TURNED OUT ON A BET, PT. 3
In which the best-laid clans of men often go astray

The Seventh-Inning Stretch

How does the saying go?–The balls have reasons that reason itself knows not of? I was in a funk. Mess hall coffee tastes even worse when your head spins with an impossible scheme. It was a simple question, really: How do I stretch the asshole of an unsuspecting sergeant? It’s not something simple, like asking him if you could fuck his son. You can’t even ask permission–“Excuse me, First Sergeant, but could I stretch your rectum to superhuman dimensions?”

It’s not a topic that comes up very often in conversation, either, so there’s no way to ease into it. I looked at my coffee cup. Damn, that’s about the right diameter. Major Cadbury’s cock wouldn’t fit into a coffee cup.

I shivered, my ass-ring slamming shut in fear. As I brought the cup to my lips for a drink, suddenly I was giving a rim job to that coffee cup, and I put it down. Fuck, I’ve got to get out of here!

I had a serious problem. First Sergeant Brad Kovachek, poster boy for Army brawn, the man voted most similar to an M-1 Abrams tank, had become my cum-slut, and for as much as I loved to empty my balls into that hot, iron-muscled ass or down his worshipfully cocksucking throat, I had to admit losing the original excitement. The former sirloin had become hamburger.

Kovachek was so much older, we didn’t really have much in common except for the ball-&-socket connection at the crotch. I mean, he never wanted to sit down and play video games. He wouldn’t be caught dead in a hot rod–I’d brought to Fort Ord with me a little ’32 Ford coupe I built in high school.

Also, I was running with a sharp stick–no, an atomic bomb. He had a teense of jealousy. My nightmare went something like this:

New guy in the showers. I like what I see–my age, handsome face, good muscles, broad shoulders. My eyes slip down between his legs. Nice pole. Table meat. He sees me and smiles.

Now skip to the part where Kovachek finds out about us. Morgue photos of my remains would be on the cover of the Police Gazette.

I had a recurring dream in which he wanted me to do him–and I couldn’t get it up. I’d wake up in a cold sweat. God, what would he do if I didn’t get hard for him? “What, you little bastard, you don’t want me anymore??” Again, the cover of Police Gazette.

I couldn’t “break up with him.” I would be broken up by him. The man was a walking nuclear power plant–infinitely powerful, but if I didn’t keep siphoning off his heat and passion, he would reach critical ass and cram my head up my uranium.

I avoided fucking him face-to-face since the night he had to call 911. As an added fillip to our intercourse, I reached down to his taint, and at the moment he went into an orgasm, I pressed my thumb down hard on it.

I learned that years earlier in a particularly horny jackoff session. The pressure on the perineum blocked the passage of sperm from the prostate, and the logjam crescendoed the ecstasy into an explosion. Kovachek later said it was a hand grenade of pleasure.

He arched his back in apparently unspeakable bliss, yelling and howling, and his orgasm went on for nearly a minute! Fucking out of his mind with sexual bliss, he wrapped his legs around my back and squeezed.

Cracked two of my ribs.

Suddenly doggie-style became my favorite position. And no more fooling with the taint on a cruise missile about to catapult off the aircraft carrier.

Major Relief

I had to wean Kovachek away from my stem if for no other reason than physical safety. The perfect solution: a Major Ansil Cadbury, a Black officer I met with the traditional gay greeting–I fucked him while we swam in Monterey Bay.

Not only nearer Kovachek’s age, Cadbury outranked the First Sergeant, so he could rein in the huge man’s insatiable appetite for semen. And did I mention the Major was a top? He had planned to stick it to me, but through an accident, I ended up in control, and for once the cream filling topped the Oreo cookie.

The problem was getting them together. Neither knew of the appetites hidden behind the other’s uniform, and I couldn’t out them.

One other, tiny, little thing: I figured Major Cadbury had to be the result of a medical experiment gone wrong. While he was in the Rejuvenation Chamber, its laser translator malfunctioned and focused on a horse grazing in a nearby field instead of on the subject of the experiment–dandruff-cure bacteria.

The rejuvenation didn’t go to his head–Major Cadbury had the biggest, blackest schlong I’d ever seen. Unbelievable. A Guinness record. He was lucky it deflated when not in use–if he got a hardon while standing, he probably had trouble keeping his balance.

First Sergeant Kovachek was a novice (the horniest newbie I’d ever known), but he was used to a rider and knew what a saddle-horn felt like, and one look at Cadbury’s kilis escort monstrosity would tell him he’d end up a mindless cripple in a wheelchair. But I figured if Kovachek’s ass-tunnel were carefully trained to accept the black ICBM, he might find “true love.”

