Proper Military Push-ups - G.I. Jack - Part 2
1658 Words
"Right away, Sir," the recruit mumbled. It was hard to form the words properly with a socked foot stuffed in his mouth. The only thing (other than fear of the DI, of course,) that made Jenkins willing to give up the unique taste of the soldier’s socked foot in his mouth was the anticipation of being able to get the man’s bare feet in his mouth instead.
Jenkins let his hands run the length of the material from the toe to the elastic band on the calf as he started to remove the DI’s socks.
The DI had other plans. "Not with your hands, b***h," he informed him.
"Sir?" Jenkins asked with his tongue darting around the still-socked toes.
"With your mouth, you stupid recruit," the DI said with notable disgust that everything had to be explained in detail to newbie soldiers unfamiliar with proper military procedures.
Jenkins then did as he was told and removed each sock with his mouth. The DI’s size 12 feet were soon planted in front of the recruit’s face.
He wasted no time getting down to business working his tongue in and out of the crevice between each toe. He noticed that the toes had little hairs growing on the topside of them which felt extra tingly as his tongue explored them.
The tastes and smells of those amazing feet kept sending waves of s****l excitement to his d**k.
When the DI stuck the big toe of his right foot into Jenkins’ mouth so Jenkins could suck on it, Jenkins felt a drop of pre-c*m leak into his tighty-whities. Luckily, they and the wet spot were well hidden beneath his uniform.
The Drill Instructor smoothed the stripes on the arms of his uniform. "You’re going to give me another thirty push-ups, but we’re going to do it a little different this time."
He leaned back on the bed with his legs relaxed comfortably. He unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, and threw it on the bed.
The recruit’s eyes widened as his superior officer began to undo his belt and work his pants off to reveal something other than the standard-issue military underwear. The DI was sporting camouflage design bikini briefs bursting to capacity.
The recruit also noticed that they were tenting nicely - the length of the DI’s monster c**k happened to follow the camo design in such a way as to make the design look like a bulging vein on the side of the soldier’s prick.
Jenkins didn’t have much time to admire the outline of the prick beneath the soft material because the Drill Instructor whipped those briefs off quickly and stood naked before the recruit.
From his position on the floor, Jenkins looked at this perfect example of military manhood. The DI stood with his hands on his hips and resembled a Greek statue.
Each muscle flowed effortlessly into the next. His skin was a golden brown color, a result of the sun beating down on him when he led the recruits in marches and outdoor training exercises.
The reflection from the overhead fluorescent lights reflected off his dog tag when he moved his chest a certain way. The dog tag rested perfectly in the ridge between the DI’s pecs.
His skin was smooth, but Jenkins believed it was shaved closely as he noticed some light stubble growing around one of the DI’s nips. He also noticed that the color of those hairs matched the hairs on the DI’s toes.
"Soldier, come here," the Drill Instructor commanded. Recruit Jenkins crawled over, his attention transfixed on the DI’s own helmeted soldier, which at a conservatively estimated nine and half inches long, now stood at full salute.
In addition to the length, Jenkins was also mesmerized by the girth of the DI’s c**k. It reminded him of a cucumber.
"Open your mouth, recruit," the DI told him.
Jenkins obeyed and the DI wasted no time in shoving his dirty briefs into the recruit’s face. After making sure Jenkins filled his nostrils with the fresh crotch smells on the underwear, the DI then stuffed his skanky briefs into the recruit’s mouth. Jenkins could only make sounds of agreement.
The Drill Instructor then took his massive man-missile in his hands and rubbed it suggestively. "I know you’ve wanted this ever since you walked into this room today. I bet you love to suck c**k, don’t you?"
The recruit swallowed hard, afraid to answer the question incorrectly and afraid to swallow the briefs still blocking his throat and filling his cheeks.
"Soldier? Do you love to suck c**k?" the Drill Instructor asked again, this time letting his engorged prick pulsate inches from the recruit’s face and removing his saliva soaked underwear from the man’s mouth.
