"A Private is a soldier of the lowest military rank"
I'm a private in the US Army. That means I'm doing the lowest tasks, basically every corporal, sergeant, and petty officer's bitch boy. Hell, even the Private First Class end up using me. And I've ended up being the lowest one on the totem pole, so even the other PV1s use me for their needs and desires.
I have a bed right by the entrance to the barracks. As guys come off duty, or come home from a fruitless night at the bar, I'm right there, there to be used as a ready and willing cum receptacle. They usually unzip, jerk long enough to get hard, then fuck me until they shot their wad. It is never about me -- I am just a tool for them to get off, and their actions usually reflect it. They are rough, masculine fucks, occasionally angry and violent. Most of the guys will just shoot in me, but occasionally there is one who wants to paint my face with his jizz. My role as the company bottom means that I don't get much sleep each night. Only after the last man has shot his wad and gotten his relief do I get to sleep, their loads drying on my body and marinating in my ass. Needless to say, I tend to sleep way later than morning reveille.
The sergeant always wakes me up, screaming at me about what a lazy slug I was. I'm usually still be wearing the same dirty jock I had on the previous night. I get up, a bit bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, a little sore from the intense fucks delivered by the horny PFCs and PV1s working out their aggression and repression on me. The sergeant immediately recognizes what's happened, and I know it turns him on. He's never gotten above being a sergeant even after twenty odd years in the service. Nervertheless, he's married to the army, and the men he trains. The army has kept him in shape, and he's a hot, slightly cocky older man who knows what he wants. "Inspection time faggot." I groan inwardly. I know what that means. I pull myself up, stand straight, and try to keep as much dignity as possible with dried cum matting my chest hair and a dirty jock on.
The sergeant walks around me, slapping my ass, pinching a nipple, flicking my balls. We do this almost every morning, so I know not to respond, or it would get worse. Still, I can't help how I am wired, and my cock begins to stiffen. Of course the sergeant notices this. He always does. "Faggot turned on?" he barks.
"No Sir." There is only one answer to this question. I tried yes once and the sergeant turned me over to a special forces squad for the entire day.
"Cock says you are."
"Morning wood Sir." This is the acceptable answer. He tells me to spread my legs and bend over. It's time for the hole inspection. The past few days, the sergeant has been especially creative in his ass inspection, and I wonder what he has in mind today.
"Spread your cheeks, private." I reach back and pull apart my ass cheeks, giving him a clear view of my abused hole. I am feeling particularly vulnerable this time; I can't see him, or tell what he's doing. He's been making sure my days are filled with squats; so my ass is now particularly muscular and fuckable. "How many guns you take up there last night, Private?"
"12 Sir." I've learned to answer correctly here. If I say I don't know, I'm a stupid private who can't count. If I go under, I'm an embarrassment to the service who is ashamed of my fellow soldiers. If I go over, I'm boasting faggot.
"You sure private? That hole looks well used to me"
"Yes Sir. Darren got back from leave last night."
"That's Corporal Thompson to you, private." I hear the sergeant unsnapping something. A few metallic clinks later, I can tell he's either loading or unloading his pistol. "He's got a big gun, huh?"
"Yes Sir, he does."
I'm still bent over, holding my ass open for him. At least I am not upright; I'd be dripping cum out of it. Twelve is more than normal, but not my worst night. I can see the sergeant standing behind me, his boots right in front of my face. I knew them well; I have spent a few mornings licking them clean. I feel a bit of cold metal against my hole, and I immediately know what's going down. The sergeant had gotten out his pistol, and the barrel is now right against my ass.
"Spread them further, private." I do as he tells me. It has the effect of slightly opening my hole, and he takes the opportunity to push the pistol barrel deeper into me. He knows I hate being pistol-fucked. Aside from a total fear that he's not unloaded the gun, and he's going to kill me with it, there's something about the sight at the end of the barrel that just hurts. I grunt slightly as he pushes it into me. "Shut up private. Your cock is telling me everything I need to know."
