Category Archives: Zeta Squad

First-Time Jocks in the Barracks

Here’s a sample from the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Barracks, a new story by Happiest Ending!

Drill Sergeant Mitchell Armstrong stood behind the barracks, peering into the window. He stood on the air conditioner so he could see in the high window to the showering area in the back of the barracks. He smiled as he watched Cadet Brandon Scaramuzza sit on Danny Lafleur’s face.

Two dozen of the heftiest, most athletic cadets in the Army were in those barracks, and Armstrong watched them shower. He could have gone in there, but then they would have stopped and he couldn’t watch any more.

It wasn’t a rimjob, of course. Presumably Lafleur had lost some sort of bet, so he allowed Scaramuzza to sit on his face. It was only for a moment. Had he farted on his face? Maybe, but Armstrong didn’t think so. He could hear them laughing as LaFleur blushed and clawed at his own cheeks.

Then they all started dancing and Armstrong was confused — a sudden dance party? Was this a Japanese game show?

But then he heard a pounding techno beat. That seemed to be A Thing, which he didn’t understand because he was too old — every once in a while, this generation of cadets put on electronic music and apparently they were all required to dance like club kids. It wouldn’t have been strange if they actually enjoyed that kind of music, but not a single one of them actually chose to listen to it in any other context.

Armstrong didn’t understand the younger generations.

They danced together for about a minute, stopping only when someone started slapping Cadet Lee Amasuzi’s ass. It soon degenerated into a torrent of laughter and horseplay — they treated each other like strippers, slapping each other’s ass and jiggling their buttcheeks in front of each other’s faces.

Drill Sergeant Armstrong began masturbating. He was just inches from those plump asses, and he could even taste the soapy shower water as it covered their taut skin.

These were not any random collection of Army recruits. They had been chosen to be on the US Army wrestling team. They were given a shared barrack and Armstrong was put in charge of their training, all because the Army was tired of losing to the Navy in wrestling.

It was Armstrong’s job to turn them into champion wrestlers, and hopefully soldiers as well.

Inside the barracks, the horseplay had turned into a game called Boner Loses. They didn’t invent it, it had been passed down from an earlier group of cadets. Drill Sergeant Armstrong had even played a very similar game back when he was a new recruit, which felt like it was eons ago. Armstrong was glad that Cadet Scaramuzza was going to play this game now, because he really hoped to watch Scaramuzza lose.

Brandon Scaramuzza was “forced” to play — he wasn’t exactly forced, per se, but he had implied he would win if he did play, and he was urged to back that up. He frantically tried to come up with way to get out of it, but he came up with nothing. Everyone expected him to do it, and Brandon wasn’t willing to violate their expectations like that — they were his expectations too. That’s because Brandon saw himself as more sexually experienced than anyone else here. He had had sex with nine girls, more than anyone else in his barracks. He had had sex with two women at once. He had had sex with an older woman.

So he thought he was well-suited to win Boner Loses. That was a game wherein the player (Brandon) had to stand there while another player (usually someone who had lost a bet, in this case Lee Amasuzi) had to put his dick in his mouth.

Twink on Top: The Drill Sergeant and the Marine Corps Cadet

Here’s another new one in the Twink on Top series, this time it’s Twink on Top: The Drill Sergeant and the Marine Corps Cadet!


The Megillah was even more difficult to get right this year. Every year, Tim found that he struggled a bit more to get the pronunciation right, and the rhythm of it — he didn’t speak Hebrew that well, much to his shame, and now that he no longer lived in Israel, he was losing his memory of the language. But every year during Purim, his family had him read the Megillah (which, dear gentile reader, is the same thing as the Book of Esther, part of the Tanakh — and your Old Testament — whose recitation during the holy season of Purim is required for observant Jews; Purim is a March holiday that commemorated the Jews’ deliverance from certain genocide in the ancient Persian Empire). It was a sort of family tradition.

If Tim had gotten married and had a child or two, his family would have had his kid begin reading the Megillah, or at least a few brief segments of it as he learned Hebrew. But Tim was openly gay, and he had no desire for a child. So it remained his increasingly-awkward duty to recite the Megillah every year.

There was a knock on the door. Tim sighed and went to see who it was — if it was his NRA-loving, conservative neighbor with another Huckabee pamphlet, he was going to file a harassment complaint. He had promised himself that before as well, but he didn’t like to make waves, and it was always simpler just to take him at his word that he wouldn’t be back.

But it wasn’t that neighbor at all, it was the neighbor from the house on the other side, Sergeant Jeffers. He was from Camp Pendleton, the Marine Corps training facility here in San Diego. While Sergeant Jeffers was not exactly “nice”, he was always polite; Tim rather liked him.

It helped, of course, that Sergeant Jeffers was a big burly bear of a man, with muscles and a square jaw and so much swagger that Tim nearly came in his pants the first time he had spied Jeffers lifting weights shirtless in his backyard. Today he was here, bright and early in the morning, with a younger man in tow.

The younger man was just as sexy as Jeffers, and arguably even more sexy in a classic sense — he had a Hollywood-handsome dimpled face, kind eyes and it was apparent he sported a six-pack under his t-shirt. Sergeant Jeffers was a bit older, with a few tinges of gray in his crewcut, and while he still had the body of a Marine, it showed notable wear and tear. The younger cadet was smooth, pert and taut, with dark hair and skin, an olive complexion and deep, dark eyes.

As Tim opened the door, he realized the younger man looked like a cadet — he wore a crew-cut, and a faded green t-shirt with short shorts, both of which appeared to be Marine Corps-issued. They were wrinkled as though he had been roused from bed early in the morning to come here.

“Shalom, Mr. Cohen,” Sergeant Jeffers said. “This is Cadet Pucci. He has a favor to ask you. May we come in?”

“Uh… I suppose,” Tim said. He led them into his living room, where they both sat down. The situation was tense — Sergeant Jeffers appeared angry, enough so that Tim wondered if he had done something wrong. Cadet Pucci, however, looked upset and a bit guilty, as though it was he who had done something wrong. Tim felt small and girlish in comparison to these two hulking brutes; that wasn’t surprising, since Tim was, in fact, a small and girlish twink. He had resigned himself to that some time ago. No matter how much Tim thought bears were sexier, he was never going to be big and bulky like these two. He cleared his throat. “A favor? I’m sorry, do I know you, Cadet… Pucci?”

Pucci shook his head. His face was worried, his dimples deep. He licked his lips. “I was askin’ Sarge here, man, I was-“ He stopped talking and winced as Sergeant Jeffers cleared his throat. Cadet Pucci started again, his voice stilted and awkward. “Good morning, sir. I was hoping I could get your assistance this morning. I am a cadet at Camp Pendleton and I need a day off-“

“The fuck you do!” Sergeant Jeffers barked.

Cadet Pucci again blanched and looked down at his feet. “I don’t need a day off. I want one. I’m a lazy guido bastard,” he said, looking to Jeffers as though expecting him to confirm it — he nodded his assent to Pucci’s words. Then Pucci continued. “I already had some leave, two weeks ago. And I met this girl. She was beautiful, you wouldn’t even believe it, she-“ Pucci stopped himself as though he just realized that Tim was gay. He cleared his throat. “Well, she was hot. And she’s moving to Georgia, so tonight is the last time I might see her. And I asked my sergeant if I could move a day of leave up. I wouldn’t even have to miss any training, I could leave at night-“

“Tell him why I said no,” Sergeant Jeffers said gruffly. He placed one hand on Cadet Pucci’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I… I have not always been followin’ the rules,” Cadet Pucci said. “I snuck out before. That was just to get laid though. I didn’t love that girl.”

“You don’t love any girl,” Sergeant Jeffers said.

“I do!” Cadet Pucci said with a blush. He looked to Tim. “And anyway, Sergeant Jeffers said I had to prove I loved her and I wasn’t just after sex.”

“I may be a hardass, but I ain’t gonna stand in the way of true love,” Sergeant Jeffers said, mockingly wiping a tear from his eye. “Cadet Pucci skipped over a few details. He tried to sneak out for trim four times — that I know of. I caught him each time, so he been skatin’ on very thin ice for some time. He has been one mouthy fuck since the day his Italian ass got here.”

“So… uh,” Cadet Pucci said. “If you want… you don’t have to, Mr. Cohen. But, uh, if you want… we could, y’know, fuck.”

“What?” Tim was shocked — he had thought Cadet Pucci was going to ask for a ride, or for help finding the local girl, something like that. He had no idea sex was in the cards.

“He’ll do anything you want, Mr. Cohen,” Sergeant Jeffers said. “I want to see how devoted he is to this girl. Plus as long as he gets his rocks off now, I’ll now he ain’t motivated by overflowing balls neither.” He looked at Pucci and nodded. “Go on, tell him.”

Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Drill Sergeant

Here’s a sample from Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Drill Sergeant, a new story of hardcore gay pseudoincest military brat sex!

Sammy was glad to be home from college. He had been excited to get out of high school, out of the family home, out of the tiny town of Carlisle, Wyoming he had grown up in. He didn’t regret leaving, of course, and he enjoyed college. It was just nice to be back in his old bed, under the same old roof and cozied up in the same old sheets. Everyone who said you can’t go home again were wrong, Sammy thought as he settled down in bed. He was so comfortable and secure that he nearly drifted right off to sleep.

But then the door to his room opened, and Sammy’s heart leapt up in his chest. He had begun dozing but managed to keep himself awake — he didn’t want to sleep yet because he wasn’t sure if Daddy was coming to see him in his room tonight or not. He normally only did it when he was drunk, but he had only had one beer tonight. Still, Sammy hoped he would make an exception, and when his door open, Sammy’s heart pounded as it always did — Daddy’s broad shoulders and military crewcut cast a sexy silhouette. Light and cold air from the hallway flooded Sammy’s room, but only for a moment. Then he shut the door, and the room was dark again, except for the dim green light coming from Sammy’s charging cell phone.

Then there was just Daddy standing there, his muscular body flexing as he watched Sammy lay prone on the bed. As he always did, Sammy pretended to be asleep. He was pretty sure Daddy knew he wasn’t asleep, but that made it easier for them both to pretend it hadn’t happened tomorrow. Their shared refusal to acknowledge their affair in the light of day made it all the sexier for Sammy.

