Don’t Fuck Me! I’m a Lieutenant!

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Never thought I would turn out like this. Never.

Thought I was straight. Damn straight. No problems. No way did I have anything to do with the limp-wristed, simpering assholes marching in all the Gay Rights parades and cavorting on the TV coverage as if they wished they had tits. No way. I was a man. I had balls.

Just graduated from Officer Candidate School. Second Lieutenant in the US Army. Sure, I heard the stories about gays in the military. Damned queers. Degenerate faggots! Andrew Jackson was right. He put all the bottom-feeding homosexuals in the stockade! Damn right!

I was no longer the twerp son of a Utah turkey farmer. I was important. Men looked up to me. When I walked around an Army post, men had to salute me, an officer in the most powerful army on earth. I was somebody. If only those bastards who once pushed me around in high school could see me.

I dreamed of spending my life in adventures in exotic posts—Hawaii, Europe, the Far East. Then I was assigned to Outer Shitland, an Army camp in America’s southwestern desert, a place a thousand miles from any civilization and hotter than a sauna in Hell.

The USA was not at war in those days—nothing for the Army to do but training missions.

Ah, well, I had a job, an obligation. I was an Army officer. I had to take the good with the hot, dry, and boring. Maybe if I do a good job at this one, they’ll reward me! A post in Washington, DC!

Once in Lizard-Land, they sent me to be the commanding officer at the post motor pool. Shit. The military equivalent of being sent to stand in the corner of the 3rd grade classroom. I haven’t done anything wrong. Why did I get such a shit job?

I drove to the motor pool and looked around. The usual fenced-in parking lot of trucks, Jeeps, and cars. The camp was not a big one, so my first command consisted of one enlisted man, the mechanic, Sergeant Regex.

I was not impressed. An old geezer, probably in his 40s. Thinning hair. Jowly face. Needed a shave. Agh, God. A fat slob of a redneck. Every day he changed into a pair of filthy coveralls stained from years of wallowing through crankcase oil, transmission fluid, and who knows what else.

He may have showered before showing up at the motor pool every morning (and I say “may have”), but after a couple minutes of working under this car or that Jeep, he was a slob. Smeared with grease and dirt, his hair mussed up and matted (Regex was one of those who sweats easily), he always looked like a pig.

Out of shape, too. Pot belly. Not much of a chest. Poster boy for the Couch Potato Association.

I kept myself in shape—ran around the track every morning before showering and shaving—and I hit the post gym several times a week. I take pride in myself. But—Dammit!—since I’m short (five-foot-two), Regex and I looked like “Doofus Man and his pet lieutenant” to any visiting high-ranking officers. And that pissed me off.

Life at the motor pool was a fucking bore. Nothing ever happened out there except the occasional pickup of a vehicle by some emissary from a company in training at the camp. When that happened, I always sighed. The GIs picking up the Jeeps were always young, athletic, clean-shaven soldiers in a clean uniforms, straight, tall, proud guys who surely made their COs proud, too.

I looked at my command. Regex the slob worked on a creeper under a Jeep. A creep on a creeper. While he clanked and banged, his hand moved from underneath the car to scratch his ass. God, what a pig. And god, I’m bored.

Figuring it part of my officer’s responsibility, I did try to make friends with Regex, but some enlisted men consider officers their natural enemies, so after a couple of weeks, our conversations deteriorated to short grunts about business matters—various duties and other military stuff.

At the end of every day, a truck came to pick us up and transport us back to the barracks areas some miles away. Then we split up—Regex to the enlisted quarters, and I trudged over to the bachelor officers’ bunks.

One day the sun blowtorched the place so searingly, I actually worried about the oil on the garage floors catching fire. The air outside was hot enough to take the paint off the walls, and we had no air conditioning—the Army figured the big garage doors and all the windows would give us plenty of fresh air.

Hell, there wasn’t enough fresh air on the entire post to fill a condom!

I leaned back in my chair, wishing I were dead—or at least cooked enough so that somebody would take me out of the oven. I looked out into the garage area. Regex had unbuttoned his coveralls all the way down to his belly button. Bare chest. No T-shirt underneath. That wasn’t regulation. But what the hell, it was so damned hot, and the Army coveralls were heavy denim. I’m just glad I don’t have to wear those!

Later, the sun higher in the sky, and the heat even worse, I noticed Regex had pulled the coveralls off his shoulders, wandering around the place naked from the waist up, the coveralls hanging casino şirketleri down and dragging behind him in the dirt. I sighed. A semi-nude Regex wasn’t much to look at—hair all over his chest, arms, and back. Flabby arms, pudgy. And sweating. Always sweating.

