SPOOFING THE SARGE
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM
"What the fuck!" came Sergeant Ingles' raucous voice. Private Merryfield looked up from his own work station. Yep, Sergeant Ingles was at his computer again. The guy just didn't get a lot about computers but the Army these days required him to deal with them on a daily basis.
Private Merryfield had gained his own comfortable station despite his low rank for the same reason in reverse, he was a natural at the computer. He could walk over and tell the staff in a few words just how to fix their computers. So he was given his duty station, his regular job was to input data into the files, there were some 30,000 men on this base and every day, about five percent of them had something or other added to their file. It was enough to keep a private adept at the keyboard busy, especially when there were over fifty staff members ready to interrupt him to find out why their password wouldn't work (they had their cap lock on, usually) or why their toolbar was now along one side of their screen instead of at the top (they had clicked and dragged instead of just clicked).
"Merryfield! Get your ass over here! Now!" Sergeant Ingles growled at him.
"Yes, sir!" Merryfield was baffled by this. Sergeant Ingles was usually at least polite when he had a computer problem. Almost apologetic. But an order was an order, no matter how rudely worded.
He went to Sergeant Ingles' station and, at a gesture from Ingles, came around to look at the screen.
"What the fuck is this?" he demanded.
Merryfield peered. It was an e-mail. The subject line was "Need a quick blowjob? I can deliver, and how!"
Merryfield's cheeks dimpled as he fought back a grin. "I'd say you got a very friendly offer, there, sir." he opined.
"The hell you say! Why'd you send it to me?" Ingles wanted to know.
"Me?" Merryfield looked again. It was his own e-mail address in the "To" line!
He blinked, then realized. "Oh, sir, this is a spoof e-mail."
"I don't care what you call it! Why'd you send me this piece of filth, Private? I can haul your ass up in front of a displinary committee, after I beat the shit out of it!"
"No, no, Sir!" Merryfield said hastily. "I mean, this is a form of a virus."
"What the hell? You said we have anti-virus programs installed and couldn't get viruses!"
"Well, this isn't that sort of virus." Merryfield started. He started to explain that the spoof e-mail would steal an e-mail address from someone's computer (some friend of his had been infiltrated and his e-mail address thus garnered), and it would affix this to the "To" line as a means of persuading people to click the link in the body of the e-mail. That e-mail had to have some sort of clickable link, and if Sergeant Ingles were to click it, it would give the spoof program some more e-mail addresses to use.
But he didn't get very far. "I'm going to delete this crap and don't you ever, EVER, Private, send me an e-mail like this again! I don't think it's funny, you get me!"
"Uh...yes, sir." Merryfield settled for saying. Sergeant Ingles' e-mail couldn't be out there that much. Long before he got another such spoof e-mail, the program would have been vanquished and become defunct. Merryfield would try to broach the subject with Ingles again at a later date, the sergeant needed to learn that just because an e-mail pretended to be from somebody wasn't a guarantee it was from them, any more than a return address meant it was always from that person. Maybe he could send something to Ingles with some faked return address through regular mail and let him see what he was talking about.
Two hours later, he heard, "Damn it, Merryfield! Didn't I tell you not to send me this shit!"
Oh, hell! Merryfield went over again. "I didn't send you that e-mail, sir. I haven't sent an e-mail all day, sir."
"You sent this to me! Look at this fucking thing!"
Merryfield went around and peered. This one said, "God, I need you so bad! My butt is waiting for you!"
"Do you have a butt waiting for me, Private?"
"Sir, I didn't send that e-mail. It's called a spoof e-mail...."
"I don't want to hear about it! Just stop sending these to me, and I mean right now, you hear me!"
"Yes, sir." Merryfield surrendered again. The titters from the rest of the staff told him that most of the others knew what was happening. But none of them were interceding. Probably enjoying the show.
"I get another one of these, and by God, I'll make you wish you were never born, Private!"
