Disclaimer: If you are a minor or if you are offended by stories involving verbal abuse, rough sex and degradation, please read no futher! Otherwise enjoy:)
In most men there is a cruelty that is both repulsive and extremely arousing, especially for someone who loves the alpha male. It is that cruelty that allows men to hunt, kill in the field of battle and push others to their breaking point. Either through their über macho upbringing or military training (or both) they have hardened their emotions to a degree where they can do things that are cruel and frightening. You can see it in their eyes, that cold, serious, hungry stare. It's a stare that means business. I've seen that stare, because it's the same one men give when they want to fuck you deep.
He doesn't care if you're a virgin or that you've never done it before, in fact those things turn him on more. A type of animal instinct to fuck overtakes him and he goes to his task, not deterred by anything that gets in the way, not your inhibitions or even your discomfort. It's about him. He is selfish and acting on an instinctive urge to spread his seed, regardless of whether the ground is fertile or simply an outlet.
That is what turns me on most about military men. Many of them have those traits and in them it is cultivated and nurtured. Its what allows them to kill if necessary. When I get that look from a military guy I know I'm in for it one way or another and I'm going to get it good. It's both frightening but extremely erotic. Do I care that it's all about him, that he's a selfish asshole that just wants to use me? No; it's that attitude, the selfishness and cruelty that turns me on.
My experience with "the Sergeant" was like that. He wasn't my Sergeant. I wasn't in the military (though the military was in me). In fact I never knew his real name. We didn't speak much. He gave orders and I obeyed. He was married I assumed, since he had a ring on his finger. He also only came by on weekdays, after work, since he was always dressed in an army tee and fatigues. I'd met him through Craigstlist and he knew what I was looking for: rough, aggressive sex, no tenderness, no cuddling, just fucking- no reciprocation needed. And that is what I got. My only notice was a knock at my door. I'd open up, he'd come in. I could smell him when he walked through the door. His natural musk mixed and a day's sweat and the faint smell of his aftershave. He smelled like a man, strong, virile; his scent was an aphrodisiac. His figure towered over mine by several inches and he was built and beefy. He must have been about 15 years older than me, a real man's man, all of the things I was not. I was lean with a swimmers build; only light hair grew on my body. We looked like a father and teenage son.
We made eye contact long enough for me to know he'd had a rough day and needed some relief and I saw that look. "Strip" he said firmly. He was used to giving orders; I could tell. I took off my clothes for him and stood in front of him like a private waiting for inspection. He looked me over once and walked around me. Making me undress for him was usually part of the routine. I think it made him feel superior, stronger. There was no doubt that he was the alpha in the room and I was just his young fuck toy.
Without a warning he stuck his thick middle finger roughly up my asshole, as deep as it would go. I gasped in surprise. It was like he was giving my bowels the finger, as if in saying "You're getting fucked". Luckily I had prepped, but even then it hurt because of the abruptness. He pushed his finger in and out, then two. I winced and gasped but he had no regard for my discomfort. I tried to move forward, but he held me firmly in place. I knew that was all the foreplay I was likely to get.
He withdrew his fingers and then dragged me down the hall by my arm into my bedroom and bent me over the bed, forcing me down by my neck. I could hear him fumbling with his belt and I got that feeling in my stomach that I'd gotten as a child right before a spanking: dread, although something in me really wanted this too. The feeling of being at a man's mercy both scared and aroused me. The moment I felt his cock slide between my ass cheeks I knew it was over, there was no stopping. I just had to hold on and ride the turbulent waters until it was over. There was no way he was letting me off easy today, I thought as I prepared myself.
He pushed his cock all the way in so fast that I yelled out, his huge, raging shaft of steel splitting me wide open. I felt his hand grasp my shoulder as he pulled it out all the way and then stuck it in me again, harder. I yelled out again, but he didn't care. His mission was to fuck, to dump his load. I could feel every ounce of his frustration pushing into me, giving him some relief, but tearing me a new one. I was just a vehicle to relieve that pent up stress, from his mind to his balls.