I would have bought him stick deodorant if I thought he would use it (which I didn’t). Sitting in a furnace that smelled of motor oil, gasoline, and Regex-sweat, my nose felt dirty, like I was shovel-man in the post sewer. I worried constantly that I might get used to it. And never be able to smell anything good again.

I tried to get my mind on something else, but I had nothing to do but idly watch Regex in the garage. At one point he crawled from under a Jeep, stood up, then dropped the coveralls to the floor. God, he’s not wearing any underwear! That was against regulations. The Army issued every man underwear!

As he slipped the coveralls off over his boots, I got a good look. Damn, give the devil his due: Regex is hung! Incredible. It hung halfway to his knees, a fat pipe that swung back and forth with every movement. I blinked. You never know who’s going to get one.

He was uncircumcised. Like a heathen. The loose skin at the end made his cock look exactly like a big salami hanging from the ceiling in a pizzeria, a fat tube of meat tied with a string at the end, pinching the casing into a tiny flare at the very tip.

I’m not impressed. I’m not into other guy’s cocks. I’m proud of my own. I’ve got a good six or seven inches, and I’ve heard good comments from women I’ve left purring and satisfied—but Regex’s cock made mine look like a little boy’s. Funny he’s not married. If I were a woman, I would like something like that to straighten me out. He’s probably hard to get along with.

Regex had underwear, after all. He pulled open a drawer in the tool rack and pulled out a filthy, stained, torn pair of once-white Army boxer shorts. He stepped into them, tucking in his monster dong. A pair of underwear in the toolbox? Stripping down to his skivvies must be a regular practice!

I gaped. The fucking thing was so long, his cockhead hung out from one of the legs of the shorts. Dressed in nothing but the filthy boxers, he went back to work on the Jeep.

Son of a bitch, it’s hot in here! Outside it had to be180. If a Jeep outside melted into a puddle of steel, I would not have been surprised.

Surrendering to the heat, I took off my own fatigue shirt but stopped short of dropping trou. I was an officer, after all.

I went back to watching Regex. He moved to and fro in the garage. What is it about boxer shorts that make any man look better? Regex didn’t look so much like a slob. I wouldn’t say he looked “good,” but somehow he looked healthier. Husky. Big. Really big. Hairy, soft, flabby—but big, really big.

Is the “improved appearance” because his dick is hanging down out of his underwear?

Hell, no! I’m not queer to see guys’ dicks!

That evening our truck didn’t show up. Our duty day in the motor pool was over, the sun had set, and still we sat there. “God damn it,” Regex muttered. “I’m hungry.” He sat on the green vinyl-covered couch in my office, back in fatigues again.

I figured the grungy white boxers were back in the drawer, and his vile coveralls hung on the hook in his locker. I felt funny. He’s sitting there again without any underwear. I had put my fatigue shirt back on. Outwardly, we were strack troops.

I couldn’t resist a glance. He “dressed right,” as my tailor would put it—the big cock shunted down the right leg of his fatigues. If you knew what to look for, you could spot the camouflage cloth roll over the snake in his pants.

We wanted to trot right out to the truck whenever it arrived, so we shut off the motor pool’s office lights and locked everything up. The office was very dark, lit only by the all-night streetlights in the vehicle park and the stars above. Through the window, the moon was a pale slice in the sky.

I sat at my desk in the office, Regex on the couch at the other side of the room. We called on the radio several times, but each time we got a run-around. “The truck broke down.” “Can’t find the driver.” “Truck’s not available.” On and on. Finally some PFC shithead told us to “be prepared to spend the night in the motor pool” if we didn’t want to “walk back to the barracks area.”

I grabbed the microphone and snapped that we would take a goddamned motor pool Jeep, but a major came on the radio and roared that we were not authorized to do that. “I’ll see what I can do, but you may have to stay there tonight,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Shit! I shut off the radio.

More long minutes in the darkness. “Sure was a hot one today,” Regex ventured.

“Sure was.” I was still pissed.

“Wish we could wear lighter uniforms. PT uniforms, maybe.”


“I swear to god, I wish I could just work naked. It’s so fuckin’ hot!”

What a heathen. I chuckled to myself. casino firmaları I’d give Regex the benefit of my education—history major in college. “In mines in ancient Italy and the Middle East,” I said, “the workers went down in the pits stark naked—it was that hot.” I smiled in the darkness. “It couldn’t be any cooler here. What would it be like to come to work every day stark naked?”

