sgt. Kresky face – stern, strong, ungiving – and the robe parted outward enough to let me get a good look at those nipples. Almost. Leaning over on his elbows, he raised up off them to resume unbuttoning me as I sat like a fucking barber pole knowing he'd be kicking ass again all day tomorrow. And it made me horny as hell to know that ass would be mine.

My hard-on had a brain of its own, pounding in its full nine now, piss-hot and sore at me for not letting it free, ordering me to stop the shit and stick it where it belonged.

"Dog inspection, soldier. Y'got yer dogs? Heh? Ohhh, if ya don't have yer dogs, soldier, I'm gonna whip yer ass bad!"

Yanking my shirt from me, he tossed it loosely away. Then it was my T getting peeled, and I was dead meat with my strangled dick, sitting stripped to the waist like a belly-up sacrifice. His voice changed to a raunchy mixture of sand and honey, snarling its heavy softness now as he twisted my dog tags sharply, nearly choking me.

"Oh, yeah … yeah, private … what's yer serial number?"

"099066772"

"Y' wanna say 'sergeant' or y’ wanna do 50?"

"Sergeant," I muttered.

"D.O.B.?"

"August 2,1977, Sergeant."

"P.O.B.?"

"Washington, D.C., Sergeant."

Wrenching harder on my tags, he was digging the chain into my neck while he continued blowing puffs of sex-talk on my lips.

"Why'd ya join the army, punk?"

"I … I …"

"Y' got a hard on?" he barked, feigning shock.

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Why'd ya join the service, big man? WAS IT TO SEE THIS?"

Dropping me like a lead ball, he shot both arms upward, shucking the robe completely off him to his bound middle. I collapsed into the couch pillows, glutting my eyes on his torso, a forest of sculptured white marble nailed with two cartwheel nipples. I knew then that every rotten thing the other guys said about him were lies. Sgt. Kresky was a hot-ass, iron-pumping gym jock, the kind of muscle-bulging stud you jerk off to whenever you get the chance.

"Ya join the army for THIS, private? Huh? Y' like to LOOK, ya fuckin' queen? Y' like to play with yer pud, ya fuckin' fairy?"

He flexed his massive arms, and I never saw biceps blow up like balloons before. Then he strained his chest hard, forcing his huge nipples to almost disappear as they folded in under enormous flaps of his overlapping pec muscles.

"Y' like it, don't ya, Private Chalmers? You'd like a big gym jock to be yer asshole buddy, WOULDN'T ya??"

"No, Sergeant," I lied.

"Like to see my big fuckin' DICK, wouldn't ya?!"

"No, Sergeant."

He grabbed me with both hands, yanking me against his nose, holding me there so he could growl softly, scolding me in a coarse half-whisper.

"Y' do girls – fine. Me, too. Only guys are safer … easier. Don't hafta buy 'em things. Y' don't hafta worry about knockin' 'em up. Guys got bigger mouths an' tighter asses, too. Y' throw 'em in the sack an' suck 'n' fuck an' next day kick 'em around an' no problem!"

With a sudden shove, he flung me back onto the sofa. I banged my head against the wall. He stood over me, putting his hand on his robe sash as I gazed up at him wide-eyed.

Kneading his crotch in broad, ape-like gropes, he took a step back, planting both legs firmly apart.

"Y' like big dick, private? Y' like to jerk off 'n' make believe ya got one? Huh? Well, I got one – the biggest one yer ever gonna see. I'm donkey-dick fer nice clean guys like you … nice, neat soldiers jus' like you, fucker! Y' all set? Y' all set fer my fuckin' beauty?

A single yank at the bathrobe sash proved he was so right. At first, I swear to Christ, I thought it was a strap-on job. Nothing could be that big. It stabbed out at me like those giant moulded rubber cocks you see in the porn rags. He was fully erect and his plum head looked like a mauve coloured duck egg with a king sized pee slit that needed lipstick. I had to be gawking at just what he promised – the first human cock that was – no-bullshit – twelve fucking inches! I couldn't move.

"Y' like it? Y' like this fuckin' tree-trunk prick, Private Rowan I. Chalmers? Huh? Y' like big Sgt. Kresky now, you high-ass-closet-family fucker!"

He clutched it way down at the base, flapping it up and down like a club. Then he yelled with that vocal blast loud enough to blow down walls and I was scared shitless somebody in the hall outside would hear him. Then I wanted them to hear him. Oh, my poor dead ass.

"TWELVE AND A QUARTER, BABY! TWELVE AND A QUARTER MOTHER FUCKIN' INCHES! I'LL BEAT YER FACE AN' BREAK YER FUCKIN' NOSE WITH IT, RECRUIT! I'LL MAKE YA SUCK IT TILL IT GETS STUCK IN YER PIPES!"

Charging forward, he grabbed the top of my bald head, yanking me into the crazy thing as I struggled to get the hell away from him.

"TRY TO GET AWAY, YOU PRICK! I'LL FUCK YA TILL YER ASSHOLE DROPS OUT! I'LL BREAK YER FUCKIN' BONES AN' DICK YER EYES IN."

He threw me back again and I banged my head in the same spot. My cock was almost cracking apart but I couldn't unzip myself to get it out and whack the goddamn thing off. I could only try to breathe, feasting on the impossible flexing of the drill sergeant hunk as he whirled away from me, stomping barefoot to the other room.