"Fucking queer!" he yells. What have I gotten myself into I think, why I am doing this again, but I know why. I like it rough and being used. The Sergeant is gonna fuck me and I have no choice but to take it. I'm being used in the best and worst way and something about this masculine, hardcore stud just turns me on, even though the pain of enduring him brings me to the limit.
I can feel his hairy balls and crotch slamming into me. I'm nothing more than a fuck hole to him and he is enjoying abusing me. Sure he can see the way my face contorts in pain, but it's just an ego booster, reassuring him about the massive size of his cock and how he is the one in control; maybe some young private frustrated him or a superior gave him an order he didn't like, whatever it was, he was taking it out by impaling me on his fat, fucking pole.
"Is this what you want faggot" he yells and rams it in again. I am clawing the sheets now as my ass is being brutally taken. He spits on his cock and rams it in again, all the way. I cry out. He leans forward, grabs my head by the hair and turns my face sideways and spits in my face, "Faggot! You want a man in your ass," he yells loudly. "Yes Sergeant", I mutter out, through the pain, his verbal torment only turning me on more.
He continues his fucking, picking up the pace like a man possessed. He never lets up. He is like a fucking machine. His legs are tight and muscled, and flex with each thrust as do the cheeks on his hairy clenched ass as he pummels me. He rams his manhood in and out, never losing his perfect fucking rhythm. The headboard is now pounding against the wall with each quick thrust. He slaps my ass hard, several times. "I'm gonna fuck you good today sissy" he yells and starts fucking even harder.
He's a father figure to me, fucking me raw, proving to me he is still the one in charge. I am the boy, trying to prove that I can take it, I can be a man; both of us are engaged in this primal act, rough, raw, and not censoring ourselves in any way, letting go of all inhibitions. Tears are in my eyes as my tender hole is pounded mercilessly. I just have to hang on, I tell myself, he's gonna cum soon.
But the fucking isn't over yet. He pulls out of me, yanks off his remaining closes and boots. He stands on top of the bed and pulls me up by reaching under my arms. I'm easy weight for him and in seconds, he has me up to the headboard and my ass is sticking up in the air. Then mounts me, pressing my face firmly into the mattress with his foot on my face and balancing with the other.
He rams his cock into my me again, I squeal. My ass is his and he knows it. I'm not going anywhere. I am helpless. He fucks me savagely, keeping his foot on my face. His balls are starting to stick against my ass as he slams in; I can feel his sweat dripping on me; his masculine scent is in my nose. He's never fucked me like this before, I can't take much more, I think, worried about my poor asshole. His fucking continues, part of me thinks it will never end while the other doesn't really want it to.
Finally he pulls his cock out of me, flips me over and sits on my chest with his furry, sweaty legs on each side of me. I am looking up at him as he stokes his cock furiously. His face red and sweat streaked and I notice his finely chiseled chest as the muscles flex while he jerks off. His eyes are closed, his breathing is hard and then the moment is at hand, his face tightens, he opens his eyes, looks down at me, grunts and aims his cock at my face just as his cum starts to erupt freely, shooting hard and warm against my skin, covering my eyes, mouth, nose, forehead, stream after stream of hot cream. He's marking me as his conquest and his submissive.
After he's finished, he wipes his spent cockhead across my lips, his expression more relaxed but still stern. He pushes his spent shaft between my lips and into mouth, "clean it bitch", he barks as I suck his cock head and shaft, cleaning it with delicacy and thoroughness.
He pulls out of my mouth, grabs my hair and tell me to "Open". I obey and he spits in my mouth and then on my face. "Don't forget you're my bitch," he says, "I'll see you on Monday, faggot" and then he puts his clothes and boots and leaves without a backward glance.
I'm lying there, every ounce of energy drained, my ass is on fire, but my cock is rock hard. I jerk off, cumming a few seconds later, tasting him, smelling him and knowing that I can't wait until he fucks me again.
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