He's right. Despite the pain of him pushing the pistol barrel into me, my cock is now rock hard. I breath out, try to relax, and let the barrel slide in. From experience, this won't last long. The sergeant is a little too dick-focused in the morning to play around much. I feel it slide into me, pushing some of the accumulated jizz deeper in my hole, and finally the cold trigger guard hits my ass. "Not quite as big as Corporal Thompson's gun is it, Private?"
"No sir, it isn't." Corporal Darren Thompson was at least twice as long, and a lot thicker. With only the cum from the previous night, I was happy it wasn't Darren's tool. The sergeant pushed the barrel in and out a little. At least he couldn't see the wincing on my face as the barrel sight scratched me up.
"Want the real thing, private?"
"Yes sir."
"What?"
"Yes Sir. I want you to fuck me, Sir." He liked me to put myself in my place.
The sergeant pulled the pistol out of me in one quick stroke. There was a pop as it came out, and I felt a bit of spooge on my ass. He looked at the gun. "Damn, private, you really got fucked last night. You're gonna have to clean my pistol when we're done. He wiped the barrel against my ass cheeks, and I could feel how wet and sloppy it had gotten in my hole. He put it back in his holster, and then undid his belt and unzipped his pants. Now it was his turn to use my hole to get off.
He wasn't as huge as Darren, but he wasn't bad: a nice seven inches, and he got really hard. He was only a little softer than a full-up pistol fucking, but hellishy more active. He spit on his cock and got it wet, then with no ceremony, stuffed it in my hole. At least he had spit-lubed it, otherwise it would have almost unbearable. Still, I involuntarily stood up slightly, lessening the impact of the sergeant's tool inside me.
"Whoa private. I didn't tell you to get up." he said, pushing me back down. As I went back down, I could feel the last bit of his cock slide into me, and his balls press against my ass. Just as I had been impaled on his pistol, I was now taking all of his cock. "Don't stop holding that ass open for me. I want to get as deep as possible." He grabbed my waist and started fucking me in ernest.
I could feel his cock churning up all of the cum already there, and I knew that only turned him on more. I could feel his cockhead sliding in and out of my hole, pushing a little deeper, then coming out. Although it was a very uncomfortable position, and I wish there was either more lube on his shaft, or a little more cum in my hole, I had to admit to myself, I was enjoying the fuck. My cock was hard as a rock, and leaking precum into my jock strap. I knew he was going to shoot his wad of jizz into me, and I wanted it.
After a few minutes of pounding my hole, I could feel his intensity increase slightly. I knew he was getting close, and although I liked feeling him inside of me, my legs were getting tired. I also really wanted another load from him, another sign that I hadn't been a complete fuck-up. My wish was soon granted as I heard muffled grunts from him. Then a very forceful pound of his hips, burying his shaft as deep as he could get. Inside me, I felt his cock flare and surge, and a mass of hot jizz spurt into me. A few more pumps from his hips, and a few more spurts of his man-juice. Once more, he had bred me, his DNA now mixing with 12 other men's inside me. He pulled out, shoved his rapidly softening cock in his pants, and zipped up.
"Now wash up private. When you're done, I want you to take this letter to Lt. Colonel Madsen. He's visiting the commander today." The sergeant walks out of the barracks without another word, not even telling me to stand up. I take my time getting up, my hamstrings sore. I can feel his load mixing in with the loads of my fellow soldiers. I take a shower and get dressed. I pull on the same dirty jock strap I've been wearing for the past week. The straps pulling against my ass help remind me why I'm here.
I took the letter he left on my bunk to the commander's office. The secretary had me wait for nearly thirty minutes before the Lt. Colonel was free. I handed him the letter, saying it was from the sergeant. A slight smile passed over his face, and he opened the letter. It took him only a few seconds to read it, his smile growing bigger, ending with a laugh.
"You know what the letter said, private?" he asked me.
"No sir."
"Here. Read it."
I took the letter from him, and unfolded it. It was hand-written in the sergeant's scrawl.
"LTC Madsen- "This is the best piece of ass on base. Enjoy. "Sgt"
I turned bright red. The LTC laughed, and said, "I have an hour free during lunch. There's an empty conference room behind you."