Loading...“Ohhh . . . Jesus . . . God!!” Ernestine’s orgasm was going on so long I was beginning to worry. “Fuck . . . me . . . again!” It was a groan, a begging, sluttish moan. She lay on the floor, sperm smeared all over her, her pussy drooling a white stream from the last guy’s load, her mouth creamy from its last visitor.
She was beckoning to me. “Take me,” she murmured. “Ram that big thing in me!”
But I was scared shitless: If the colonel finds out about this, I’m looking at Leavenworth!
That’s what I get for being the Good Guy. That’s what I get for thinking of somebody else. God, if this goes south – I get decades of prison showers.
Hey, I’m just an easy-going dude, normal as the rest. Just trying to get along in a hot, dry, miserable, woman-less hell – which is just another way of saying “US Marine camp.” Who in hell picks these places?? I swear to God, the Marine Corps takes its real estate tips from camels!
But always the good guy, I’m always willing to help out a person in need, right? I had only Ernestine’s best interests at heart.
Okay, check it out: the men in my squad were trudging back to the barracks after another “Wonderful Day in the Corps.” We were hot. We were tired. We were so goddamned, motherfucking thirsty, our tongues had turned inside-out.
“God, this is gettin’ to me.” Porter, the bitcher. “I ain’t pissed all day,” he moaned. “Now I’m afraid I’ll piss out a stream of sand!”
I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but that was four words more than I had energy for. Besides, he’s probably right. I felt loose dust inside my own prick, and as I trudged along, I heard a tinkling sound from my scrotum, like two pebbles rattling around in a tin can. For the 32,215,971st time, I asked myself why I signed that enlistment form.
You know why, asshole! The Corps got you with psychological warfare!
It was true. The recruiter was a female Leatherneck (probably a Reservist on weekend duty who went back to her modeling career the next day). God, she was beautiful! I could never look at a green USMC fatigue shirt again without seeing those two glorious bulges stretching it out. She had tits like military melons.
Hey, I’m the victim here! I went into that mall to get some batteries for my electric can-opener!
Before I could reach the door of Radio Shack, though, Corporal Cunt came slinking out of the Marine Corps Recruiter’s office shooting laser beams out of her blue eyes that boiled my blood. It inflated my prick like a zeppelin – but you can’t think with boiled brains.
That’s all I remember. No, I remember her running her tongue around her pouting, crimson lips. I remember her hands around my neck. I remember her reaching down to my crotch. And I remember signing something.
We dragged one foot after the other, feeling our tongues turn into potato-chips. God, at least it can’t get any worse!
I have to tip my hat to the Marine Corps – they can always make it worse!
As 13 dried-up mummies shuffled by the colonel’s office quonset, the Man himself pulled up in an air-conditioned Lexus. While we look on like cattle at the slaughterhouse door, he got out, fresh, pressed, cool, and In Control.
God, it can’t get any worse.
Wrong: the door opened on the other side, and out stepped a woman!! The colonel had managed to find pussy out there in the middle of Outer Agonylia.
We stood watching like drug addicts. I would’ve had an instant hardon if I had any energy left. The colonel ushered the babe into the building, but before he stepped in, he looked back at us. “Straighten up that formation! Get in step!”
We slogged on while I called cadence, “Hut, Toop, gasp! Foh!”
That was our introduction to Ernestine.
So began the bad days. Besides the heat, in spite of the water cooler breaking down and drinking tap water from pipes superheated by the sun, on top of coming to know the sand fleas by name . . . we had to watch Ernestine drive up in a Mercedes-Benz every morning and go flouncing into the command quonset.
Tall and willowy, she moved like a cool breeze, and her deep blue eyes were like the cold water of a fjord. Her shiny black hair was like the dark, mysterious ice deep in the heart of a glacier, and her delectable breasts reminded me of snow-castles I built as a kid. We watched her, sweating, panting, with our tongues hanging out.
We learned her name from the admin jodies working in the air-conditioned building. “Secretary,” they told us, twisting the knife.
Yeah, sure.