Daddy had been sneaking into Sammy’s room to fuck him every couple of weeks since he married Sammy’s mom. Back then, Sammy had hated him — he was the evil stepfather as far as Sammy was concerned.

But the older he got, the less he hated Daddy (or Daddy Mike, as he sometimes called him). Daddy was a drill sergeant at Fort D.A. Russell, and Sammy knew that was a difficult job; it was stressful, and it often left him coming home from work upset. He had to deal with the cadets he called “shitweasels”, meaning spoiled, entitled brats who needed a stern hand.

That stern hand landed on Sammy’s back. Sammy stirred, pretending that he was just now waking up. He loved the tender feel of Daddy’s strong grip on his skin.

“Sssh,” Daddy said. “It’s just me, Sammy. It’s okay.”

“Oh, hi…” Sammy said, trying to sound as groggy as he could. This was his little ritual, pretending to have no idea Daddy was there, that he was alarmed, maybe even frightened to have this big, imposing figure looming above him in the darkness.

“How you doin’?” His fingers caressed Sammy’s shoulders, running underneath the t-shirt he slept in to touch Sammy’s smooth skin. “I know you said everything was fine at dinner. But I thought maybe there was somethin’ you ain’t wanna tell yer momma.”

Sammy shrugged. “No,” he said. “Well… Nothing major.”

“Tell me about it, son,” Daddy said. He sat down on the edge of the bed, weighing down the mattress with his powerful ass. Sammy was forced next to him, and for a moment, Sammy’s face was buried in his asscrack. Daddy wore only those Army-issue green shorts, which were thin, so Sammy could feel every hair of his stepfather’s ass rub against his face. He curled himself around Daddy’s body, hugging him close, and rested his head against Daddy’s thick thigh muscle.

“I… I like this girl,” Sammy said. “But I don’t think she likes me.”

Daddy smiled. “That’s normal, son. Just be yourself-“

“Well… I should say I do know, I know that she doesn’t like me,” Sammy said. “She said so.”

Daddy clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Oh, that’s tough. It happens though.” He patted Sammy on the back of the head.

“I know. I just… I thought I loved her. I thought she was The One,” Sammy said. “Before I talked to her outside of class. I had… I’m sorry, it’s embarrassing.”

“Go ahead, son, you can tell me anything.”

“I had a fantasy of us getting married,” Sammy said. He bit his lip. “I had it all worked out. I was already naming our kids.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I wanted to name our first son Michael.”

“After me?”

Sammy nodded and blushed, glad that Daddy couldn’t see his cheeks turn ruddy in the dark room — Sammy had hated Daddy Mike for so long that it was tough to admit that he loved him now, even if they had been getting along for almost a year before Sammy left for college. Daddy sniffled. Sammy got the impression he was teary-eyed.

“That’s sweet, son,” Daddy said; since he was emotional, his Alabama accent came to the fore, which Sammy enjoyed — he had always thought it was sexy. Daddy cleared his throat. “You know how many girls were The One befo’ yer momma? Six. No, wait, seven. I used to fall in love like some of my cadets fall off they bunk. I don’t even remember most of those girls’ names. Once you finally meet her, the woman you gonna spend the rest of yer life with, everything that happened before that is gonna seem like irrelevant ancient history.”

“I guess so.”

“She weren’t right for ya, Sammy. I can tell that just from how you talk about her,” he said. His hand roamed down Sammy’s back, then crept under the blankets. He touched Sammy’s asscheeks. “You’s a perfect boy; you deserve a perfect girl.”

“What if she’s not out there?”

“She is,” he said, “and until then, you got me.” His hand crept under Sammy’s sweatpants and onto his asscheeks. His fingers were rough and callused, which Sammy always thought should feel scratchy on his skin, but didn’t. It felt correct, exactly the way he wanted to be touched.

One of his fingers pressed right at the surface of Sammy’s asshole. He didn’t go in yet, he just circled the rim, sending little shocks of sexual pleasure up Sammy’s spine. Sammy began breathing heavy, glad that they were going to fuck tonight. It was a nice little welcome home present, he thought.

No Homo: Soldiers

Here’s a sample from No Homo: Soldiers, an entry in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica that’s too hot for gay sex! The most recent entry is No Homo: Jocks, and if you’re interested, please let me know (either in a comment here or email at what theme you want to see next — I’m currently deciding between Workers and Thugs…


Warning: This sample is full of outrageous dry-humping (that’s actually quite moist) and teabagging!

Hawthorn knew he was going to get a boner when he did the rescue swim. He always had during practice but managed to hide it. They were only short swims anyway. It wasn’t a gay thing, he told himself over and over. It was just the close contact, pressing his dick against someone else’s body and rubbing it back and forth as they swam.

But the day had come when he was going to have to take someone — the muscled beefcake Tony — on a four lap rescue swim of the pool. His form had to be perfect, and that meant his dick would be nestled in Tony’s tight Italian asscrack.

Tony looked like a model, Hawthorn thought, or like what Hollywood would consider a perfectly handsome leading man. He was just slightly grizzled, perfectly built with a V-shaped torso and a square jaw, a deep voice and sultry dark eyes. Hawthorn was a little jealous — he knew he was a country bumpkin in the eyes of these city folks. He was big and a little plump, dumb and naive. In truth, he didn’t know what was going on a lot of the time, he really didn’t understand the slang the others used, just pretended he did, and felt overwhelmed by the pace of modern life. He wanted to be back on the farm he had grown up on, where things made sense and he always knew what he was supposed to do next.

He wrapped his arms around Tony’s muscles, thick black hairs scratching his skin. The Italian stud’s tight six pack rippled as he lay as still as possible. He was trying to make it easy. Hawthorn’s dick was wedged between his asscheeks. He got into the correct rescue swim position easily and began his laps.

The two moved through the body effortlessly, Tony’s heavy body easily carted along by Hawthorn’s heft. They were the two biggest men in the squad, that was why they had been assigned together. Tony had already done his rescue swim and did fine, with no boner at all that Hawthorn could tell. Tony’s rippling back muscles and tight ass squeezed on Hawthorn’s body, making his dick grow harder and harder with every motion through the water.

Hawthorn remembered the punishment in the shower a few weeks before. He had felt dirty then, Ransom’s big black cock shooting a load over his back, and he realized he was going to do the same thing. His dick was wedged between Tony’s asscheek just like Ransom’s had been before, and he was getting hard only a few strokes into the rescue swim.

He tried to shift his weight to hide it, but Railton called out for Tony to begin struggling — this was supposed to be a mock rescue, after all, and actual drowning victims fight back against their rescuers. Hawthorn knew that would be it: if Tony started moving, Hawthorn had no hope of reducing his erection.

When Tony’s body began twisting and fighting against him, Hawthorn had to hold him right in position, which meant every time Tony moved, Hawthorn humped him. The movement caused further friction, making his hard cock leak precum into the water. He didn’t think Tony could tell, but it was hard to say. Between the cheering and catcalling from the surface, the splashing of water and the sounds of cars driving not far away, Hawthorn couldn’t hear anything Tony was saying.

He had a good grip on Tony, immobilizing him with his head above water. Tony’s muscles contorted beneath him, and he squeezed his asscheeks together. Hawthorn felt the tightness around his dick and knew there was no stopping his orgasm. He hoped the water was warm enough Tony wouldn’t notice.

Almost done, Hawthorn paused, tired, and Tony took the opportunity to renew his struggle, apparently trying to give Hawthorn a real test. Aside from the embarrassment over his imminent orgasm, Hawthorn enjoyed the rescue swim test — it was like a combination of wrestling and swimming, two of his favorite activities.

Then his climax came. He stifled a grunt, and timed his swim strokes to the thrusts of his hip, hoping to mask the feel so Tony wouldn’t notice. But as he did it, and the hot cum bloomed above Hawthorn’s crotch, he knew there was no chance of that. It was obvious, the water was cloudy, and he could even taste it. Tony may have been able to taste it as well.

But maybe Tony will be too embarrassed to bring it up, Hawthorn hoped. He was a proud, straight macho who wouldn’t want to admit something like that, or so Hawthorn hoped. Tony had seemed prone to embarrassment so far, like most city boys Hawthorn had met.

Railton liked to tease the recruits as they tested, and when Hawthorn and Tony got near the ladder out of the water, having finished the rescue swim, Railton only nodded at them to continue. Hawthorn’s heart pounded as he realized he wasn’t done yet, and Tony struggled against him.

“Come on, Sarge, he’s done!” Tony called out.

“One more lap, I wanna see better form, Hawthorn. I know you know how to do it better than this,” Railton said.

Hawthorn moved his arm, remembering his lessons in rescue swims. He was touching Tony’s nipples now, which grew hard in the cold water. But Tony had given up on fighting back, no doubt wanting the whole experience to be over.

Unfortunately for Hawthorn, he was a randy young buck who had always gotten erections easily, so by the time they were done, he was hard again. His exhausted muscles were almost ready to give out, he thought, but he managed to get through the last lap.

Tony crawled up out of the pool, followed by Hawthorn, whose Army-issue swimming trunks were tented by his hard cock. Hawthorn blushed when he saw his fellow squadmates giggling at him.

“That bastard had a boner. I think he nutted on me!” Tony screamed. He clawed at the small of his back as though he might still get the cum off him.

Hawthorn wanted to defend himself from his snickering squadmates, but his massive cock strained uncomfortably against the fabric of his shorts.

“Get over here, Private Kyle!” Drill Sergeant Railton said. He narrowed his eyebrows at the sight of Hawthorn’s huge cock. He pulled Hawthorn’s shorts down and Hawthorn’s half-hard, dwindling cock popped out. He wasn’t sure if it was obvious that Tony had been right, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to Tony’s continued complaints. Drill Sergeant Railton’s interest in Hawthorn’s dick was more important, it seemed, much to Hawthorn’s delight.

Somebody else whistled. “No wonder he can suck it himself.”

Railton openly stared at his thick manhood, and Hawthorn, for the first time in his life, felt embarrassed about it. “That rod might be bigger than regulation, son,” Railton said to scattered, nervous laughter. “We might have to chop a bit off.”

Hawthorn was glad to see Railton being jovial for once, and not obviously mad that he had nutted on Tony. No one seemed to care about that except Tony, who was washing himself off in the pool.

“Can you really suck your own cock?” Railton said. “Let’s see it.”

