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Literotica Guru
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- Feb 15, 2012
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Robert A. Hawkins, Private First Class, US Army
Height 6'0"
Weight 165lbs
Medium build with no tattoos or piercings. Hairless physique. Sandy brown hair in a crew-cut. Almond shaped hazel eyes. Squared chin, thin lips. Never married and no children.
That's what I wanted to see, butts, butts, butts. The women were wearing their PT shorts that gave them better range of motion and when they stretched out, the fabric would hug to the curvature of their backsides. They were big, small, firm, and phat. Butts for every taste. Most of the women wore sports bras that would keep them from running free, but you could see them.
"What are you looking at, Private Summers?" a powerful voice called out from behind me, causing my body to spin around. Looking up it was the powerful figure of Beachhead approaching me with his face covered by a balaclava.
"Just seeing what's going on, sir" I replied nervously. My face started to turn white out of fear. He was a towering figure, well crafted. He could break my mind and body with his sadistic persona.
Before he caught me I was looking over a roofing rail down into a large bay room where several women of the unit were practicing their PT using new yoga techniques. We had that much down time that the unit, GI JOE, was trying out new things to keep the people in shape and work on their minds. Apparently Beachhead didn't prescribe to them. He would make people run 15 km a day to make an example out of them. He walked past me, grasped the railing, and peered over. His eyes scanned the area, then he paused. I couldn't tell if he was smiling or what, but after a moment he looked at me then turned and walked off without a word.
Well, he wasn't smoking me, so I guess I'm off the hook, but with his booming voice, chances are that I was made and had to back out of there, otherwise the women would be on me, and it wouldn't end well.
One thing I liked about this unit since I joined a year ago was their acceptance of women, and there were a few good-looking ones. There was a former beauty model named Courtney Krieger. There was a crimson redhead, a hot one, but deadly named Shana O'Hara, and brunette named Alison R. Hart.
Oh, another thing about this unit, no one uses their real names. It was all code names to stay covert. Krieger was 'Cover Girl'. She had a big butt, large, firm, and smooth. She liked to wear shorts to show it off.
Shana was 'Scarlett', she was a bubble butt. A nice, perfect bubble butt that would take a good spanking. I would describe it like marshmallow cheeks, fun to play with.
Hart was 'Lady Jaye', she had a jogger's firm butt. Not bubble, but firm.
Code names like that were, from what I heard, to be earned in the field. I hadn't earned a code name yet, but if this kept up it would be 'Pervert'.
Oh, where are my manners? My name is Robert A. Hawkins, Private First Class, US Army. After completing Basic Training I was asked to join this covert op. I accepted it thinking that it would be better than Green Berets or SEALs, but I for the year here, I haven't done much of anything except cleaning rooms, weapons, and eying the women. Scarlett was the best, in my opinion. She had a good body and that long red hair in a low ponytail, she had a commanding presence about where when she walked about. Some men feared her, but many wanted to pound her.
Leaving the yoga area I walked to the motor pool to see if there was anything to do, or else I would go to my room and rub one out to take the edge off of things.
I knew some of the ops this place was running. We were fighting against global terrorism, but we were fighting a foe bigger than the Taliban, Al Qaeda and even Communism. It was an enemy known as Cobra. Unlike our previous foes, Cobra was fighting with more covert ways, bank transactions, blackmail, smuggling. A few times I was in the Ops Room watching the take down of some far-flung stronghold. Our people would HALO insert and take them down, destroy the place, and discretely exit the area before anyone knew what hit them. That's what I wanted, one of those people-an unknown American hero. Missions like that would never been known to the public if ever. They were more likely to be talked about between grizzled old veterans at the bar. But I wanted my own memories of danger and heroism. I wanted it to be more than watching the women do yoga.
Going down the hall I passed other Joes as they laughed and played video games in one of the rooms. Those were Operators, not for me. I had a small room all to myself. It was big enough for the door to swing open, a cot, and for my stuff stuffed underneath. Closing and locking the door, I sat down in the dark room at the edge of my cot. Running my fingers through my bristling short hair and letting out a long, frustrated sigh, "What am I doing with my life?" speaking to myself.
All I could do was jerk off into a sock at the dream that it was Scarlett, somehow she would sneak into my room while I'm sleeping, slide under my blankets, hover between my legs, unzip and open the fly and take my member into her mouth and gingerly suck on me. It would be enough to wake me up, throw off the cover and her green eyes stare at me, but she didn't stop sucking. That is until she pulls open her blouse, slides her fun bags around the meat and give a sloppy tit fuck. That would be enough to drive me off the edge. I try to moan, but a gloved hand would reach out and clasp around my throat. Her eyes stabbed into mine. To speak would mean death. She took the head back into her mouth slowly yawning wide and take the shaft down to the sack then hold it there as my cock throbbed and spat cum down her throat. Her eyes tightened as the tangy fluid spurt and coated her throat. When the last drop was forced out she would slowly put it back inside the pants, zip it up, and silently slide out of the room without a word.
Then, I woke up.
"Augh! Not again" I sighed. I came in my sleep and splattered on my clothes. A dream. It was a dream, again. This was my life.