Ernestine the Ice Queen could not be anybody’s secretary! She was pure table-pussy, not the type you serve for the hired help. My prick tried to harden, but my body didn’t have the moisture to spare.
“There’s ee-vill afoot here, men,” I told them that night in the barracks. “Something about this situation doesn’t click.”
Then we began reconnaissance: dedicated, detail-oriented Gyrenes from our squad took great pains to pick up all litter, butts, and stray leaves from around the command quonset – also paying attention to comings and goings of the staff, looking through the windows, listening at the doors.
We made sure to jog by the building two or three times a day. We marched out of our way to pass the command quonset on our way anywhere else. And we began to notice a few things.
Damn, could scuttlebutt be right? Ernestine, for all her Venus de Milo shape, appeared to be verging on spinster. What we thought was a chic, Hollywood Boulevard, pulled-back hairdo turned out to be her daily ‘do, held in place with long, Chinese-style pins.
Those weren’t sunglasses. She really did wear spectacles.
And she did, indeed, appear to be doing typing. God, what a waste!
“No way. She’s gotta be the colonel’s ride.” Pvt. Rodriguez’ valuable opinion. His IQ number was only slightly more than his cock-length. The little fucker was one of the best-hung men in the squad, though, or maybe it was just a matter of scale – a normal crank on a tiny body.
But for all the “accidental wanderings” into the command quonset at odd hours – “Sorry, sir, they told me this report goes here [quick look-around, what is Ernestine doing?]. . . No? . . . Oh, uh, sorry [Is there a bed or a cot anywhere near her?] . . . I’ll take it back to the 23rd” (or whatever number came to mind, it didn’t matter) [How close is her desk to the colonel’s office?].
Nothing. Never. Not so much as heavy breathing. Nobody got caught doing nothing.
Naw, that can’t be! Who would use a woman like that just for typing?
You know how I am. Always thinking of others. I felt sorry for her. I mean, there she was, so close to 13 hard-charging, virile men thoroughly trained in all the arts of love – okay, I’ll be fair; the camp had a couple thousand Jarheads, and three or four of the others might have been worth a tumble.
But poor Ernestine lived a cold, lonely existence typing supply documents and forms, no doubt wishing she could be working with our squad’s medical files, somehow getting close to our bodies, ogling the snapshots of our torsos, our wounds, our cocks in VD treatment, our hemorrhoids, anything to feel wanted.
The poor woman. I knew she was lonely, wishing for male comfort.
The squad went into stealth mode. A rotating roster of squad members manned the Observation Post, the bus stop near the command quonset. Reports came back to me constantly. Finally we saw our opportunity to do a good deed.
One evening the colonel left the building, but Ernestine stayed behind, no doubt working late on some project – poor thing, probably more reports on “stowage of firefighting equipment to conserve hangar space.” I knew what she really wanted was to type up the results of the military medical study of the average weight of Devil-dog scrotums.
I called the squad together, and we moved out. The quonset was empty—everybody had gone home except Ernestine.
We surprised her as she was emerging from supply closet. We rushed her and pushed her back onto the colonel’s desk, watching her tits jiggle as she strained to get away. Oh, yes! It’s been so long!
Pvt. Rodriguez, of the peppery nuts and lightning-fast hands, got her blouse open in record time, and Pvt. Porter, no longer bitching, got the bitch’s skirt unzipped about as fast. Together they got her Field-stripped and Ready in a couple seconds.
Yes, hell, yes!! I drank in that voluptuous body, the firm, swelling tits, the parted thighs – spread because of eager Jarheads holding her legs. But I am a student of human emotion, and I could see Ernestine was just asking for it. The screams were just for effect. As was the struggling.
Four men held her arms and legs down – and apart. Oh, that cunt! I’ve died and gone to Earth (think about it: when you’re in Hell, the highest you can rise to is Earth). “Men,” – I looked around. Lust-glazed eyes. Hands pulling open belts. Not a coherent thought in the room. – “I will never ask you to do something I would not do myself!”