Hawthorn pulled his shorts the rest of the way down. His dick was already hard and cummy, but he sucked the tip down. He had only ever done it once before, just licked it a few times because he discovered that he could. He didn’t like the taste, and it felt faggy too him even if it was his own cock.

“Suck it, suck it!” Ransom shouted. “Deepthroat it, bitch.” He and Malik laughed but stopped when Railton glared at them.

“If I ever hear you two talking to a real woman that way,” Railton said. “I’ll have you court-martialed before you can blink.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Malik and Ransom said in unison.

An awkward silence fell over the squad, and Hawthorn wondered if he wouldn’t be able to finish. He didn’t want the guys to start ragging on him for being slow, because if he got more nervous, he might lose his erection. He had just cum on Tony’s back, so he was glad he was still a young buck, who hadn’t had any pussy lately, so he was pretty sure he’d be able to bust a nut.

“Come on, son,” Railton said. “We ain’t got all day. You ain’t datin’ it, just a booty call.”

There was more scattered laughter from the recruits, and Hawthorn sucked with renewed vigor. He got almost a third of the way down the shaft, straining his neck and beck to do it. Precum slid down his throat.

“Lemme help,” Railton said, placing one of his hands on Hawthorn’s head. He gently pushed, and though it strained Hawthorn’s neck, he got another inch or so in his mouth.

Finally he felt his nuts draw up in his sac and cum flowed into his mouth, down his throat. The familiar, but gross, flavor of sour-salty cum flooded his senses. Hawthorn gagged and spat it out, rolling onto the ground before jumping to his feet to scattered applause.

“Alright,” Sergeant Railton said. “We had our fun. Let’s get cleaned up for mess.” He looked to both Hawthorn and Tony. “You two hit the showers.”

Tony was obviously pissed. Hawthorn wasn’t surprised, but he was annoyed — everything rolled off Hawthorn’s shoulders, and this wasn’t the first time he had done something that he saw as a minor faux pas but those around him saw an egregious offense. Hawthorn didn’t let anything bother him in the long run. What good was it being upset over things that already happened?

But obviously Tony didn’t take that route. He glowered, with his hands across his chest. He looked like he was considering whether he could get away with strangling Hawthorn right there.

“Man…” Hawthorn said, putting on his biggest, most easygoing grin. “That was fucked up. I can’t believe I did that in front of Railton, and he was sort of fucking my face with my own dick. Did you see that?”

“I was in the water. Trying to get clean”

“Oh yeah,” Hawthorn said. “Sorry about all that. It was… I didn’t try to do it. It just sort-of happened.”

“You virtually raped me!”

“I didn’t stick it in!”

“You came pretty damn close.”

“Don’t tell me you never had an accidental boner,” Hawthorn said. “Did you say you was a wrestler in high school?”

“That is not the point. I never came on somebody’s back,” Tony said.

“Well, Ransom already came on me, remember that?”

“That wasn’t my fault. You wanna hump him, you be my guest,” Tony said.

Hawthorn sighed. “You ain’t being very cool about this.”

“You did hump me. That’s not very cool either.”

“But it was an accident!”

“So? You want me to have a little accident too?” Tony asked. He pantomimed humping Hawthorn’s thigh thigh.

“You don’t even wanna do anything like that,” Hawthorn said. But he saw Tony raise his eyebrows and realized that wasn’t true — he wished he hadn’t said that, as it implied he would allow Tony to do so if he did want to. Which, it seemed, he did.

“I don’t want to,” Tony said. “But I will.”

Hawthorn sighed again. It would hardly be the worst thing that had ever happened to him — for country boys like Hawthorn, campouts and hunting trips often led to much more compromising sexual adventures than a little dry humping. But he still didn’t want to go through with it.

Tony pulled his own shorts down, followed by Hawthorn’s. His fat limp cock was wedged between Hawthorn’s cheeks.

“Hey, this is more than you did to me. You’re almost fucking me!” Hawthorn said.

“You was pretty damn close to fucking me,” Tony said. He began grinding his dick in between Hawthorn’s sweat-lubed asscheeks.

“We wasn’t naked though,” Hawthorn said. He always tried to act confident, even when he wasn’t, but bending over so Tony could hump his asscheeks was making it hard to feel confident. He thought it would be almost easier to actually be raped than this weird pseudo-sex. But he certainly didn’t want to admit that.

“Well, consider that your punishment for doing it without permission,” Tony said. His dick was getting hard and leaking precum, which lubed him up. The stickiness was spreading up to the small of Hawthorn’s back and down to his taint.

“This is fucking gross,” Hawthorn said.

“I agree, that’s why I was disgusted you started it. You better tell people, if anyone ever brings it up or makes fun of me, you tell people that I humped you back.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hawthorn grunted in shame. “I’ll make sure everyone knows about this. I’ll put it on my fucking resume.”

“Ah shit, here it comes, get ready,” Tony said with a laugh. He stopped humping with his cockhead just poking out above Hawthorn’s hips, so his load shot across Hawthorn’s back. He had a huge wad of cum, warm and sticky on Hawthorn’s flesh all the way up to his neck.

The semen sat there, so hot it felt near burning on Hawthorn’s skin. He tried to wipe it off with a hand but had trouble reaching behind himself, so he had to use his own bath towel. He still felt filthy as he straightened his back, avoiding eye contact with Tony.

“Alright,” Tony said. “Now we’re even.”

The Perfect Specimen of Soldier Came Through the Honky Hotel

Here’s a sample chapter from an oldie, but a goodie, and one that only just now went live on Smashwords! It’ll be on Nook, Kobo and iBookstore any day now too. It’s called The Perfect Specimen of Soldier Came Through the Honky Hotel (Kindle Store or Smashwords) and it’s part of a series about the adventures of Adrian, a hotel clerk with a habit for servicing str8 macho alpha males! You can buy this story and three more from the series on the Kindle Store for a great value!

Every couple of weeks Adrian’s job sucked. Normally he enjoyed it — a hotel clerk is a low-stress position, and with sales incentives he normally met, Adrian could make pretty good money. But about once a month, the guys from the local military base, Fort Rumblemore, had a weekend of leave. They often came to Adrian’s hotel, and they were always drunk, rowdy and left a huge mess behind. Since they were price-sensitive, they almost never paid for anything from the minibar or anything on pay-per-view, so the hassle of dealing with them was not worth it to Adrian.

But this night was especially bad for him. Not only did he have to deal with the Rumblemore boys getting drunk in their rooms before hitting the bars, he was depressed to begin with because his long-time lover Shawn had dumped him earlier that day. He had been upset but thought going to work might help — if he had known it was going to be an armyboys night, he would have called out sick for sure.

Finally the armymen all made their way out to the bars. A few of them drifted back over the next few hours, but they had females and went straight to their rooms. Their kissing was a little more risqué than Adrian liked in his lobby, but he knew better than to ask them to stop. The best course of action was simply to let them go fuck their slut in their room, and wait for them to check out in the morning.

The sound of frenzied rutting could be heard when he walked down the hall, emanating from their rooms. More than once an almost entirely naked soldier bumped into him as he drunkenly stumbled off to the ice machine, towel loosely draped around his waist. They stank of cum, and it made Adrian so horny he wished he had a free moment to jack off in the bathroom.

Around midnight the last of them came back. He was Willie Redman, a Texan with the sunburnt shoulders of a real redneck, leaner than a lot of the soldiers but ropy with muscle and an elegant tattoo reading Texas-Made on his upper back. He walked slowly, as though he was drunk and trying to hide it. He stopped in front of the desk.

“Can I help you, sir?” Adrian asked.

“I… I don’t remembuh how to get to my room,” he said.

“I’ll show you. Follow me, sir,” Adrian said. He walked down the hall to his room, which was at the far end.

“Hey, hotel clerks know about…” He trailed off as though too embarrassed to go on. “Women? Like… Women that I can… fuck?”

Willie was not the first soldier to ask him this. “No,” he said. “I don’t know any prostitutes. And I’m gay, so I don’t know much about women at all. Sorry.” In truth, he did know of some prostitutes, but he knew better than to get involved — he could be charged as a pimp if the police found out, which was a felony sex crime, worse than either being or hiring a prostitute.

They were in front of Willie’s door. Willie blanched and said, “I struck out tonight. I was really hoping to get laid. I only got tonight. Tomorrow I ship out to Iraq.”

Adrian opened the hotel room door, and held it open for him. Willie’s muscles throbbed underneath his sleeveless t-shirt (no wonder he struck out, Adrian thought, women don’t normally go for the rough redneck on leave look).

Willie stepped through the threshold, then turned around. “Hey,” he said, “Do you… You can say no, it ain’t a big deal, but do you… Wanna suck my dick?”

Adrian was so surprised he didn’t have a response, but in truth he thought Willie’s redneck soldier look was so sexy he could barely control himself. He wanted nothing more than to suck his dick.

“Yes,” Adrian said. He followed him into the room.

“I never done this before,” Willie said as he sat on the edge of his bed. His head lolled on his shoulders as though he was already half-passed out.

Adrian knelt in front of him and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

He undid Willie’s camo pants, revealing those olive-green PT shorts that Adrian had always thought looked sexy on a man. They were a little small, so Willie’s bulging cock and balls were readily apparent, straining against the fabric.

Willie let out an awkward moan and looked away. The smell of liquor on his breath was strong, and stale, drunken sweat wafted into Adrian’s nostrils as he got started.

He licked Willie’s crotch through his underwear, tasting the salty cotton flavor. Willie laughed a little as though surprised. He leaned back on the bed, keeping his hands up by his head like he was frightened he might accidentally touch Adrian.

Adrian fished his cock out through the fly of his boxers, and licked it from tip to root. It had a ruddy quality, and a well-worn thickness that reminded Adrian of Willie’s sexy redneck swagger.

His dick got hard right away despite the awkwardness of the situation and Willie’s rather advanced drunkenness. His thick shaft pulsated hotly and leaked precum down Adrian’s throat.

It had all happened so fast that Adrian was only just then realizing how much trouble he could get in. He was supposed to be working and consorting with customers in their rooms was strictly forbidden.

But Willie was oblivious to any risk. He grunted as he neared orgasm and his balls lifted up in his sac. Adrian worked on Willie’s nipples with one hand, using the other to stimulate his shaft.