"Yes, sir." Merryfield saluted and crawled back to his work station and prayed that the spoof e-mail was going to give Sergeant Ingles' e-mail a rest for a while.
Nothing else happened the rest of that day, and Merryfield thanked whatever was watching over him as he signed off and covered up his monitor with its plastic cover. Sergeant Ingles was still at his station, still fighting that damnable, damnable computer, trying to get his own data entered. Sergeant Ingles really shouldn't be at this particular job, but hell, when did the Army ever ask if a person was qualified for a post before assigning them there? Sergeant Ingles was the next one in line, so he got the job. Someone above him would have to move out before the sergeant would get a break, and even that would probably expose him to more computers, not less.
He planned to get up extra early the next morning, in order to work out for a couple of hours before going to his duty station, and its impending swivel-chair spread. He had won these muscles by dint of sheer hell in the Army, first basic training, then fine-tuning them after, and he was damned if he was going to lose all that wonderfully sexy bulge to a case of computer-itis.
He got into bed and sighed. Why did Ingles fight the computer so hard? It was a machine just like a tank or a machine gun. Ingles understood those, why not a computer?
He fell asleep, only to be awakened by one hell of a racket. Banging on his door. What the fuck? He staggered out of bed, groggily opened the door, to be confronted by an angry face up against his nose-to-nose.
"Private Merryfield, just what the hell is your problem?" Sergeant Ingles (for it was he). "Don't you have anything better to do than send me e-mails telling me how much you want my body?"
"I have sent you any e-mails, Sarge." Private Merryfield started helplessly. "Uh...you got more of them."
"Twelve." Sergeant Ingles informed him. "Each one nastier than the other. Well, Private, I have read them all and I have come to a decision."
"Yes, sir?" Private Merryfield groaned inside. He'd have to explain all this to the disciplinary panel, most of whom knew as little about computers, e-mails, and spoofing as Sergeant Ingles.
"I have decided that if you want it so damned bad, you can have it."
"Sir, I just want to say that...I can have it?"
Sergeant Ingles pushed his way past Private Merryfield and said, "Close that door, Private."
Private Merryfield did, automatically; an order is an order from a superior, after all.
Sergeant Ingles began methodically removing his clothes. Paused with shirt and t-shirt off and said, "You like these, do you?" He said, cupping his breasts like some cheap stripper might. "You said that you dream about sucking on them. You want to suck on these, well, come over here and get your lips on them."
Private Merryfield licked his lips. "Sir, you got me all wrong." he said desperately. "I never sent you a single e-mail today, sir. Why would I send you an e-mail when...."
"Get over here and suck my tit, private." came the peremptory order.
"Sir, I...."
"Now."
Private Merryfield licked his lips again. "Yes, sir." he walked over and bent over, stuck a tentative tongue out to touch one brown nub. The tit was salty-tasting. Sergeant Ingles spent his afternoons working out, and apparently he didn't shower afterwards, or not very well. He did only have an hour for his exertions, after all.
"Suck on it." growled Sergeant Ingles.
Private Merryfield dove down and his lips encircled the brown ring and he suckled at it like a babe at its mother's breast, and Sergeant Ingles groaned. "Ahhh, ahhh, yeah!" he guttered. "You like that, don't you? You love sucking my tits, don't you?"
What other answer dared he give? "Mm-hm." he mumbled his affirmative around Sergeant Ingles' distended nipple, the nub of it hard as a rock now.
"The other one now." panted Sergeant Ingles.
Private Merryfield took the other breast, it was soft and the tip barely discernable, but it firmed up rapidly. He sucked at it like he had the other and Sergeant Ingles groaned the more.
Private Merryfield felt Sergeant Ingles' hands moving at his waist, the hands bumping his own chest. Undoing his pants. He heard a jingle as the pants fell down, and Sergeant Ingles said, "Now, Private, get down and pull down my jockeys."