Height 6'0"
Weight 165lbs
Medium build with no tattoos or piercings. Hairless physique. Sandy brown hair in a crew-cut. Almond shaped hazel eyes. Squared chin, thin lips. Never married and no children.
That's what I wanted to see, butts, butts, butts. The women were wearing their PT shorts that gave them better range of motion and when they stretched out, the fabric would hug to the curvature of their backsides. They were big, small, firm, and phat. Butts for every taste. Most of the women wore sports bras that would keep them from running free, but you could see them.
"What are you looking at, Private Summers?" a powerful voice called out from behind me, causing my body to spin around. Looking up it was the powerful figure of Beachhead approaching me with his face covered by a balaclava.
"Just seeing what's going on, sir" I replied nervously. My face started to turn white out of fear. He was a towering figure, well crafted. He could break my mind and body with his sadistic persona.
Before he caught me I was looking over a roofing rail down into a large bay room where several women of the unit were practicing their PT using new yoga techniques. We had that much down time that the unit, GI JOE, was trying out new things to keep the people in shape and work on their minds. Apparently Beachhead didn't prescribe to them. He would make people run 15 km a day to make an example out of them. He walked past me, grasped the railing, and peered over. His eyes scanned the area, then he paused. I couldn't tell if he was smiling or what, but after a moment he looked at me then turned and walked off without a word.
Well, he wasn't smoking me, so I guess I'm off the hook, but with his booming voice, chances are that I was made and had to back out of there, otherwise the women would be on me, and it wouldn't end well.
One thing I liked about this unit since I joined a year ago was their acceptance of women, and there were a few good-looking ones. There was a former beauty model named Courtney Krieger. There was a crimson redhead, a hot one, but deadly named Shana O'Hara, and brunette named Alison R. Hart.
Oh, another thing about this unit, no one uses their real names. It was all code names to stay covert. Krieger was 'Cover Girl'. She had a big butt, large, firm, and smooth. She liked to wear shorts to show it off.
Shana was 'Scarlett', she was a bubble butt. A nice, perfect bubble butt that would take a good spanking. I would describe it like marshmallow cheeks, fun to play with.
Hart was 'Lady Jaye', she had a jogger's firm butt. Not bubble, but firm.
Code names like that were, from what I heard, to be earned in the field. I hadn't earned a code name yet, but if this kept up it would be 'Pervert'.
Oh, where are my manners? My name is Robert A. Hawkins, Private First Class, US Army. After completing Basic Training I was asked to join this covert op. I accepted it thinking that it would be better than Green Berets or SEALs, but I for the year here, I haven't done much of anything except cleaning rooms, weapons, and eying the women. Scarlett was the best, in my opinion. She had a good body and that long red hair in a low ponytail, she had a commanding presence about where when she walked about. Some men feared her, but many wanted to pound her.
Leaving the yoga area I walked to the motor pool to see if there was anything to do, or else I would go to my room and rub one out to take the edge off of things.
I knew some of the ops this place was running. We were fighting against global terrorism, but we were fighting a foe bigger than the Taliban, Al Qaeda and even Communism. It was an enemy known as Cobra. Unlike our previous foes, Cobra was fighting with more covert ways, bank transactions, blackmail, smuggling. A few times I was in the Ops Room watching the take down of some far-flung stronghold. Our people would HALO insert and take them down, destroy the place, and discretely exit the area before anyone knew what hit them. That's what I wanted, one of those people-an unknown American hero. Missions like that would never been known to the public if ever. They were more likely to be talked about between grizzled old veterans at the bar. But I wanted my own memories of danger and heroism. I wanted it to be more than watching the women do yoga.
Going down the hall I passed other Joes as they laughed and played video games in one of the rooms. Those were Operators, not for me. I had a small room all to myself. It was big enough for the door to swing open, a cot, and for my stuff stuffed underneath. Closing and locking the door, I sat down in the dark room at the edge of my cot. Running my fingers through my bristling short hair and letting out a long, frustrated sigh, "What am I doing with my life?" speaking to myself.
All I could do was jerk off into a sock at the dream that it was Scarlett, somehow she would sneak into my room while I'm sleeping, slide under my blankets, hover between my legs, unzip and open the fly and take my member into her mouth and gingerly suck on me. It would be enough to wake me up, throw off the cover and her green eyes stare at me, but she didn't stop sucking. That is until she pulls open her blouse, slides her fun bags around the meat and give a sloppy tit fuck. That would be enough to drive me off the edge. I try to moan, but a gloved hand would reach out and clasp around my throat. Her eyes stabbed into mine. To speak would mean death. She took the head back into her mouth slowly yawning wide and take the shaft down to the sack then hold it there as my cock throbbed and spat cum down her throat. Her eyes tightened as the tangy fluid spurt and coated her throat. When the last drop was forced out she would slowly put it back inside the pants, zip it up, and silently slide out of the room without a word.
Then, I woke up.
"Augh! Not again" I sighed. I came in my sleep and splattered on my clothes. A dream. It was a dream, again. This was my life.
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