“You gonna swallow?” Willie mumbled. Asking was a polite gesture, Adrian thought, but Willie asked too late for it to matter. Before he even finished asking, cum was spurting down Adrian’s throat.

He shot a huge load with a nice thickness that coated Adrian’s gullet. He moaned at the savory, salty taste flooding his senses.

Adrian kept on Willie’s sensitive shaft until he was drunkenly pulled off. Willie was already half-asleep, it seemed, and Adrian wiped his dick off with a tissue before leaving. He couldn’t resist spending a moment to fondle Willie’s tight pectoral muscles and perfectly round ass, savoring their well-sculpted feel.

Extreme Russian Military Hazing

Here’s a new str8core story that’s too hot for Amazon! It’s called Extreme Russian Military Hazing, and it’s full of military punishment and initiation sex. Warning: this is overflowing with noncon and dubcon sex, with an outrageous and humiliating conclusion that will leave you spent!


A part of Dmitri had known that it was a bad idea to complain to Sergeant Mitrovich. The older cadets were making him do their chores, however, and he thought the Sergeant would be glad to know that. They were about to become soldiers in the glorious Russian Army; he should know if they were shirkers. If the Americans invaded, the older cadets’ reluctance to do their duties could make all the difference in the world.

“You are snitching on your comrades?” He asked slowly. His rough, wrinkled face sneered down at Dmitri.

Dmitri swallowed nervously. It was obvious that his plan had backfired — Sergeant Mitrovich was not happy about the snitching. Sergeant Mitrovich had a squarish face with a few old faded scars on it, and stern, deep-set eyes. Dmitri wondered if he could pretend it had all been a joke, but he decided Sergeant Mitrovich would not like humor any more than he liked tattling.

“You are supposed to be form a band of brothers,” Sergeant Mitrovich said. “Not bunch of thugs betraying each other as soon as you can. This is not Army of snitches.”

“They are make me do their chores! It is supposed to be for them-“

“Then tell them no!”

“They will hit me!”

“Then stop to be a pussy, and hit them back,” he said with an angry scowl. “Or you can always quit.”

Dmitri bit his lip. “I am not pussy… I just do not like to be fighting. I know I might have to, this is the Army, but I do not want to be in fighting with other Russians.”

Sergeant Mitrovich shook his head as though he was ashamed. He stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt. The thick hair on his broad chest poked out from under the telnyashka undershirt he wore. “You act like pussy-bitch,” he said. “I will show you how Army will treat pussy-bitches like you. Open mouth.”

Dmitri stammered but didn’t know what to say. He was nervous about what was going to happen next — he wished he could just take a punishment of increased chores, or physical training, just not what he had a feeling was about to happen. He could have chosen to quit, he knew that, he could have left the Army, but then he’d always feel like a failure.

“Open mouth!”

Dmitri did so. But then nothing happened. Sergeant Mitrovich slowly removed his uniform shirt, sneering down at Dmitri’s open mouth.

“What do you want-?”

“Keep mouth open!” he shouted, as though Dmitri should have known. Dmitri opened his mouth and blushed. Sergeant Mitrovich sneered at him as he took off his telnyashka, revealing a powerful, hairy barrel chest. “Open mouth more wide. You are going to now be taking dick in mouth-pussy. You will learn how Russians treat tattling bitches.”

“I’m not-“

“Hush!” He screamed.

Dmitri kept his mouth wide open even as he felt tears welling up in his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thought, he should be contributing to the glory of Mother Russia, not being punished like some cheap streetwhore. He again considered running away — he knew he could claim to be gay and they’d kick him out, or he could pretend he heard voices, and he might spend a few months in an asylum, but he’d be able to get out of the Army. But he’d still feel shame for abandoning Mother Russia. He resolved to follow orders as best he could, no matter what.

“You should be thankful I am not treating you as they treated cadets when I was your age,” Sergeant Mitrovich said. He snorted. “The seniors would tie the wussies up in the bathroom at a sodomite bar, let the perverts fuck him all night.”

“Sir, please don’t-“ Dmitri’s words were cut short by Sergeant Mitrovich’s fat cock pushing into his mouth.

The taste of sweaty, unwashed flesh hit Dmitri. It tasted like dry dirt and musky balls, he thought as he gagged uncontrollably. His stomach heaved with disgust and shame.

“You are being acting like a pussy, private. That is why I treat you like pussy. You are not worthy of being a man in glorious Russian Army,” he said. “But you can learn.”

He paused while Dmitri erupted in a fit of choking. He coughed up a big ball of spit and bile, which landed on one of Sergeant Mitrovich’s boots. He hurriedly wiped the boot off with his undershirt, to Sergeant Mitrovich’s approving glare.

“If you do not start acting like a man — fighting when you are challenged, and never doing snitching on anyone — then you will always be treated like this, treated like a weak man,” Sergeant Mitrovich said, kneeling down so he could whisper it right in Dmitri’s face. “Now be ready. I am to make face into vagina.”

Sergeant Mitrovich wrapped both of his hands around Dmitri’s nearly bald head, his fingers interlocking at the back of his scalp. He held Dmitr’s head in place as he began pushing his hips with more force.

He chuckled when Dmitri heaved again, but he didn’t let up. Dmitri’s effluvium spilled out of his throat and moistened Sergeant Mitrovich’s hairy swinging balls.

The shaft in his mouth pulsated, tickling Dmitri’s gag reflex. He gagged against just as the first spurt of cum coated his gullet.

The flavor was not at all what he had expected. It was sour and so salty Dmitri’s lips puckered. He wanted to spit it out but Sergeant Mitrovich’s dick squeezed into his throat and didn’t allow him any freedom to spit anything up. He sighed as his cockshaft drained its juices into Dmitri’s throat.

As his whole body rejected the foul creamy fluid, Dmitri bucked, and he even tried to bite down but his jaw was so stretched he didn’t have any leverage. He could only submit as his stomach filled with cum.

The flavor was salty and sour, overpoweringly strong, so much so that it brought tears to his eyes. Even more disgusting than the taste was the texture; the snotty, creamy mouthfeel to it made him want to throw it up. He had a feeling that spitting it out would be taken as disrespectful, so Dmitri clutched his belly and held the cum in his throat even as his whole body spasmed and rejected it.

Sergeant Mitrovich’s cock plopped out of his mouth, and Dmitri gasped for air. Mitrovich stayed where he was, kneeling with his knees on Dmitri’s elbows so he could move. Mitrovich’s sweaty cock and balls rested on Dmitri’s face.

“Say I will never snitch again.”

“I will never snitch again.”

“Good. Get away from me, faggot.”

Ebony Downlow

Here’s a sample chapter from Ebony Downlow, the latest story in the Str8 Studs Downlow series.


The next day, Quincy had to take care of a few errands, the least pleasant of which was driving his mother to the bus station. He was glad to have her be out of town so she would call his brother for favors instead of him for a change, so once she was gone, he felt like his mood had improved already. He was just wondering if he could find Dwayne and get another taste of that Marine meat when he saw him standing there at the bus station with a girl.

She was a dark-haired woman with beautiful light skin, the color of creamy caramel; she was dressed down, in plain sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. She looked like the kind of girl who wore makeup most of the time, but not at the moment. She hugged Dwayne close with tears in her eyes, then turned around and got onto the bus idling nearby.

Quincy hurried away so it wouldn’t look like he was stalking them. He positioned himself so it looked like he was on his cell phone while waiting for a bus, but arranged himself so he could watch Dwayne, who straightened his Marine Corps dress uniform. It perfectly outlined his muscles, and Quincy could smell the starched, pressed cotton from here.

He saw Dwayne stand there as the bus pulled away, and then Quincy resumed walking as though only just now seeing him. Dwayne looked inconsolable, shifting his weight on his feet while watching the bus disappear in the city traffic.

“Oh, hey, Dwayne, what are you doing here?”

Dwayne shrugged and wiped his face. Had he been crying? It looked like he was struggling not to, and his stiff upper lip made Quincy even hornier. There was something about watching a muscle-bound alpha male hold back tears that made Quincy hot. Dwayne sniffled and straightened his back. “I just saw my girlfriend off. I was gonna spend time with her — we was gonna spend this whole week fucking like bunnies. I was gonna destroy her-“ he said softly, and grabbed his cock and balls through his uniform slacks. His shaft was momentarily outlined by the fabric, which gave Quincy an enormous and uncomfortable erection. Dwayne didn’t seem to notice Quincy’s reaction; he just kept talking. “But then… her aunt just died. So, she’s gone, she gonna spend the next week with her parents in fucking Philadelphia.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Quincy said. “Did she at least get you off before she went?” Quincy already knew the answer to that question, but he had the feeling that he could get Dwayne to put out again if he played his cards right.

“No.” Dwayne made a guilty face. “She wasn’t in the mood anymore… I promised her I’d be true to her, man, and she said she’d take care of me. I just have to get my nuts off. I’m in a hurry though, can you… just gimme a handie?”

“I’d love to.” Quincy darted into the public bathroom, and into the handicapped stall. Dwayne looked around, vaguely disgusted, but he followed Quincy into the stall. It stank and there was graffiti everywhere; there was also the remnant of a glory hole in the stall wall, but it had been filled in with plaster some time ago.

Quincy stuck his hand down Dwayne’s sagging slacks. His dick was already rock-hard, uncomfortably imprisoned by his green Marine-issued boxers. That was why he was so desperate, Quincy thought, his girlfriend gave him a boner and then left. What a poor sport! Quincy wouldn’t have let a funeral get in the way of satisfying sexy men; he wouldn’t have attended the funeral of a person who didn’t want him to treat every moment as if it would be his last.

His dick throbbed, oozing precum from the moment Quincy touched it. He must have been very horny, Quincy thought, with all those pent-up boot camp urges. The more he thought about it, the more he wished he could go see what Dwayne’s time at boot camp had been like; it sounded like the sexiest thing Quincy had ever failed to watch. Dwayne sighed. His shaft was slick with sweat and creamy fluids, which Quincy smeared up and down as he began stroking.

A part of him wanted to take Dwayne’s cock out of his pants, but he thought this was even sexier somehow — there was something primal about it, as though Dwayne was so incredibly horny he couldn’t wait for the time it took his pants to fall down. The moist, sweaty interior of Dwayne’s pants was like a jungle that rained machismo instead of water, and Quincy felt like he could almost taste that salty, musty flavor through his fingers.