I knelt between her legs, that appetizing pussy so close, so deliciously close! I spread her labia and pushed my tongue in deep. Oh, yes! Hot as a gun in the sun! And sweet. Like the ripe fruit I once ate before I joined the Marine Corps.
But excuse me, Ma’am, where are my manners! I licked and bit her cunt and flicked her clit with my tongue, and my hands reached up to give those great tits some good Gyrene gyrations. She yelped.
Is that pain or gratitude? I looked up.
Damn! Pfc. Vance had turned her head to the side and was pushing his cock into her mouth. “Suck it, bitch!”
One of the more eloquent speakers in the group.
He looked down at me, his corporal, the squad leader, with a sheepish expression. He had taken action without a direct order. “Dangerous act, Marine,” I growled. “She could bite it off.”
Nope. As I spoke, his big cockhead slid into her mouth, and in spite of tears that ran from her eyes and the horrified look on her face — I saw sucking motions.
I went back to her cunt. Oh, so hot. Oh, so juicy. If only the Corps would assign a bitch like this to the squad! Complaints would drop to zero! I patted myself on the back: I was a real Lothario – she was wet, her cunt slobbering all over my mouth.
It’s a shame. If I could share my god-given talents with the lesser men of the earth, the women of the world wouldn’t stand a chance. But here I am, a World-Class concert fuckician stuck in a Marine uniform in a desert hole on the edge of the universe.
I turned back to my work of art: I could feel Ernestine tensing up, but I didn’t want her to cum just yet. Oh, no, this was a symphony not a two-minute pop song. God, what a sight, her sexy, panting young body helpless, wide open, eager for our hungry, military dongs.
It was time. I’d made her ready.
Pfc. Vance, the sensitive one, lurched his hips, his rod gouged halfway down her throat.
“Don’t suffocate her, you moron!” Watch me, a master at work.
I first massaged her tits, squeezing and pinching until the nipples stuck out like bullets. One hand rubbed her snatch, fingering her pussy lips, inserting two fingers.
I heard it. From deep inside her, a pleasured moan growled up around Pfc. Vance’s manhood. It wasn’t from joy in cocksucking. Vance hadn’t showered in three days, and his body odor had been known to kill fleas.
That moan was for me. I had her where I wanted her. Her cunt muscles quivered over my fingers. She was enjoying it. I heard the theme song from “Star Wars” as I pushed my weapon straight into her twat, reveling in the hot, wet grip of Love.
I fucked her in Marine cadence – one, two, Three, FOUR! — thrusting deeper and deeper into her dripping snatch, each time feeling her respond. The problem was that my hard prick in her steaming cunt took only part of her attention. She no doubt wanted to call words of encouragement to me, but she had a cock in her mouth.
Luckily Pfc. Vance had no self-control. In a minute or two he got his gun, and I looked up just in time to see him pull out of her mouth and spurt his man-juice over her face.
At last. “Hold her arms.” Two men grabbed her, and I pulled out of her cunt to let her simmer while I worked on those appetizing breasts, squeezing them, licking them, sucking and biting. I wanted to set her ablaze with a roaring prairie-fire of foreplay. I moved up to straddle her, pushing my pole between those love-mountains, staring down as I squeezed the soft flesh against my happy pecker. “Nothing like tit-fucking, right, honey?”
But she said nothing. I looked up. That disrespectful little shit Pvt. Brown had put his crank in her mouth. Damn heathens. Should be watching and learning!
Fucking Ernestine’s tits was a real treat, something I knew she didn’t get from the man on the street, and I was really getting into it, humping away, when she arched up, trembling, a muffled scream gargling out from around Brown’s Johnson. What?? She’s cumming? Just from my cock between her—
I looked back. Pvt. Thoreson had stolen her orgasm from me! The insubordinate bastard had mounted her when I withdrew, and without a single ounce of artistry had hard-lunged her straight to climax.
Stupid bastard. It worked, though. Ernestine’s eyes rolled up in her head, and she lolled on the desk like a drunk.
Well, no sooner did Thoreson push her over the edge than Brown went to town. In the throes of a hot climax, she gulped at his prick, and spurts of USMC jizz ran down the corners of her mouth.