I had to train Kovachek’s backside again. Damn! Why can’t anything be easy!

Cockspiracy

Kovachek would never go for playtimes with increasingly larger dildos. Since I’d fucked him the first time without a rubber, he was a pure meat-on-meat man, and besides, to train him for Cadbury would require something like a fire hydrant. Damn!

In desperation, I got together with O’Connell. “This is a colossal job, man. We’ll have to double-team him.”

He stared straight ahead. “We’ll go down in history. The last two guys killed by a WW II soldier.”

“That wasn’t his war!”

“Sorry. Last two men killed by a soldier from the War of 1812. Powell, me and you could not overcome Super-Soldier with anything less than Napalm. Are you serious? You think he’ll stand still for two twerp cocks in his ass at once?”

I took a sip of coffee, deep in thought. “No, it can’t be standing. He’s too tall. We have to get him to squat over us.”

“You lost me. He can count the number of cocks he’s squatting onto.”

“That’s where the strategy comes in.”

A Loaf Of Bread, A Glass of Wine, and A Cock Up Your Ass

As I watched the drop of sweat run down Kovachek’s rib cage, the hot air in the Army truck and the musty odor of dust and gun grease made me gag. I’d hoped for a more romantic situation–a nice room in a classy flophouse, Guns ‘n Roses playing softly in the background. A snifter of Budweiser 1989 for each of the three of us.

The best O’Connell, our “party planner,” could come up with was the back of an Army 2½-ton truck, the famous “deuce & a half.” Still, it was solitary, way out in the maneuver fields where it broke down, waiting for its replacement engine–a perfect place for a little privacy and quiet.

Neither was it Kovachek’s first threesome, rather the first time he met with two naked men as a planned event. For days I talked up the advantages of a team action, and like a submissive bitch, he finally went along with what I wanted. “Who will you bring, and will he stick it to me, too?”

Super-brute’s voice was shy. I never ceased to marvel at how he could go from a fire-breathing combat soldier to a cocksucker eager to strip himself naked in hopes of getting fucked.

I can go from a lazy soldier to a horny soldier, but that’s about the extent of my emotional range. “I’ll bring along Private O’Connell. You remember him. You sucked his rod already, so he’s an old friend.”

That Saturday, a storm front moved in and–Fuck, I have to say it–it was a dark and stormy night. Rain poured down as we scurried from our cars into the back of the truck. Shit. This is God tossing a bucket of water on the rutting dogs. I hope Kovachek is horny enough to ignore a little water.

When the three of us finally stood up under the truck’s canvas cover, we were soaked to the skin. We stripped off the wet uniforms–not the sort of erotic motivation I hoped for.

But never doubt the power of the brain in a man’s scrotum.

Stripped naked but still wet, Kovachek and I looked in each other’s eyes, and he placed his hand on my arm. “Powell, how you turn me on.” I’ll be damned. For all that it wasn’t a suite at the Ritz, the locale was working.

The First Sergeant gave me a knowing look. Hunger and desire. Expected enjoyment based on past ecstasies. The truck bed was stifling, though. With the flap at the back closed, no breeze passed through it, and we breathed dust and air probably left over from the Vietnam war.

Sweat soon ran down my face. “We’re going to need another shower after this one.”

He brought his arms up and pulled me into a tight hug, careful of my sore ribs. “Want to take me doggy-style again? I’m ready for you. My blood’s boiling.”

“This time let’s try a new position.” He stared back, eager and obedient, practically wagging his tail with desire. “Let’s turn the reins over to you, Brad. I’m going to lie down on the tarp Private O’Connell so thoughtfully pulled out from under that crate, and you squat over me and lower yourself down onto my dick. Impale yourself. You’re back in power, Sarge.”

As the rain drummed on the canvas above us, steaming up the inside, I lay back on the tarp, smiling. “You want my cock up inside you, Brad?” Fuck, I’m in Army hell–furnace heat, surrounded by the color Olive Drab and the smell of old canvas, getting a rash on my butt from a coarse Army tarp.

“Yeah, I do.” His voice turned dreamy (Kovachek the Cocksucker was quite a romantic). I stuck a finger up his butt as he hovered over me, and his sphincter clenched tight around it.

He looked down. “What a beautiful cockhead you have, kırıkkale escort soldier. Dark purple.” He chuckled. “When I get you good and horny, it gets so hard your piss slit gaps open into a round hole. I like to know I do that to you.”