Dwayne’s thick, Marines Corp-sculpted body shook beneath his clothes. His muscles trembled and his knees buckled. He moaned so loudly Quincy wondered if people outside the bathroom could hear.

“Wait… Uh,” Dwayne said, hyperventilating. Quincy had never seen someone have such an intense reaction to a handjob, and he had to giggle at Dwayne’s contorting face and writhing body. Dwayne struggled to speak between jagged breaths. “Wait, don’t let me… uh… cum in… uniform pants,” he said.

Quincy laughed and undid the zipper on his tightly pressed slacks. Dwayne’s cock stuck straight out the fly, just seconds before the first wad of cum flew out. Quincy used one hand to stroke the shaft, and collecting the cum in the palm of his other hand.

He lifted the puddle of cum up to his mouth, inhaling of the sharp and acrid odor. He heard Dwayne open his eyes, then moan in disgust at the sight of Quincy savoring his cum.

“Ah, man, that is some faggy shit,” Dwayne said. Then he muttered an apology. “I mean, it don’t matter. I ain’t… homophobic no more.”

Quincy slurped down every drop, and licked his palm clean. Dwayne shuddered as though he could taste it, then tucked his limp dick back in his uniform slacks and walked out.

Salesmen Downlow

This is a sample chapter from Salesmen Downlow, a story in the Str8 Studs Downlow  series by Ethan Scarsdale.

Jim’s mood darkened as he realized this was not turning out to be a good sales day. He didn’t know why it was so bad today. He had been cheerful at first, though he was getting gloomy now, and he was in a well-off all-white neighborhood in Hartford. That should mean good sales.

He had been selling encyclopedias for the last few months. It wasn’t the kind of job he wanted, but it was all he could get. It seemed the soaring economy they talked about in the news didn’t extend to James Dortman. He remained as hopeful as he could muster up the will to be.

He returned to the big white van on a streetcorner, where he and his two new coworkers, Tom and Rick, had gotten started. They had even given him the best part of the neighborhood, and he had barely sold a thing.

They were waiting for him. Both Tom and Rick had been in the war together. Not for very long, they had been assigned to the Philippines just before the bombs were dropped on Japan, but they always played up the war hero angle. They had already admitted to Jim that they only saw combat once, but Jim knew he’d look like an ass if he made a big deal out of that.

“Finally, you’re back. We’ve got a game,” Tom said. He had a cocky sneer on his face. He was a thick-bodied man, with neck rolls visible on his hair, which was still in a military crew-cut. He had a rough-hewn face that accentuated his crude appearance and demeanor. “We ain’t played it since we got out of military life.”

Rick, on the other hand, was lean and handsome, a lady’s man with deep dimples. He had grown his hair out a bit since leaving the Army, though it was always perfectly combed and slicked back with grease. He was half-Italian — the good half, he always said with a laugh — and had a faintly swarthy complexion. “It’s called Soggy Biscuit,” Rick said as Jim shut the van door behind him.

It was probably some new kind of arm-wrestling or something along those lines, Jim thought. They were always coming up with new athletic contests that Jim invariably lost. But what was Soggy Biscuit?

“How many housewives did you fuck?” Rick asked.

Jim blushed and shook his head. He wasn’t used to this kind of salty language; he wasn’t raised to consider it acceptable. He would never have messed around with a woman to whom he was not married, especially a woman he had just met and who was married to someone else. Jim was a Christian man, and he didn’t believe Rick’s constant boasting about this subject — Rick claimed to regularly seduce the housewives he met selling encyclopedias door-to-door.

“Man, I had this girl sucking me off today until her husband came home-“

“Rick, come on…” Jim said.

Rick grinned. He wasn’t really serious, Jim thought, he probably never had a housewife. “I was just wondering how many housewives you fucked today,” Rick said. “I’m gonna be at a disadvantage cuz of this broad’s hot mouth on me.”


“This is a game we played in the Army. It’s just a circlejerk, but whoever can’t cum quickly has to eat all the cum up. Since I already came once before today, I’ll have a bad handicap,” Rick said. He placed a fluffy biscuit on a place in the center of the van. “Shoot your nut on this.”

“That’s fucking disgusting!”

“Oh, well, if you’d rather finger your clitoris…” Rick said.

“Fuck you-“

“It’s an Army thing, man, civilians wouldn’t get it. This is how real men act,” Tom said. “Real men gotta drain their balls.”

“I’m a real man, you don’t have to be in the Army to be a real man.”

“Then prove it,” Rick said.

Jim sighed. It was a cheap trick, to insult his masculinity to get him to do what they wanted, but he had to admit he was working. He stepped into their circle — he had been feeling horny all day, so he was certain he could cum quickly. And while he surprised to have it happen in a van with his coworkers, this wouldn’t be the first circlejerk he had ever participated in.

He dropped his pants. From the way Rick’s smirk melted away, it was apparent that he was surprised and annoyed that Jim’s cock was at least as big as Rick’s substantial manhood — Rick must have intended to make fun of Jim for having a small, civilian penis, but now didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that Jim was the biggest of the three.

Jim reached out for Rick’s cock, which was already half-hard. It was clammy and moist. Jim hated touching other men’s cocka, and he again regretted ever agreeing to this.

He stroked Rick’s cock, feeling self-conscious as Tom’s hand wrapped around his own member. Jim tried to concentrate on memories of his past sexual experiences, recalling the feel of his only serious girlfriend so far as she caressed his dick to full tumescence. They hadn’t gone all the way yet, though Jim had implied to Rick and Tom that he was not a virgin.

Tom shot his load first, so quickly that Jim was astonished. It only took him about three minutes to get hard and cum — obviously Rick was an excellent handjobber, he thought. He became more and more nervous that he would end up being last and losing the game.

He even tried to slow down jacking off Rick, so he could focus on the rising pleasure in his own dick. But Rick was thrusting his hips — since he no longer had to jack Tom off, he could focus on getting his nut out quickly.

Jim’s heart sank as Rick grunted and creamy cum shot all over Jim’s hand. He gagged at the creamy sensation of the moisture spreading across his fingers and palm, and at the realization that he had lost. He was going to have to eat that foul, cum-bespoiled biscuit.

The biscuit sat in the center of the van, crumbling as it was soggy with cum. His stomach churned at the thought of eating it.

But first he had to nut. Tom was using both hands on his dick, and now that Jim had no more anxiety about whether he would lose, he felt his orgasm coming on quickly.

He shot a desultory load, maybe too depressed to really cum, or maybe some part of his balls was aware that whatever semen he ejected he would just be eating in a few moments.

“Eat it! Eat it!” Tom and Rick chanted so loud Jim was sure people outside the van could hear.

He blushed as he picked up the biscuit and gagged again. He stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. At first it just tasted like a normal biscuit and he thought it wouldn’t be that bad. Then the salty-sour flavor of cum hit him, and he retched intensely.

He choked down the last of the biscuit, and held onto his stomach as it churned, as though it was trying to escape from his body.

“Ha, you shoulda joined the Army,” Rick said. “You woulda fit in well.”

The Boot Camp Reacharound

This is a sample chapter from The Boot Camp Reacharound, a story in the No Homo: Soldiers series of hardcore gay erotica.

Frank Railton had never thought a smirk could get him in so much trouble. He had been doing so well at everything at boot camp, he didn’t think anything could go wrong. So when he woke up to see Drill Sergeant Williams, butt-naked and screaming at Private Rogers to get out of bed — he had slept through part of his watch the night before — he smirked.

Why was Drill Sergeant Williams naked? Frank didn’t really know, but he suspected Williams liked showing off his enormous penis. He slept in a separate room in the rear of the barracks most nights, and often came out in the early morning stark nude, upset about some infraction or another. He definitely made no effort to remain clothed, which didn’t seem to be normal among the drill sergeants of the other squads of new recruits.

Frank was glad that he was not the object of Drill Sergeant Williams’ ire; it was Private Rogers, who had proven to be adept at getting into trouble. Rogers stood at attention in the doorway, holding his head up and trying, but failing, to conceal his embarrassment.

Frank smirked at Rogers’ humiliation because he had managed to avoid trouble so far, possibly the only one in the platoon to escape Williams’ fury in the first week of boot camp. He felt especially glad since he had dozed off on his watch as well, but wasn’t caught.

“Get on your knees, private,” Williams said through slitted teeth, just loudly enough that the whole barracks could hear it. His rough barrel chest heaved as though he was gasping for air.

Rogers hesitated, but Drill Sergeant Williams raised one eyebrow as though asking if Rogers wanted to disobey him or not, then he flexed both of his pecs. Rogers dropped to the ground and said, “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Do you want to suck my dick, private?” Drill Sergeant Williams asked. His cock, which looked to be at least ten inches long, and was thicker than a toddler’s arm, dangled just a finger’s length from Rogers’ face.

Rogers hesitated again. He looked up at Williams, then back down. Frank watched from further down the row of barrack bunks, exchanging nervous eye contact with his fellow recruits. Frank had heard jokes about Drill Sergeants demanding sexual favors, but he didn’t think they were real.

“Don’t look at me, boy,” Williams said. “If this was wartime, you could be executed for sleeping on watch. You could be responsible for your brothers being killed by the enemy. If the enemy is victorious because of you, you’ll end up doing worse than sucking my dick. So I’ll ask you again, do you want to suck my dick?”

Railton took a deep breath. “Sir, I don’t want to, sir, but I would do it if you ordered me to, sir.”

Williams smiled. “That’s an excellent answer, boy. I was going to make you do it or send you to the brig if you refuse, but I like the way you answered. So I won’t make you suck on it,” Williams said. “But I do have to do something to make sure you don’t fall sleep again.”

Without another word, Williams leaned forward and lifted his dick up. He planted his whole crotch on Rogers’ face, leaning his limp shaft against Rogers’ eyes and forehead, and his balls on Rogers’ nose and mouth.

Rogers’ body bucked as he gagged, but Williams placed one steadying hand on Rogers’ head. He held him still.

“If thinkin’ of yer squadmates dying don’t make you stay awake, maybe this will,” Williams said. “You ain’t to wash yer face until I come to relieve you. I will smell you, and if you don’t smell like ballsweat, you will be punished in ways you can not imagine. And maybe in the future, when you are trying to stay awake, you will remember that smell.” Williams swayed back and forth, rubbing his cock and balls over every inch of Rogers’ face. Roger’s limbs tightened and his fingers curled, his stomach visibly churning.