Damn it! “Get out of the way, Brown! I want her mouth!”
I moved forward, but before I could push my torpedo in, as Thoreson backed out, Pvt. Kerberg shoved himself onto the desk beside her, grabbed her and rolled her up over him until he held her above him facing down at him, and he lunged his hard dong up into her slobbering snatch. He connected, and she let out a groan.
The stupid apes! They’re sending her to ecstasy without my master’s touch!!
That wasn’t all. Pvt. Williams crawled up on the desk and mounted her from behind. She raised her head in a shriek. Jeez. Maybe never had it in the asshole before, a real old-fashioned girl.
She was helpless, pinioned between two big Jarhead cocks, one in each hole. I knew we were releasing her from her long loneliness – the glazed, fuck-drunk look in her eyes was gratitude enough.
But this is getting out of control! I was supposed to do her up right then turn her over to the troops! Fucking Gyrenes fuck up everything. I gave up and joined in the melee. I crawled up onto the desk (lucky the colonel had a big one), and kneeling at her head, I fed my throbbing dong slowly into her mouth. Yeah! She sucked me in like a Hoover, and I fingered her tits and pinched her nipples to remind her who I was. She let out a muffled moan. That’s fine, baby. You’re welcome.
About that time Pvt. Williams gnashed his teeth and groaned, and I knew her bumhole would be nice and slippery for the next guy. Sure enough, after a couple of afterglow thrusts, he pulled out . . . and Pfc. Vance crawled up there!
Hey, that bastard already had a helping! But I couldn’t take the time for a reprimand. My testicles were signaling for me to come in for a home run. I was ready to shoot my load down her sweet little throat when Pfc. Vance lost his balance and fell forward against me, pushing me off the back of the desk!
“Goddamnit!” I came up ready to slug somebody, but then I saw the problem. That horny little bastard Rodriguez had crawled up behind Vance, and the little fucker had rammed his cock into her cunt right beside Kerberg’s coming up from below!
It was a Guinness Record moment. When Vance reinserted into her butthole, she had three cocks between her legs at once – and her mouth was still available! While I stood in awe at the sight, Cramer shouldered past me and up onto the desk. “My turn, my turn,” he giggled, the stupid bastard. “Oh, god, oh, god!”
“Hey!” But it was too late.
Cramer’s funny penis – with an upward curve like a boomerang – sank into her throat, and her gargling sound said “Occupied.” That’s Cramer for you, the greedy bastard.
Hell, this is like the driver’s license office. Where do I take a number?? I kicked the side of the desk. Damn, I shouldn’t have brought the others.
But I was in the presence of greatness. Darnell and Collins stood on either side of her, and she jacked them both off. The horny bitch was taking six men at once!
It’s demeaning for a squad leader to settle for a hand-job, so I waited until somebody finished. Oh, those heaving tits. Oh, that milk white skin – well, now that I look closer, it’s more a “tanned” skin covered with a growing smear of white sperm.
Her eyes were closed. Couldn’t blame her: Vance’s chest wasn’t much to look at. A few hairs and some acne. But she had clearly given up the struggle and was going with the flow. She licked his body whenever he got close.
First man to finish, aside from the jackees in either hand, was Kerberg. He let out a bellow, I saw his cream spurt back out of her cunt . . . and then he lay there quietly, enjoying the glow. Hey, dammit! Get out of there! My turn! But he couldn’t crawl out from under. A woman on her hands and knees and three men were still above him.
Shit! How come me alla time??
When Rodriguez and Vance gave a Hoo-rah and chugged their loads into her, I thought my moment had finally come, but when the two idiots backed out, and Kerberg tried to crawl out from under, Ernestine lost her balance and fell off the side of the desk.
The side away from me, wouldn’t you know.
Ernestine never hit the floor; she was caught by many eager, horny hands, and before I could do anything about it, the little ménage a – hell, what is six in French?
Six.
“Six”? How can that be? That’s what it is in English!