Actually, Sergeant Ingles was wearing boxers, but he did dispute that, just tugged the yellowish cloth down over the slim hips. What was revealed was a hairy bush from which the penis extended like the neck of a goose.
A big, fat goose! Shit, this dong was a monster!
"You been dreaming about this dick, haven't you? Sergeant Ingles crooned at him. "Been wanting to take it down your throat, feel it throbbing inside you, feel it climbing up into your bowels, feel it drenching you over and over again, all night long."
He must have been quoting the spoof e-mail. What sick personality had written this, anyhow, just to send them to a military address, spoofing a poor private's address to cover his trail and set this up? Was there, somewhere, some geek laughing in his bed at the thought of the mischief he had caused?
"Suck on it, Private." came the order from above his head. "Suck on it, and then I'll drive it up your shit-chute, just like you want me to."
Oh, God! Private Merryfield felt his crotch in disbelief. Shit, he had an enormous erection! He was into this, he was! Shit!
"Suck it, Private." came the order.
Well, an order is an order. He had that much excuse. "Yes, sir." Private Merryfield said and he gulped down that enormous prod, felt it pulsing on his tongue, throbbing in his throat! God, this is what it felt like, sucking another man's cock! He knew how, theoretically, but it was extraordinary how easy it was! Maybe it was the fact he was turned on, but he didn't have any trouble at all deep-throating this huge prick, he was taking it like a pro, like the best hooker he'd ever heard of, or seen on a video, taking it down, all the way down! He slid up and down upon the pud, milking it in a way he couldn't milk those tits above, for in this prong he tasted the salty fluid pouring out with every stroke, strong, tangy precome that slicked up his tongue and made his mouth water for more!
Sergeant Ingles was growling above him like some hungry beast, and he muttered, "Damn, Private, you're as good at sucking my cock as you said you'd be. I just hope that ass of yours is as tight as you promised. Now, get up again, time for me to prong you up that sweet little ass."
Private Merryfield was panting, from his exertions or from his incipient lust, stood and skinned out of his briefs, not caring that the sergeant saw his prick jutting out like a slavering hound, he was past pretending he didn't want this, he did, damn it, he did! Hell of a way to find out he liked swinging on a man's dong, though!
He bent over, but when Sergeant Ingles' prod stuck between his buttocks, it didn't fit. Private Merryfield put one foot on the bed in front of him, that spread his cheeks wide. And when that prick aimed at him again, the only contact was at the little pink pucker between those hairy butt-cheeks of his!
God, it hurt! Sergeant Ingles wasn't gentle, and that prong was a fat one! Shit, it was like he was being split in two!
Yet in the wake of the fire of pain came a wave of pleasure. The waters of delight washed over the yet-burning embers of his anguish and extinguished them. By the time Sergeant Ingles' prod had plunged in to the hilt, back out, and back in again, the pain was only a memory.
"Ahhh, ahh, shit!" Private Merryfield groaned. "Fuck me, Sarge, fuck me, sir, please!"
"Yeah, Private, you wanted this so fucking much, you're going to get it." Sergeant Ingles snarled as his hips bucked at the hapless private's buttocks. "You begged me to give this to you over and over again, well, that's what you're getting tonight, Private. Over and over again!"
"Oh, God, yes, sir, yes!" Private Merryfield moaned. "Oh, God, sir, yes!"
A rough palm pushed him down onto the bed, and he bounced as he landed. But Sergeant Ingles was right behind him and before the mattress settled down, that dong was once again buried in Merryfield's ass.
"All night long." murmured Sergeant Ingles in Merryfield's ear. "All night, over and over."
"Oh, God!" Merryfield moaned, and with that whisper, that knowledge of the hard dong which was going to stay there, buried in him, throbbing in him, pulsing in him, pumping in him, Merryfield groaned and he was spasming in orgasm. His cock spurted into the covers and Sergeant Ingles grunted as Merryfield's ass clutched at him in the throes of his ejaculation.