After that, Williams was quiet, looking down at Rogers, whose face was covered by his crotch. Everyone else in the barracks was silent, most of them looking away as though pretending they didn’t notice what was happening. Frank couldn’t tear his eyes away, and he still smirked, thanking god he hadn’t been caught.

Williams looked at him. Frank’s heart began to pound as Williams and he made eye contact. Frank wasn’t doing anything wrong, but he could tell he had caught Williams’ ire; he must have seen the proud smirk on Frank’s face.

“Alright, Rogers, tell me what you learned,” Williams said. He didn’t moved, his moisture-slickened scrotum sitting on Rogers’ face. He had obviously just woken up, so his body was moist from the previous night’s sweat — it had been a warm night and the barracks weren’t air-conditioned. Frank couldn’t imagine how bad the underside of Williams’ balls must smell. Didn’t Williams go for a brisk run at midnight every night? He thought he remembered hearing that rumor, and if so, he must have gone to bed caked with sweat to begin with.

Rogers hesitated again, and he gagged as he opened his mouth to speak. His body bucked as though he had to fight himself to avoid running, his muscles quivering with disgust. It looked like he was near to vomiting. His voice was muffled and weak. “Sir, I learned how important it is to stay awake on watch. Sir.”

Williams turned around and lowered his hips a bit more, then spread his buttcheeks. Rogers took a deep, hoarse breath, eyes twinkling with tears. He glanced at the other recruits, who stood still at attention, mostly in PT shorts or briefs, one black man standing naked as a jaybird. Nobody would make eye contact with Rogers.

As Williams prepared to shove his ass onto Rogers’ face, his eyes penetrated Frank’s, his steely gaze penetrating into Frank’s skull. Frank wanted to look away but couldn’t bear to do it — he was frozen. Williams knew he had slept during his watch as well, he was sure of it. The smirk was sure gone from his face now.

Why was he only punishing Rogers? Maybe he was only going one at a time. Maybe he was going to punish Frank worse now that he had failed to come clean about his own failure.

Rogers sputtered and choked as Drill Sergeant Williams lowered his ass right onto Rogers’ face. He didn’t hold it there, though, he lifted himself up and took a step backwards, wiping his ass and taint onto Rogers’ forehead. He stopped with the underside of his ballsac spread out over Rogers’ face, and his massive cock dangling against his cheek. Rogers’ entire head was concealed beneath Williams’ genitals.

“Don’t forget. I’m going to inspect you when I get up,” Williams said. “And tell me what I will be looking for.”

Rogers spoke, but as soon as his mouth opened, Williams’ scrotum slipped onto his tongue. Rogers’ gagged but continued talking the best he could, despite a mouth full of balls. His words were indecipherable.

“Sounds close enough, “ Williams said. “I wanna smell my balls on you, boy.”

After shaking a bit, Williams stood and walked away. Rogers heaved and gagged, almost wiping his face off instinctively, but stopped and stood at attention. He gagged again. Frank could see little bits of pubic hair stuck to his lips and nose.

“Get back to your watch, Private Rogers,” Williams said. He turned to the rest of the barracks as Roger hightailed it out the door. “The rest of you get back to sleep. You got twenty-five more minutes until wake-up. Railton, you’re with me.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Railton said. He jumped to his feet and followed Williams into his sleeping room at the back of the barracks. His heart thumped. Maybe the rumors were true, he thought as he followed his commanding officer into the backroom.

It was a small space, barely big enough for a bed, a wardrobe and a nightstand, with the door to a personal bathroom at one end. Railton walked into the bathroom and pointed to the floor at the foot of his bed. “Stand there, private.”

Frank stood at the foot of the bed. He was cold but he tried not to shiver. He wished he worn more than the Army-issue green briefs, which were too small. His cock felt tiny and shriveled, especially as Williams walked out of the bathroom, still naked, his dick swinging like a baby’s forearm.

He had a bottle of something in his hand, a white toothpaste-like tube. He didn’t think it was toothpaste though. Frank couldn’t see what it was without moving his head, but he was standing at attention, so he couldn’t see.

“I saw you smirking back there, Private Railton,” he said. He was speaking very quietly, directly into Frank’s ear. He was so close that Frank could feel spittle inside his ear. “What did that smirk mean?”

Frank couldn’t bring himself to talk. He didn’t know what to say, and he knew anything that didn’t satisfy Williams’ interest was liable to get him punished. Should he just come clean about falling asleep? That still seemed like a difficult decision to make, even if he was increasingly sure that Williams already knew.

“Keep in mind, Private Railton, that I don’t like to ask questions I don’t already know the answer to,” he said. His voice was hot and deep, coming from just over Frank’s shoulder. Drill Sergeant Williams was virtually kissing his ear, and Frank could feel the man’s early morning stubble on his bare skin.

“Sir, I, uh…” Frank said, his voice descending into a sob as he realized he couldn’t lie. Even if he managed to get the words out, with Williams’ peering so deeply into him, he’d never be convincing. “I, uh, I fell asleep on my watch too. Earlier in the night. Sir.”

“I know,” he said. He moved his body closer, and his muscles enclosed around Frank’s body. He stretched his arms to the bed in front of him, forcing Frank to bend over. Frank’s ass pressed into Williams’ still-bare cock. It was hot and sweaty, just like the rest of Williams’ body.

“Sir, I am sorry, sir,” Frank said. His voice sounded weak. He yelped as something cold and slippery touched his ass. It was Williams’ fingers, covered in slippery fluid and pulling his briefs down.

“I could have done your ass back in there,” he said. “In front of everyone. I could have had all of them take that ass.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“But I didn’t. For a couple reasons, Railton. Number one, I like your ass. It’s a nice ass. I’ve known whores with asses like that, Railton. Number two, you got a small dick,” he said. Frank winced and blushed. He knew it was true, but he hated to admit it. “I know they see it when you shower, but you can always complain it gets bigger when you get hard. But when I fuck a man in their ass, I always give a reacharound — it’s only polite, after all — so if I fucked you in front of everyone, they would know yer dick don’t never get big, boy. So I’m gonna do you the favor of fuckin’ you in private. Thank me for it.”

“Sir, thank-“ Frank yelped again as his asshole exploded in pain. He clutched the bedspread and moaned.

“You best keep it quiet, or they gonna know you gettin’ fucked,” Williams said. “And I did not hear you thank me.”

Frank gritted his teeth and said, “Sir, th… thank you, sir.”

He took a deep breath and bit his lip as the pain grew more intense. Williams’ muscles flexed around him, and he moaned breathily, his lips caressing Frank’s cheek.

“Here, bite this,” Williams said, putting a pillow in front of Frank’s face. When he leaned forward to grab the pillow, the motion pushed a little more of his dick into Frank’s ass. He panted and stifled another cry of pain.

Frank bit down on the soft pillow fabric. Williams laughed softly, and Frank could hear him take a drink. He placed a flask in front of Frank’s face. The acrid smell of whiskey hit him.

“Go on, Williams said. “Take a drink. It’ll help you relax.”

Frank did. The whiskey burned on the way down, but he took another swig.

“Sir, thank you sir,” he said softly, though it was as loud as he could muster.

Williams laughed. “I got some bad news for you, Railton. I still got a good six inches left to go,” he said. Frank bit the pillow again. “But I got good news too. It’s time for yer reacharound to begin.” He spat into the palm of one of his hands and reached around Frank’s hips to his crotch.

Frank was astonished that he got hard right away, both because he was in pain and because he was humiliated that Williams used only a few fingers to jack him off.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with having a small penis, private,” Williams said. “I bet you can talk women into taking it in the rear more easily than me, that’s for sure. I gotta make recruits like you give it up instead.”

Frank cried out but muffled it in the pillow as Williams eased the rest of his dick in. It hurt so bad his ass was numb, but he knew he had taken the whole cock because he felt Williams’ ballsac swinging between his thighs.

His own orgasm approached. He wanted to beg Williams’ to slow down on the handjob, to tell him that he didn’t want to cum with another man’s dick in his ass. That would make him virtually a faggot, he thought, but Williams continued with business-like precision.

Cum spurted across his bedsheet and down Williams’ hand. Frank moaned into the pillow and hid his blushing cheeks. He was ashamed that he had even cum before Williams, who was thrusting with unreserved abandon.

Williams wiped the cum off on Frank’s back, then resumed fucking with great vigor. “Say it again, Private Railton.”

“Sir, thank you, sir,” Frank said, trying not to sound like he was crying.

“For what?”

“Sir, thank you… thank you for fucking me in private, and for giving me a reacharound. Sir,” Frank said.

Williams shuddered as he came, his great muscles quivering. Hot sticky cum spread inside Frank’s intestines, covering every inch of him. There was so much he imagined he could taste it coming up his throat.

His heavy weight pressed down on Frank as Williams collapsed on his back. He nibbled on Frank’s ear, his chest hair scratching Frank’s back. Frank was in so much pain he couldn’t breathe.

“Go on back to bed, soldier” Williams said. “And next time, don’t smirk.”

No Homo: Soldiers

This is a sample chapter from No Homo: Soldiers, the newest entry in the No Homo series of hardcore gay erotica. This series is unique in that it is among the most explicit and extreme gay erotica out there while containing no gay sex — that’s right, there’s no sex act that’s indisputably actual sex and totally gay! It’s the ultimate in straight guy domination and humiliation!

Also try the Omnibus Edition, which contains No Homo: Soldiers and ten prequels, outlined here.


Tony Giadalucci was glad to be away from New York. Boot camp was nothing at all like he expected — it was both better and worse, he thought, or at least that’s how it seemed his first few days. The best thing about it was being far away from the city and the stultifying neighborhood he had grown up in. He had always dreamed of finally getting away from it all, and could barely believe it had actually happened. The worst was the conditions he was forced to endure, which seemed primitive even by the low standards he had expected. His father had told him to expect to live rough during basic training, and he was willing to accept that. He thought leaving the city would mean a peaceful life (aside, of course, from the potential for being assigned to war).

But boot camp had proven to be more difficult than his father had let on. Tony was supposed to be bonding with the men he went through training with. They were going to be friends for life, virtually brothers, he thought. But that wasn’t happening. He still felt estranged from the men around him.