"Sir, yes, Sir!" It was the most enthusiastic reply the recruit had given thus far.
"Yeah, I knew you were c**k-sucker the first time I saw you on base. Get your sorry ass over here, and put your mouth to work."
The recruit’s mouth searched out the officer’s hard on. He sloppily engulfed it with his cheeks and the experience sent a wave of excitement through his own pants, causing another drop of pre-c*m to squeeze out of his pecker.
He reached down and started to loosen his pants so he could free his own member.
"Like this," the DI said. He reached down and lifted the recruit’s chiseled face.
For a moment, he acted as a tender mentor instead of a hard-ass military machine. He placed one of the recruit’s hands on each side of him. He reached out to the recruit’s chest, letting his hands feel the muscles through the flimsy T-shirt as he aligned the recruit’s body between his legs.
He reached for the top of the recruit’s head and placed his hand on it, exerting pressure and guiding it so the recruit's face would land in his crotch. He loved the feel of the peach fuzz haircut under his rough hands.
The DI started the recruit on the up and down rhythm. The recruit’s entire body participated in the act as each downward movement of the exercise brought the Drill Instructor’s large prick into contact with the wet back of the recruit’s throat.
Each upward movement brought the recruit’s mouth right to the tip of the nine and half inches. The DI felt the recruit’s arm muscles flex against the outside of his thighs.
Rules be damned! The Drill Instructor smiled broadly. "Now, this is how you perform a military push-up," he said.
"Have you had enough, boy," the DI asked after fifteen minutes of pure vacuum pleasure.
"Sir, no Sir," Jenkins replied with his mouth full of military c**k.
The DI reached down and pulled at the collar of the recruit’s green T-shirt. The dog tags clanged together as he removed it, exposing the recruit’s chest. It was smooth and tan. The pecs were hard and round.
The recruit reached down and began to massage himself between the legs at the same time the Drill Instructor massaged the ridges of his hardening n*****s.
They continued for another half hour. By then, they were both sprawled out on the bunk. The Drill Instructor (and how he planned to instruct the recruit on "drilling" later, all right, he thought to himself) was still naked except for his dog tags. The recruit wore nothing except his dog tags and shiny black boots.
The DI suddenly gripped the recruit’s shoulders fiercely. "I can’t hold it anymore," he announced. "The missile is going to explode. Clear target," he commanded.
The recruit immediately freed the officer’s torpedo from his mouth and grabbed at his testicles as if they were the controls of a submarine or a tank. The recruit squeezed.
The DI let out a guttural sound that indicated he no longer knew the difference between pleasure and pain. The weapon fired.
A blast of warmth shot across the DI’s stomach and chest. A stream of c*m followed the ridges of his abs.
"Oh, Sir, yes, SIR!" the ever eager recruit cried in triumph. Recruit Jenkins squeezed again. For a second time, the male weapon discharged, releasing its potent load. A third round ensued, but it was more for show than substance.
The Drill Instructor breathed in deeply, getting the distinct smell of male sweat. He looked at his chest, and surveyed the liquefied results of his military mission.
He grabbed the recruit’s head and forced it down into his chest. The gobs of semen were only inches away from the recruit’s eyes.
The sweet smell of the superior officer’s c*m filled the recruit's nostrils.
The DI had a plan. "See this mess you made? Clean it up, boy."
Recruit Jenkins reached for his T-shirt, which was crumpled up at the foot of the bed.
The DI grabbed his wrist. "Not with that," he said with a sly grin on his face. "Do you understand, Jenkins?"
Jenkins smiled because he did understand for this was his favorite part. His tongue slid across his lips and he answered as he was taught, "Sir, yes, Sir." Jenkins went to work lapping at the military forged muscles being sure to get every drop of man juice that the DI had produced.
As the recruit went about his appointed task, the Drill Instructor leaned back and looked out the window. He wondered which recruit should be the next to learn how to perform a proper military push-up.
- Writer