It was one of those big, old time double door sliding things that separated us, and I could hear him easily without his having to shout. "Git yer ass dressed an' outta here, soldier. I been savin' you since day one, since I first seen ya. Since I first seen yer cute ass on bivouac, when we was water-hosin' all you 'emits down way out in the field for yer showers. Y'got a real nice fuckin' crate – slender like a smooth cunt, only with low-hangers an' a chubby dick. No sweat. Plenty of meatballs in the barracks. Fuck it. Get yer ass outta here!"

I started putting my T back on, loosening my pants so I could tuck it tight all around. I figured I'd lay my hard on straight up against my belly, too, since it wasn't going to get soft again anytime quick and I was skinny enough so it wouldn't bulge out of my fly if I walked bent over a little. Pulling my briefs down to do it, my cock bounced out oozy, wet and stiff as a plank. Do I want to leave? No way!

Sgt. Kresky was still in the next room – what was he doing? Smack — smack — smack. Was he whacking it against the wall? In no time at all, I was shoes, pants and underwear naked, standing at the double doors like a diver waiting to take the plunge.

I moved forward for the few steps more needed to see him. He was 6'1" of grab-and-love-me-raw sex, laid face up on a huge four poster bed, his hulky wrestler's thighs stretched outwards to capacity. One weight lifter's arm was raised at a bend above his head, curling the football bicep there, while the other arm rested its hand on his straight-up stone-column dick.

Staggering nearer to him, I saw that his beanstalk flesh pole liked privates named Chalmers — the fucking thing was winking at me, and I knew I could never really hate Sgt. Kresky again. Running from him all day long, now it was like he wanted me to climb up onto the bed, wanted me to straddle his big chest, cuddle that horny bronco and squeeze his flanks with my bony legs. I went over and sat on his chest.

Two unreal pony nipples rubbed my ass cheeks as I rode lightly over him, sending a delicious new tingling into my hot asshole, a searing testimony to the mega-size of his gym-jock tits. When I pulled his head up for him to suck me, he never opened his eyes. Even after I thrust my cock down his throat and gullet-fucked him till I was blue, he remained motionless. I used his face like a machine you stick your hard on into, and he chug-a-lugged me back, draining everything I could give him without moving. I pumped a gallon of my scalding hot jizz into the dirty fuck's face.

When I was fucked-out dry, I fell onto him for some kissing, but he wouldn't do it, darting his face away from me. He spoke all husky through a mouthful of cum.

"Now suck my cock. Suck my balls. Launch down on my big fuckin' dick, private. That’s a fuckin' order!"

I slithered to his two beautiful tit-knobs, unable to resist. Each one was a whole bite-full of swollen mini hard on in my mouth. He let me feed on them for maybe a minute, giving the tough bull grunts I'd been waiting for, then both his paws clamped on my head, pushing me down to his steamy crotch.

"Suck that fucker, private! Twist those fuckin' balls an' gimme yer teeth. Chew on that fuckin' meat hammer."

I've seen sex vids where the guy goes completely down over 10 inch dicks, but I'll be goddamned if I know how. It must be camera angles or something. Determined to try it anyway, I dove in, impaling myself on more dick than I'd ever had choking my gullet in two years of cocksucking. Realizing the mistake instantly, I started to back off but he whirled us around, throwing his hunk of meat into me, fuck-pumping my face till I felt his plum head in my lungs and donkey nuts on my chin.

Sgt. Kresky was a tank with a prick, giving me all I deserved.

"Y' like it, eh? Y' like my pole pokin' yer pipes, pretty private? Take it! You feel so hot! Eat my fuckin' dick, you fairy cocksucker!"

He squat-jumped up and down on my nose, determined to drive my head through the thick mattress while I thrust up frantically, trying to shove his armoured-truck hulk off me so my neck wouldn't break. "Can't toss me, can you, fucker! Cummin' in yer tight food-pipe now, fucker!"

Unable to budge the mountain of muscle avalanching me, I clawed at his rock-hard ass cheeks, digging my fingers into them. I think that made him shoot all the more. His heavy putty-spudge kicked my tonsils loose until he was empty. He pulled out of me like a trailer pulls out of a garage.

"Shit … that's good …" he mumbled, swinging over to the edge of the bed, sitting on it feet to floor. "That's real good! You got a real limber throat-pussy, Chalmers, real nice. I like you, private."

I didn't hear because I was kind of absorbed by battle fatigue.

Then he said, "You fuckin' tell anybody and I'll fuckin' break yer arms. You got that, private?" Bending forward, he gave me a lip peck – I wanted more.

"Not like that, sergeant. Like this."

I drew his strong, military jaw into my yawning mouth as we Frenched. Our cocks joined the fray, and I wound up deep-dicking Sgt. Kresky in his ass for 18 minutes nonstop by his military watch. Not that his meat grinder asshole couldn't take a hundred guys all night long. Problem was my spine. I couldn't pump anymore and Kresky loved it flat on his back. He wanted to get husband-fucked with his feet in the air, looking up into my face – how could 18 minutes take care of sweet-dream screwing like that!

He said not to worry about it, that he'd build me up so my back would go 30 minutes. My asshole, he says, will eventually eat 12 or more buddy-fuckin’ inches like peanut butter.

Meanwhile I'm out of basic, but it's "Drop yer cocks and grab yer socks" business as usual with the new trainees. Sgt. Kresky still kicks cute butt all day long, but nobody's toes get tweaked anymore. I'm staying in the Marietta House, and although I'm still exercising my back to do 30-minute fucks, and although my asshole isn't quite up to 12 inches yet, that's just fine. Because one set of toes – mine, steady – is all Sgt. Kresky will ever need from now on.