He reached down for it and stroked me a couple of times then let go and lowered his rump onto my throbbing pole. He moaned as he sank onto it, and at the end, I gave him a single, to-the-balls thrust. “Oh, yeah, Powell, do it hard now!”

Kovachek the First Sergeant had a cold, calculating, battle-tested military mind, but Kovachek the Cocksucker was the big dumb kid in the shower room wondering why the others were rubbing themselves. “Uh, Brad, I can’t move very much. You have to provide the action. The bolt goes up and down on the screw.”

He caught on, and those mighty legs were soon chugging away like the pistons of a Harley Davidson. I reached up to tweak his nipples. It was working. His penis swelled hard inside me. “You liking this, Brad?”

“Yeah! Oh, fuck, yeah!”

O’Connell got up from where he’d been sitting on a packing case. “Mind if I join in?” He brought his crotch to the man’s face, and Kovachek the Cocksucker earned his title. He licked the Private’s privates like an ice cream cone, lapping off the clear pre-cum, then down to business–sucking the head into his mouth.

After weeks of practice, the First Sergeant was a good cocksucker. I liked it when he did me–when my staff slid into his mouth, his tongue did laps around the edge of my helmet, so good I always moaned. From O’Connell’s moans, Kovachek must’ve been doing it to him.

The First Sergeant really got off on cocksucking. Said he like the very taste of jizz. And his submissive bitch personality made him glory in the feeling of being used and humiliated. He trembled, turned on at both top and bottom.

Excellent!

He panted harder, his nostrils flaring, his lips blowing flecks of spit around O’Connell’s cock, and he banged me into the floor each time he hit bottom. I’ll have to wear a goose-down diaper for this rash! We actually got the deuce & a half to start bouncing–not very easy considering the big truck’s springs were designed to carry 5,000 pounds.

For an added thrill, a sort of “dance of death,” I reached up and wrapped my hands around his throat as he humped me–Fuck-me-right-or-you’re-a-goner, so to speak–and that brought a surprised gasp and a long, horny moan.

After many long rides, I could tell when my steed got super-sensitive, and I had to take care that he wouldn’t blow his load just yet. We had to bring him to white heat. With a sudden sideways jerk, I pulled out my disappointed bazooka.

Another shout. “Hey–what doin’??–fuck me!–fuck me!”

In my experience, stopping the stimulation long enough for the tide to go out takes only a few seconds. Unfortunately, Kovachek’s concentration switched to the blowjob, so I reached over and pinched O’Connell’s leg. He backed off.

Another growl: “Hey–what’s wrong??” At that moment, thunder crashed outside, and for a second I thought I’d made a gigantic mistake. I reached up and cupped his hairy butt with my hands, squeezing those steel buns. “Just catching my breath, Sarge.”

Then O’Connell stuck his cock back in Kovachek’s mouth, and I lunged my shaft back into his ass, and a long sigh came from the poor man undergoing sergeant-abuse. The heat in the canvas-covered truck bed could bake bread, and while we bred Kovachek, we smelled of fresh sweat, old sweat, crotch odor, and balls-aroma, to say nothing of the additional military stink.

As fuck scenarios go, the situation reached Appropriately Smarmy, and I figured Kovachek just about ready for the Next Level. I reached over and tapped O’Connell’s foot.

Two Much

I pulled out of Kovachek’s ass again, and O’Connell stopped the blowjob. After a couple of seconds, I rammed my organ up in him again. “Yeah!” he gasped, “Deep! Give it to me deep!”

But O’Connell held back, stood up straight, and recited a memorized speech. It was supposed to sound sex-crazed and drunk, but O’Connell’s only acting experience, from the 3rd grade, was a little rusty:

“Well, First Sergeant. This is a big. Sexual thrill. To me. My. Is my head spin. Ing. I can not control. Myself. Powell’s prick. Is in your ass. Looks too tempting. To me. I must get in there. Too.”

Then my turn: “Yeah, get over here, man. Brad, you big cum-slut, I know you’d love to get two cocks up your ass!” I pulled my dick out of Kovachek’s ass yet again and commanded him to pause there, squatting over me.

O’Connell lay back on the scratchy tarp. I spread my legs, and he scooted over, moving his legs over mine. When his thighs rested on mine, our hard cocks were pressed against each other. With a little adjustment between the two of us, we maneuvered our two cocks to Kovachek’s hole. “Now lower yourself down kırklareli escort on us!”

“Oh, fuck, two men at once!” Again I blew the First Sergeant’s mind. I rubbed fistfuls of Vaseline over our double-barreled shotgun in preparation. He squatted, and we pushed.