“You can’t tell the rank of a naked man.”

I chuckled. Old shower-room joke. “Imagine an authorization order like this,” I said. “Ahem! Due to circumstances of extraordinary heat in the ambience of the post motor pool, permission is hereby given to personnel working in such areas to dispense with uniform requirements and to perform duty without clothing.”

Regex gave a short, polite chuckle.

I shifted in the chair. “If I were naked, I would still be sweaty, and I my bare ass would be glued to the wood of this chair.”

Regex chuckled louder.

And Regex would sit over there, that giant cock practically down to his knees. Would it hang over the edge of the couch? Is it that long?

Damn! I had a hardon in the darkness. If Regex were naked, would he get a woodie, too? How much longer would it get? Jeez, how much longer could it get before he had trouble walking?

And that foreskin. Uncivilized. Like an Amazon cannibal. Does the head slide out of it when he gets an erection?

I shifted in the chair again, my dick an iron bar in my pants. I’m glad it’s dark. Conversation had died. Just the sound of breathing and an occasional zap as some insect flew into the streetlights.

If we worked in the motor pool in the nude, sooner or later one or both of us would get a hardon—who knows, maybe just from thinking about the R-rated movie at the post theater. What would we do? What would I do if Regex came into the office to ask for an authorization for another wrench, and he had a hardon?

Wow. Imagine that: “Sir, we need another 5/16 socket. Busted the other one.” His cock is full-on hard. How long would it be? Up to his belly-button? Yeah, up to his belly-button, and it’s throbbing. Yeah, drooling pre-cum. And the head does slide out of the foreskin when he’s hard!

“Just a minute, Sergeant,” I say.

At that moment my was dick so hard in my pants, it hurt. Since Regex couldn’t see me in the dark, I reached down to grope myself, stroking my dick through the cloth of my fatigues.

I continued the fantasy: “I see you have an erection there, Sergeant. While I fill out the paperwork, please feel free to masturbate if you need relief.”

“Thank you, sir.” He reaches down and begins to stroke that huge thing.

I grab my own cock. “I think I’ll join you, Sergeant,” and I start stroking away.

I wished I could! I had a time-bomb in my pants. It was smearing the inside of my boxers with pre-cum slime.

The couch creaked, and in the dim light I saw Regex stand up and stretch.

Although we hadn’t said anything for several minutes, I continued the “nude duty” discussion. “If we worked in the nude, at the end of the day, would we put on uniforms for the ride back in the truck?”

He didn’t answer.

“Naw,” I continued, “We’d be nude all the way back to the barracks.” I snickered. “Imagine trying to sneak back into the barracks without being seen.”

I looked out the window at the stars, still rubbing my hard dick in the darkness. Damn, it had been a long, hot day. I let my imagination go again. What do cocksuckers do? Regex is probably one. He’s not circumcised. Probably didn’t graduate from high school. What would he look like, back in the enlisted barracks, on his knees sucking the dicks of other degenerates?

I gulped.

How could anybody else suck Regex’s cock? God, the cocksucker’s mouth would have to open so wide, I would scratch—

Wait a minute! Not I would scratch! HE would scratch!!

Yeah, right, “He” would scratch the big cockhead with his teeth!

By then actively rubbing myself through my pants (very careful to keep silent), I bit my lip in frustration. No way could I jack off all the way to orgasm in quiet little strokes like those.

I went back to the fantasy-vision of Regex and his perverted friends in the enlisted barracks: Imagine that big shaft filling my mouth—

HIS mouth!

—Yeah, yeah, “His mouth” and going down my throat—

HIS throat!

—Yeah, yeah, “His throat”—

Regex touched my shoulder at that moment, and I jumped a foot in the air!

Pissed that he startled me, I turned my head and opened my mouth to ask what in hell he thought he was doing—but with a bump against my cheek, something big, hard, and warm bobbled into my open mouth! Oh, my god in heaven! Jesus, Mary, Joseph! That’s HIS COCK!!

Before I could react, it spread my jaws open wide and surged deep inside. I tried to yank my head back, but Regex held onto my ears. This is a fucking outrage!

I raised an arm to push him away, but he easily blocked it. I güvenilir casino was furious, but one little corner of my brain noticed something: His cock doesn’t taste bad! Very horny flavor! Thought it would be sickening, but it’s salty. Warm. Male smell—Damn, it turns me on!