Tony had always been the biggest, strongest and most confident kid in his class. That was what had gotten him in trouble back in New York, after all — he had thought himself untouchable, and let that attitude get the best of him; he had almost gotten in enough legal trouble it would have ruined his Army career before it even started. His father had had to pull some favors to get him out of it, and Tony was determined to put it behind him.

But it seemed his squad was composed largely of men like him, men who were used to being the struttingest cock on the walk. They all saw themselves as the best and toughest in the barracks — at Camp Steelman, all of the barracks formed a unit that worked together, and Tony’s was known as Zeta Squad. Among the other Zetas, Tony was not the biggest, definitely not the most confident and only the strongest in his own mind.

He was used to the strict schedule of military life due to his father’s stern parenting style, so most aspects of Army life suited him well. He didn’t mind having his bedtime and wakeup time strictly regulated, constant demands for perfect obedience, cleanliness and punctuality. The one activity he immediately hated was showering. Tony had played football throughout high school, so he was used to group nudity.

But Camp Steelman’s makeshift showering facility was a wide open area, surrounded by their own barracks so it was effectively private but still felt public. The lack of any ceiling was especially bad, the four showerheads being mounted to a steel frame with a hose attached; it rained their first day, cold water from the sky mixing with a lukewarm shower. It looked like something from a prison in an old Western movie, Tony thought.

The showerheads sprayed warm water, which was better than Tony’s father had told him to expect, but still required six men to share each showering space. They had been told it was built that way, but rumor had it that it was built for three men per head, and they were simply being forced to cram inside to save on time.

Regardless, Tony found the environment too tight for comfort. That first night in the shower, he accidentally touched his first six bare penises ever. It was difficult to avoid accidentally brushing up against his fellow squadmates, some of whom seemed to make no effort to prevent it. Limp cocks had a spongy quality he found revolting, and that he had never noticed in touching himself.

Most of his squadmates had the good sense to not bring attention to the awkwardity of the situation, and silently nodded an apology on those occasions when some accidental touching was unavoidable. That was the way straight men should handle things, Tony thought, just pretend it either didn’t happen or wasn’t a big deal, and don’t ever talk about it.

But there was one recruit who had no shame — in large part, Tony assumed, because he had the largest dick of anyone in the squad. It hung between his legs like a baby’s forearm, swinging with every step he took. He was Hawthorn Kyle, a burly Texan with an accent so thick Tony could barely understand what he said. “First one to get a hardon in here gotta suck us all off!” Hawthorn brayed through his own laughter the first night in the shower. It was a joke he would often repeat.

The first one to get a hardon was Ransom, a thick-bodied black man who thought it was hilarious. He held his hands above his head and guffawed, looking down at his own rod. He swung it to and fro as though trying to “accidentally” hit the others with it.

One by one, the rest of the squad realized he was rock-hard, his veiny black cock throbbing. He briefly touched Tony’s thigh with it, and Tony gasped as though he was bitten, pushing away from him.

Unfortunately, Tony stumbled backwards right into that burly redneck, Hawthorn, who wrapped his arms around Tony. Tony squirmed out of the bear hug, but not before feeling Hawthorn’s big farmboy cock and balls drag along his thigh.

“I ain’t control it,” Ransom said with a grin. “It just happen. It just happen. My dick is used to visiting pussy, y’know, it ain’t used to this kind of faggotry.”

Tony managed to slip out then, before things went any further. He heard a rumor that Hawthorn and some others stayed behind for a circlejerk, but they all denied it when asked later. He just went back to his bunk and wiped off the last bit of soap from his biceps and armpits with a towel.

He was humiliated. Nobody else treated it like a big deal, but it was for him. He sulked on his bunk that evening. The fact that nobody treated him bad or teased him for touching two cocks, one erect, right there in front of everyone, that confused and unnerved him. Back in high school, if there was a freshman in the showers with him and his fellow varsity wrestlers, they might have put their balls on him. That was the height of humor during high school.

It would have been embarrassing, all anyone would have talked about for weeks. The victim would have never lived it down. If that had happened here at boot camp, Tony could have survived it — he was big and tough, he could have fought Hawthorn or Ransom and won, gotten his revenge. Things would have made sense.

But now nobody cared. They all laughed at him at the time, but now they had forgotten. That was somehow worse because Tony couldn’t regain his manhood by punching someone. The humiliation was slighter, but permanent. He would look like an asshole who can’t take a joke if he made a big deal about it now. All he could do was pretend not to be ashamed.

Tony was the victim of another of Hawthorn’s shower “jokes” a couple days later, when he stumbled into the shower along with the others half-asleep from a day spent running and digging, interrupted only by bouts of intense book-reading. He could barely keep his eyes open, and stumbled into his squadmates’ muscular bodies several times. He didn’t even notice how much contact he had this evening, thinking only about how tired he was as his hairy crotch rubbed into Ransom’s thigh.

Hawthorn’s trick was to pretend-hump a man from behind, as though ass-raping him, and then getting an extra laugh by going all the way and making penis-to-ass contact. He even moaned like a porn star after acting classes, a deep, undulating sound that made Tony shiver at the thought that it was Hawthorn’s real orgasm moan.

Somehow, a couple of the recruits found it funny. Tony had to admit he chuckled the first time it happened to someone else, but when he felt Hawthorn’s wiry pubic hair on his own ass, it Tony didn’t see the humor in it at all. Hawthorn wrapped one furry forearm around Tony’s shoulders and held him in place as he squirmed.

Tony yelped and tried to pull away. But the more he moved, the more contact he had with Hawthorn’s hoggish manhood. He had never been a small guy, but most of his squadmates were taller and heavier, and Hawthorn in particular had almost a foot and more than a hundred pounds on Tony.

He felt a twitch moments before Hawthorn let go, and Tony wondered if the big farmboy stopped only because he was about to get a hardon from the friction alone. Tony stumbled forward and collapsed onto of his other squadmates, Rod. They both tumbled to the ground, their dicks rubbing against each other.

The other men cheered and hollered, whooping as though they were strippers mud-wrestling for an audience. Tony and Rod both blushed and stumbled to their feet. For a moment, Tony was on his knees and saw nothing but dicks all around him. Black, brown and white, some uncut with cheesy foreskins waiting to be washed, others neat and circumcised like an unwrapped present that Tony didn’t want.

Hawthorn wrapped one muscular arm around Tony’s shoulder in a friendly way, though Tony hated the feel of his corded biceps and coarse blond body hair grinding against Tony’s own body. “Hey, sorry, dawg, I ain’t mean to knock you over and make out with Rod. You two looked real special together-“

“Fuck you, man,” Tony said. “I ain’t into that homo shit.” He pushed away from Hawthorn.

“”Naw, man,” Hawthorn said, “This is boot camp. This is a strictly no homo situation, man. It don’t count here. You city boys is just touchy about it.”

“Yeah,” said one of the other rednecks, Marcus. “You gotta deal with a little man-on-man horseplay. This is the Army. It don’t count here. It ain’t gay. It’s brotherhood. No homo.” Marcus slapped Tony on the ass and whistled at his muscular cheeks jiggling.

He had already been through worse, but somehow Marcus’ hand on his bare ass sent Tony over the edge. He roared and punched Marcus right in the nose, knocking him to the ground in a burst of blood and saliva.

Memories of bullying from high school flooded back to him. Tony had always been the tough guy, the one on top, and he thought less of the little pissants who allowed him to push them around. He knew he was in trouble from the fellow recruits’ nervous stares as they rushed to help Marcus, but all Tony could think about was that he was glad that he didn’t let Marcus turn him into one of those whiny little pissants he used to beat up.

He was, he thought, on top once again, and once again, he was in serious trouble. He definitely didn’t feel like he was developing a fraternal bond with his fellow soldiers.

“I will not tolerate this kind of monkey business!” Sergeant Railton screamed into Tony’s ear. “You are a soldier, not the country’s gayest frat brother! We do not tolerate horseplay in the showers!”

Tony was still naked and wet from the shower, dried blood on his knuckles. He wasn’t ashamed of his body or his dangling bare cock, but he still felt open and vulnerable. He stood at attention in the back of the barracks, his squadmates were in their bunks pretending not to listen. Only he, Marcus and Hawthorn were at attention, everyone else having successfully distanced themselves from the shower fight.

Railton continued screaming insults at him — without cursing, as drill sergeants were no longer allowed to curse at recruits — wearing barely more than Tony was. Railton’s short, squat frame was thick and padded with muscle, and he had to look up to peer into Tony’s eyes. He wore only a pair of dingy brown Army-issue boxer shorts and a matching wifebeater. The commotion in the showers had drawn him from his living quarters when he was trying to get to bed, and it had given him a sour disposition.

“Are you picking up what I’m putting down, boy?” Railton asked, over and over, in louder and louder tones, Tony screaming his agreement back increasingly loud as well. Railton was so close they were virtually kissing, and Tony could taste the sergeant’s stale spit on his tongue. More than once their lips fleetingly touched.

Railton grabbed Tony’s balls with one hand and pushed him against the wall. He didn’t squeeze, but he held on firmly. “I get the feeling you ain’t payin’ attention to me, son,” he said. Tony gasped, every muscle and instinct in his body demanding that he punch Railton and get out of there. He bit his lip as Railton continued, “So now that I know you are focused, let me reiterate: I am not gonna let you make a fool outta me. I should send you to Leavenworth for a couple months for assault, just to send a message to all these other punks. But I like the way your marbles hang to the left.” He gave a light squeeze on Tony’s balls, which sent a shiver of pain up his spine. Tony tried not to wince, tightening his torso to stop himself from shuddering.

Railton turned and stopped at Hawthorn, who stood, his own cock and balls cradled by tight briefs, blond hair poking out the top. His massive dick was plainly visible pressing against the fabric.

“For starters, you three can get out there and be on watch all night long, in your all-together. Yer privates gonna take over for the privates out there now. Go on, take ‘em off,” Railton said. “You gonna have to prove you deserve to wear clothes on duty, boys, and I need to see you can behave like professionals even when you’re naked. So let’s go, flash those vaginas so we can all see if you’re still virgins.”