But damn, we weren’t getting in.

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Fuck, maybe it won’t work. It has to work!

It also had to hurt, but Kovachek didn’t scream for us to pull out. He spread his legs apart further, anything to open his asshole wider.

Into The Valley Of Death Rode–The Two

I gritted my teeth, pulling down on his thighs, and–Wahoo!–slowly, tightly (Jeez, Sarge, you’re a virgin again), his rectum spread out over us, and pop! We were in!

O’Connell and I were not savages. Once we were in him with our military pincer movement, we held still, allowing him to adjust to us. “Oh, shit,” he yowled, “they can drive this truck up my ass.”

“You’re taking it like a man, Brad. Ease yourself into it. Sit down more when you’re ready.” Something else about our little mini-orgy: nobody I knew could have done it–the strength and stamina to squat over two men, legs spread wide, and at the same time go through the intense pain of a first-time fuck. My legs would have given out (to say nothing of my rectum splitting up my back!)

What a man! He squatted there for several minutes, breathing energetically, steeling himself as his asshole finally stretched around two men’s cocks. Finally he took a few deep breaths and slowly lowered himself down over us. Again he paused for a long moment, then sank down until his balls came to rest on my lower belly. He rested his legs as his weight settled on us (Oof)), but then he pulled up and off us again.

Wow, a new sensation! It was horny enough just to rub mine against O’Connell’s in our combined-manhood mega-cock. But even hotter was the tight grip against his cock from the hose-clamp pressure of Kovachek’s love-tunnel. Sexiest thing I’d ever done.

The First Sergeant’s next descent on us was faster, and he let out a groan. Breathing in gasps by then, I managed to pant, “You–opening up–soldier?–What–good bitch–you are–Drive us home!” I knew the combination of the erotic situation and the humiliation would turn him on.

The rhino legs pistoned him up and down faster and faster, like earlier when he fucked me alone.

What a minute–let me rephrase that: like earlier when he fucked himself on my cock alone. I’m doing the fucking here.

He had a good sense (or maybe a developed man-pussy sensitivity) to know when to stop before popping our cockheads back out again. “I’ll shit easier tomorrow,” he moaned, but it was a happy, turned-on moan.

Our four hands explored his body front and back. I fondled his pecs and pinched his nipples. Worshipful O’Connell rubbed his back and gripped his ribs. “God, you are built like a brick shithouse, First Sergeant.”

“Two men at once,” he moaned. “Never thought my beaver could do this.”

“You like it, Brad?”

Long pause. “Yeah. Yeah, I like it fine.”

Excellent. He felt no shame–or maybe the humiliation added to his lust. “I got me two fucking troopers up my ass!” A voice of exultation.

Nature Corrects All Imbalances

The whole thing was a major turn-on for me, too. Sitting on us and rising up like the God of War, Kovachek drove me into the uncontrollable. It hit me: I was not the fucker! I couldn’t speed up, couldn’t go deeper! I could only roll with his pace, feeling my elation spreading slowly and maddeningly, watching his nuts dance up and down. Like he does with me.

I caught myself about to beg him to go faster and bit my lip. He’s in charge right now, but I don’t want him to think suddenly he’s got the power. I grabbed more Vaseline from the jar and added lube to him at the tops of his strokes. Anything to help him go faster.

As the man on the very bottom, I couldn’t move very much, so O’Connell’s dick rubbed against mine in the seething cavity of Kovachek’s hole while the hole itself slid over me like a slime-dripping subway tunnel. I closed my eyes as my orgasm finally rumbled deep in my balls, and I couldn’t hold back: “Oh, I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

The unspeakable double-friction skyrocketed me to an explosive orgasm, epileptic fits of mindless bliss, writhing and lurching in a rapture so intense I couldn’t see straight.

“Oh, shit, you’re cumming for me,” he gasped, and I’ll be damned if four colossal jets of spunk didn’t spurt out of his throbbing wood, shooting out onto my chest, the last one hitting me in the face, adding to the frenzy of my orgasm! For what seemed like hours, I went crazy.

Massive climax, massive! Like an atomic bomb went off in my testicles. I looked down, and I swear it looked like his heaving cock, bobbing over our double-boners, glowed with a greenish, nuclear light! Fuck, I’m out of my mind!

Mind-blowing, blissful peak! I shut my eyes, and my head rolled back and forth. I heard moaning, wordless garglings, a bitch in heat–Kovachek must be going nuts–but then I realized those sounds came from me! I swear my soul flowed up my dick and into the big sergeant’s body! Ohmigod, he’s regaining control!