No, you stupid ass! Any second now, you’re going to struggle out of his grip and slug the insolent bastard.

Right! But I couldn’t. The big son of a bitch is strong—not so much of a slob as I thought. I couldn’t get out of my chair.

This bastard, I’ll have him cashiered from the Service for this! But my body said otherwise. It surrendered. The hand I planned to slug Regex with moved down to stroke my own cock again, and my mouth still slobbered over his big dong. Like a cavalry charge starting its gallop, the climax started building in my balls—What? You’re going to cum from sucking an enlisted man’s cock??

I was slipping out of control—No, from jacking off. I reached down to cup Regex’s balls in my palm. The big eggs were hot–hard boiled—in my hand, and I bobbled them as I sucked. He let out a pleasured grunt.

In just a few short minutes, the cavalry swept over my defenses, and it was a slaughter. I came so hard, I know my jism would have shot three feet into the air if I didn’t catch it all in my boxers, slobbering it all over my crotch. Oh, shit. I’ll be walking around in gobs of my own sperm.

As if he knew, the big pipe in my mouth grew even thicker—I imagined myself on sick call, trying to explain to the post dentist how I got jaw-strain—and Regex’s cock jettisoned a truckload of enlisted-man jizz that filled my mouth and gushed down my throat.

I couldn’t swallow it all, and it sputtered from the sides of my mouth. Damn. Thought this stuff would make me puke. It ain’t bad. Hot. I felt a little drunk.

We froze in that steamy tableau for a long time, Regex standing over me as I slumped in my chair, burning through our orgasms and the long, sweet afterglow, my mouth lazily slurping and guzzling around his cock. When the storms finally calmed, the mighty prong softened, and Regex pulled back. It flopped out of my mouth.

I confess I licked at it as it fell away.

“How’d you like that, sir?”

“You son of a bitch, what did you just do to me??”

“You just sucked my cock, sir.” His hand groped at my crotch. “And if I didn’t miss my guess—”

He pulled open my fly and reached into my slimy boxers—God, the ultimate humiliation!

—”Yep, you came. Feel all that jizz. You really messed yourself, sir.” His fingers wallowed through the globs in my pants.

When he took his hand away, I heard a slurping sound in the darkness. “God, you pervert, you’re drinking my cum??”

“Why not, sir? You just swallowed mine.”

Checkmate. He certainly got you there.

His voice dropped low. “Yours is pretty tasty. How was mine?”

Oh, what the fuck, I might as well say it.! “Salty, Sarge. Working man’s cum. You really pack a load, though. For a while I thought I was going to drown.”

He stood near me again, pulled at my arms, and got me to stand up. Then he began pulling at my uniform. “Wait … wait a minute,” I said, “what are you doing?”

“Hot temperature uniform,” he muttered, pulling my fatigue shirt off. “We’re authorized to get naked, like you said.”

“Wait a minute—” but he grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and pulled it up over my head. “Hey, I can’t—” He yanked open my belt buckle and dropped my pants. I tried to push him away—and realized he was already naked.

“Hey, that was just a joke. We can’t be naked together. I’m an officer!”

“Not now, you’re not.” Both my shirts were gone, and my pants and underwear clumped at my boot-tops. “Now you’re just a naked man.”

With that, he kissed me!

What? NO!! I don’t kiss no MAN!!” But his grip was powerful, and his lips wallowed over my mouth until I opened my lips—and instantly his tongue violated me.

Damn, this guy knows how to kiss!

You stupid ass! What in hell are you doing?? A fucking enlisted man! You’re kissing an enlisted man! And the key word is MAN! You’re kissing a MAN!!

But the kiss went on. The stubble of his beard was like sandpaper—Damn, it hurts to kiss this fucker!—but I was getting hot again. Regex’s big penis—hard again—bobbled against my groin. Against my own hardon.

Huge! Damn huge! Probably one and a half times the width of mine. Twice as long.

Regex’s hands dropped to cup each of my buttocks.

Wait a minute! If his hands are on my ass, how come I’m still clamped tight to his mouth and pressed against his chest??

Oh, my hell! My arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

The next lightning bolt struck when Regex stuck a fingertip into my asshole! Ohmigod, I know what this is the first step to! He’s going to rape me!

That broke the spell of the kiss. With desperate struggles, I got away from him, but when I saw the lust in his eyes—and considered how much bigger he was (having just learned how strong he was)—I knew if I resisted I could get myself beat up or killed. Hell, who would know?? He could blame it on a fall or an accident in the garage!

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