"Oh, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod!" Merryfield moaned as he squirted into the sheets. "Ohhh, oohh, ohhhhhhhh!"
"You like it, don't you?" murmured Sergeant Ingles in his ear. "You went and shot your wad just from the feel of it, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir, oh, yes!" moaned Merryfield. "Oh, ohhh!"
"Well, I'm not half done yet, private!" Sergeant Ingles said. His cock began to ram into Merryfield's ass, and Merryfield could only groan as that prod awakened him once again. And when Sergeant Ingles finally came, Merryfield wasn't that far behind him, hitting his climax as Sergeant Ingles concluded his.
"Damn, you got a hot ass on you, Private." muttered Ingles in his lassitude. "I knew you would, just from the look of it." And the sturdy sergeant fell asleep, his cock still deep in Merryfield's bowels.
He fucked Merryfield twice more during the night, and when reveille sounded, he groaned and turned over. Merryfield was more of a morning person, he got out of bed easily, though the pain in his ass (and the stickiness) required some attention. He showered and dressed while Sergeant Ingles made it from horizontal to a sitting position on the bed.
"Shit, I'm all sticky in the prick from your ass, Private." said the sergeant, rubbing his hair which was all disarranged.
"You can use my shower, sir." Merryfield said. "I need to leave now, sir, if you don't mind."
"Nah, go ahead, I'm all fucked out from that hot ass of yours." the sergeant waved him away.
Merryfield did; he had intended to go to breakfast, but the words "hot ass" reminded him. That comment in the post-coital weakness, did that mean...?
Nobody else was at their work station yet, he had the place to himself. He turned on his workstation and logged in. And checked old e-mail.
There they were. All the "spoof" e-mails that had been sent to Sergeant Ingles. From him to him.
But that wasn't all. There were a similar number from the Sergeant to him! He peered closer, the incoming mail from the sergeant was only a minute from the outgoing mail from him. Further, those e-mails had come in/gone out at times when Merryfield had been away from his desk and logged off per regulations!
Shit! Sergeant Ingles may not know shit about spoof e-mails...but he knew how to send regular e-mails, and all the workstations were on the same system. If Sergeant Ingles had somehow discovered Merryfield's password, he could wait until Merryfield had logged out and left his workstation, send the e-mails, then log out and log back in to Merryfield's own account, copy the e-mails over into Private Merryfield's own e-mail and then send them back to himself, then log out again before Merryfield returned! And later, after Merryfield was back at his desk and hard at work, the sergeant would suddenly "discover" them!
Private Merryfield changed his password (naturally), then considered this predicament carefully for a time. When an early-arriving secretary came in and looked at him curiously, he shook himself and raced off to get his breakfast. It wouldn't do to be seen here when Sergeant Ingles came in and discovered he was now locked out of Merryfield's account and couldn't compose fake e-mails, at least until he managed to get the password again.
When he did arrive at the regular time, he saw Ingles sitting at his computer and frowning. Merryfield grinned, sat down at his own workstation, and composed an e-mail of his own to his spoofing sergeant. Its subject was "Ready for more action tonight, and you get to suck me this time, Sarge!"
He hit send and, a moment later, was rewarded with a startled, "What the fuck? Merryfield?" And this time, Sergeant Ingles' anguish was the genuine article!
"Oh, dear." one of the secretaries commiserated. "The sergeant must have been spoofed again." Sergeant Ingles glared at her, but didn't say anything else.
"I guess he was. At least now we know what's going on." Merryfield said where the sergeant could hear. That earned him a glare from the sergeant, but nothing more. Sergeant Ingles knew when he was beaten.
Merryfield dimpled in impish glee. He would send several more "spoof e-mails" to the horny sergeant during the course of the day. All sorts of suggestions about what they could do in bed together.
It would make his nights more interesting.
THE END
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