Tony, Hawthorn and Marcus nervously stripped, Tony instinctively covering his crotch with both hands until he saw that both Hawthorn and Marcus were openly flaunting their cocks. They both seemed to have that redneck penchant for casual male nudity, so Tony wasn’t surprised by their lack of modesty. He felt like he stood out covering himself, as though others would see it as a sign he had a small cock (even though they had all seen him naked already, so they knew that wasn’t true), so he let go and allowed his dick and balls to hang free. They followed Sergeant Railton out of the barracks into the warm night air.

The two privates on watch were surprised to be interrupted, and it took them a moment to register that their commanding officer was there. Then they both jumped to attention and saluted. Normally, Railton probably would have punished them for being idle, but they weren’t asleep, Tony figured, so Railton evidently didn’t plan on making a big deal out of it. He obviously had more important punishments to dole out. They scampered away, glad to be done early for the night.

“All three of you gonna stay on watch all night, and don’t you dare let me catch you sleeping,” Railton said. As he said it, Tony had a sinking suspicion that was exactly what would happen — he had never been good at staying awake when he was bored and tired. Railton then went over the usual spiel about watch-duty, and how it was vital to discipline, etc, and so on. Tony wasn’t impressed but he nodded sagely as though he thought it was important.

Finally it was over, and Railton’s half-naked, hairy body saluted before turning around and returning to the officer quarters. Tony and the other two saluted back, feeling the cool night breeze blow across their naked bodies.

“That coulda been worse,” Hawthorn said.

“Yeah, I thought we was really gonna be in some shit,” Marcus said. “I can’t be gettin’ in trouble. If’n I get kicked outta the Army, I’m goin’ back inside for two more years.”

“Inside? You mean prison?” Tony said.

“Yep.” Marcus nodded. “I was already in for a year, and I’m only allowed out on conditional release. My public defender said that means I gotta get through my first tour of duty without getting arrested, or I serve the rest of my sentence, plus probably some time in military prison.”

“What’d you go in for?” Hawthorn asked. Tony noticed he was scratching his dick with more vigor than seemed necessary, almost jacking off.

“Inciting a riot,” Marcus said.

Hawthorn whistled, and an awkward silence ensued. Tony wanted to ask if Marcus had done it, and exactly what sort of riot he had incited. But he gathered that would be rude, and it seemed even the lumbering brute Hawthorn had enough sense not to ask either.

In fact, Tony noticed after a minute or two, that Hawthorn was no longer paying attention anyway. He was openly stroking his meat, which was half-hard, his muscular body dimly visible in the night light.

“Hey, man, quit it! He’s jacking off!” Tony jumped to his feet and looked away.

But Hawthorn just laughed, followed by Marcus. Both of them had Southern-tinged guffaws, and Tony realized that neither considered group masturbation off-limits. He felt like a squeamish fool and blushed, glad nobody could see it in the darkness.

“I can’t just sit around naked all night without jacking off,” Hawthorn said. “Texas boys like me got Texas-sized balls, man. We gotta empty ‘em.”

“You ain’t just supposed to be sitting around naked all night,” Tony said. He sat back down, away from Hawthorn. “You’re supposed to be on watch. You ain’t watchin’ if you’re jackin’ off.” He noticed how he was picking up a Southern accent from these two.

“If Canada chooses tonight to invade, I will take those maple-niggers down!” Hawthorn said, laughing at his own joke. Marcus joined in, though Tony found his use of the n-word more casual than he would have liked. It made him uncomfortable, and he was glad Ransom and Malik (the squad’s only black guys) weren’t there to hear it. “I don’t need clothes to kill a man.” Hawthorn flexed his biceps. “I got these guns.”

“You talk tough,” Marcus said. “But I don’t know if you can back that up.”

“Quit talkin’,” Hawthorn said. “Or I’ll be jacking off all night. I can’t cum with you yammering on.”

They both fell silent then, waiting until finally the smell of cum blossomed, and they both turned up their noses. Hawthorn shot a load onto the grassy lawn outside the barracks, even his moans bearing all the twang of his hillbilly accent. He laughed as he turned around and sat back down.

They continued talking all night and as the sun rose over Fort Rumblemore. Tony was surprised to find they had a lot in common, and he enjoyed their stories of hunting trips and life in the country, while they were fascinated by his urban New York upbringing. Tony felt his muscles relaxing when the warm morning air hit him, and the birds began chirping. As he drifted off to sleep, he realized that he, Marcus and Hawthorn were now casual friends.

Tony blinked his eyes open to see Sergeant Railton standing over him, rays of the early morning sun illuminating him from behind.

“What was the last thing I told you, private?” Railton barked.

Tony jumped to his feet, cursing Marcus and Hawthorn for not waking him in time. Marcus mouthed I’m sorry at him from behind Railton.

“Sir, you told me not to fall asleep, sir.”

“I told you not to dare to fall asleep,” Railton said. “And then you did exactly that.” Railton was wearing only running shoes and green PT shorts, soaked in sweat, even less clothing than the night before because the shorts were only a few inches down his thigh. His burly middle-aged chest was hairy and covered in moisture as well, and he smelled strongly of rank manhood.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sir… I was very tired, sir”

“That is not a great excuse, Giadalucci.

“Sir, I-“

“Shut the fuck up!” Railton said. He pointed to the ground. “Sit down!”

Tony did as commanded. He was nervous. Right in front of his face was Railton’s crotch, his bulging genitals clearly visible in the sweat-stained shorts. The acrid smell of his groin assaulted Tony’s nostrils.

“They say that scent is the sense most strongly tied to emotion,” Railton said. “So if I can make you associate a scent with ‘staying awake’, you’ll be able to stay awake better when you smell that scent in the future. Does that make sense, Private Giadalucci?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“So I’m going to rub my balls on your nose,” Railton said. He smiled cruelly as Tony looked up to see if he was joking — he was not. “And you’re going to stay right here, on watch, until morning duties begin. That’s two more hours. You’re not going touch your face for two hours, so you’ll be smelling balls the entire time.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Tony said when he realized Railton was expecting a response. Tony still tried to convince himself Railton was joking though. If drill sergeants weren’t allowed to curse, surely forcible teabagging was against the rules as well.

“And in the future, if you need to stay awake, you can ask one of your fellow soldiers to rub his balls on your nose. I’m sure any of them would be happy to help out,” Railton said. “Or you can just be a man and stay awake on your own. Your choice.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Tony said. His heart pounded as he decided Railton was definitely not joking.

Railton dropped his shorts and jockstrap, revealing a hairy bush and a thick cock. It gleamed with sweat, and the smell was already overwhelming, Tony thought, even from a few inches away. He couldn’t believe this was really happening to him, and his mind went back to the paperwork he had signed upon arrival — hadn’t there been something about what to do if you were sexually harassed or assaulted? He thought so but couldn’t remember and didn’t know if this would count anyway.

“Keep your eyes open, private, or I’ll stick it in somewhere much worse,” Railton said. “Don’t ever just close your eyes like that. You’re on watch, after all, not serving as Chief Bottom for the San Francisco Pride Parade. You have to be looking around.” Railton whacked Tony’s face with his limp dick, leaving a film of slickness on his skin. The smell of crotch hair and muskiness overwhelmed Tony, whose eyes began to water.

Railton turned around, revealing a wide ass thick with dark hairs. Tony instinctively pulled back, frightened by the smell of stale ass-seat. But the wall was behind him and he was pinned against it. Railton spread his own asscheeks as he plopped backwards, placing his asshole square on Tony’s face.

The sound of Hawthorn’s surprised gasp, and Marcus’ pitying sigh, hit Tony even from behind the mountain of flesh in front of his face. He hoped nobody else was walking by the barracks this early in the morning, or they would surely see Tony with his face buried in middle-aged man-ass.

Tony gagged and choked as Railton slowly wiped his body upward. His asshair was plastered to Tony’ skin with his early-morning jog sweat, which seeped into Tony’s nose and mouth. He choked on the biting, acrid flavor, and had to force himself not to vomit.

Railton ended with his ass almost sitting on Tony’s scalp, his low-hanging balls stretched across Tony’s face. His scrotum had a moist silkiness that Tony found disgusting, in addition to the smell and flavor that made his stomach retch. There seemed to be so much ball flesh it was almost encompassing his entire head.

“Do you think you’ll be able to stay awake until morning duties?” Sergeant Railton asked. “Private? Huh?”

Tony didn’t want to open his mouth, knowing it would allow some of Railton’s balls to enter. He couldn’t stand the thought of actually being teabagged. He just nodded, wincing at the ballflesh spreading over his face and leaving a film of manjuice over every pore.

“Answer me, Private Giadalucci. You ain’t getting out of this without putting my balls in your mouth anyway,” Railton said.

“Sir, yes sir. I will be able to stay awake until morning duties,” Tony said, lowering his head just enough to speak without swallowing Railton’s balls. His voice broke, which was embarrassing, but he wasn’t sure anyone could tell because it was muffled by Railton’s genitals and ass, pushing Tony’s face against the wall. He realized Hawthorn would never let him live this down — he’d forever be known as the Ballsweat Private, he thought.

Railton’s fingers grabbed Tony’s chin and worked it open. Tony didn’t fight back despite an intense natural urge to do so — his father had done two months at Fort Leaventhworth Military Prison, and Tony had no desire to see if it was still the same. Tony had spent one night in jail after a drunken party with his friends went haywire the morning after, when the girl they had all been with turned out to be a transexual. Tony did not want to repeat that experience, especially not in a military prison.

He gagged as Railton slowly lowered his testicles into Tony’s mouth. First one, then the other tumbled into his trembling throat, sitting there in a sticky, sweaty mess.

“If this is what it takes for you to stay awake,” Sergeant Railton said, raising and lowering his hips as though fucking Tony’s throat with his balls, “Then I expect you to ask your squadmates to teabag you every time you are on watch, soldier. If that don’t get you to improve your willpower, nothing will.”

Railton moved around a little, swaying his hips to make sure his ballsweat coated every inch of Tony’s mouth. Then he stepped away and put his shorts back on.

“You got a pubic hair on your left cheek, private,” Railton said. “I’ll be back in two hours. If you don’t have that pubic hair there still, I will throw your butt in military prison for dereliction of duty. You’ll suck on a lot of balls there, boy. So you stay still and quiet until I get back. If that gets tough, remember that this can be the last time you ever taste balls.”