Anyway, by the time I raced around to the other side of the desk, Ernestine, this time on her back, was entertaining Fairfield’s schwanz up her ass, Hollyfield’s and Turner’s up her twat which by now must be stretched to a suitcase, and Chung grinned at me as he stuck his oriental banana down her throat. She reached out her hands for potential jerkoffs on either side, her left hand reaching out for me, but I had too much pride. Burton leaped in to take the grip.
I swore an oath to myself: when these barbarians finally finish vandalizing the neighborhood, I am going to order them to stand down, and then I am going to get what I deserve!
I gnashed my teeth, reduced to scraps from the banquet table, running my hands over her tits, pushing my groin against her side, tickling her cheek with my cockhead.
Damn, the bitch was horny. Cunt-juice ran out of her snatch with every stroke from her admirers, and still she sucked, jacked, counter-thrust, and panted. I was impressed. Who knew such a little nympho was in there?
I glanced down at the desk. Covered with slime. I gulped. I didn’t know exactly how that could be produced as Exhibit A in a court, but it sure was a smoking gun.
Finally my time arrived. The six men she was servicing shot their loads in, on, around, and through her body, then backed away sweating and breathing hard. Peasants.
I waved everybody back like a conductor raising his baton. My pants down around my boot-tops, I stood over her, and Ernestine lay back, a jizz-covered angel, everything spread out, open, and dripping in welcome. She was still in an orgasm, calling out to me, begging me, dying to feel the Master’s Cock. Oh, God, what a moment! I’ll never forget this as long as I live!!
At that precise instant, Hollyfield barked, “Jesus Christ, it’s the colonel!!”
What?? At this hour?? My whole life passed before my eyes. I rushed to the window. Sure enough, the Man’s car was pulling into the parking lot, its tires crunching on the gravel. You cannot trust the motherfucking officers! Totally unpredictable! Aimless and wandering!
I snapped my fingers for silence and hissed, “He must be coming back for something he forgot!” I looked around, fighting panic. “Brezinski! Look out the window and give me updates! Everybody else! Grab mops and brooms!”
The squad ran to the broom closet and fetched the maintenance tools. Immediately they began cleaning – the late crew.
Brezinski hissed, “He’s out of his car, reaching into the back seat for something! . . . Now he walking toward us!”
I beckoned to Vance. “C’mere! Look, man, no way can he miss the smell of cum and sex all over that desk. You gotta think up something to keep him from coming in here!”
He gave me a blank look.
“I’ve got to get rid of the bitch, so, goddamnit, you’ve got to think, man!”
Shit. It’s like telling a penguin to fly.
But I had no choice. Pulling the still orgasmic Ernestine to her feet, I threw her over my shoulder and staggered out the back door of the quonset. As we sneaked out, I heard Vance’s voice behind me: “Sorry, sir, can’t go in there just yet. Toilet flooded over, and the shit spread out into your office. We’re cleaning it up right now. We’ll have it squared-up and military for you by tomorrow. Might smell a little of bleach, though.”
Kerberg followed with Ernestine’s clothes and purse. I found her Mercedes, opened the door, and shoehorned her into it. Naked. Purring. Cum still running down her legs. “Shit, she can’t drive! She’ll get a ticket for sperming up the highway! Help me get her around to the passenger side!”
Kerberg and I manhandled her around, then I jumped into the driver’s seat (for the first time tonight, goddamnit!) I found her car keys in her purse and started the car, inching slowly away, praying to all the gods the colonel wouldn’t spot us.
We made it. I drove her into town, and when she got her wits about her, she gave me the address of her apartment. As I parked her car, and we both got out, she covered herself with her coat. I had a long walk ahead of me. I would be lucky to be back in camp by sunrise.
Ernestine looked at me. “I can give you a ride back.”
“Hey, thanks, that will solve my—”
“—tomorrow.”
I got not a single minute of sleep that night. When I showed up for the formation the next morning, I was in terrible shape: exhausted, tousled, unshaven, sweaty.
But she gave me her number. And after every weekend from then on, I showed up at Monday formation like I had run a marathon the night before – which was true, in a way.