Never Bet Against Army

He looked at me.

From the darkest recesses of the room, the big black man spotted me alone nursing my signature drink. He tried his best to make me feel vulnerable and inferior with his mesmerizing eyes piercing through my very soul. Yet, the only thing I ever truly felt in his presence was awkward.

Truth be told, I had no business back there other than my lust looking for a few missing military men. And when I found the fifteen or so men back there in the master bedroom, I knew then that I should’ve left well enough alone, especially with every pair of eyes in there glued to the big-screen television in front of them.

It was a sight to behold. A man stripped of his clothes at knifepoint strapped to an unusual chair tilted back with his legs spread and strapped apart. Between his feet was a man in a service uniform lubing up a neon green jelly dong attaching it to a fuck machine. The uniformed man then used his hand to spread apart the butt cheeks of the strapped man in his quest for perfectly aligning the jellied dong with the puckered hole.

“Here’s my favorite part, fellas!” An anonymous voice from the front of the crowded room boasted.

The uniformed man on the screen then used a remote to control the machine, and by doing so slowly nudged the bunghole of the strapped man. As the fuck machine with the neon green dildo pumped into the strapped man, the uniformed man allowed a sinister smirk to widen over his face as he got off on cracking the machine to full blast listening to his captive snivel like a little bitch.

The big black man in the corner tipped his beer bottle at me, letting me know he was still looking my way. There was nothing particularly special about the man, outside of being the typical masculine type: tall, beefy, and attractive except he was uglier than bullshit with a scowl and chest hair sprouting out on ends of his collared shirt. His temples were graying, though his face was still quite youthful to be comfortably called “daddy” instead of “granddaddy” as I tipped my cup in return and gave him a slow wink.

I turned my attention back over to the screen where the machine tortured the strapped man by dildo-fucking him harder and faster with each ferocious thrust, morphing his tamed chute into a gaping abyss. Twenty minutes of heavenly hell later, the machine forced the strapped man to squirt his juices right in his face without even touching himself.

The video continued for fifteen minutes more when it became painfully clear the fuck machine was nothing more than a start to freehand an even larger jelly dildo. One that was just plain too big for even the most eager and experienced of dildo connoisseurs.

“What became of the poor bastard?” I whispered to the black man gripping a beer bottle once I put two and two together that he was the uniformed officer in the video.

“Porn, I heard,” he said imperturbable.

“I was talking about the poor bastard in the uniform.” I lamely joked.

He took a refreshing sip of his beer. “Marine, retired. As for the other poor bastard,” he felt compelled to append. “My men started pulling a train on his sweet ass but he never got enough dick. The younguns never do.”

He took another hard gulp of his beer and gave me a slow wink.

Rather than coming back at him with some bullshit about not being a kid anymore or even a dick-whore, I simply added, “That’s because there aren’t too many dicks around with that much to offer anymore.”

“Touché,” he winked again as if he was quietly letting me know he had plenty to bring to the table. “But sometimes the problem is that too many of you give it all away to the first big dick that comes around. Nobody wants well-used sloppy seconds.”

“True.” I laughed quietly and soon added to another one of his infamous winks. “All that winking isn’t going to get you my name, you know?”

“Neither is being a wise ass. But you do try so hard. The name is Mike,” he shook my hand as I gave the awful bastard my name.

Mike talked a bit more about his co-starring role as the uniformed man with the remote-control fuck machine. He said that it was a scene from five years ago when he was first showing off his domineering expertise to his friends that were obviously still popular to this day.

Mike continued to talk about the many things he had done over the years, none of which had anything more to do with his reasons for being at the party. But he was more than happy to explain that his antics on the video were on the mild side of many of the debauch schemes he had learned later, something that wasn’t entirely in sync with the theme of the overall party.

“What are you?” Mike finally asked.

“What am I?” I paused before I got the sense of his question. “Coast Guard,” I boasted proudly, remembering quickly that every man at the party belonged to some branch of the armed forces.

“Active?”

“Yeah,” I beamed. My lifelong realization of being in the Guard always brought a huge smile to my face—away from the duty at hand, of course.

“Who are you rooting for?” Mike asked.

The intent of the party was to bring together masculine gay men from across the country that had served in the armed forces down to San Diego to converge on one of the biggest battles in military history: Army vs. Navy.

“Navy,” I spat since both of us were in aquatic branches of the armed forces that it was a natural given that we would be rooting for another aquatic branch, right?

As a rule of thumb, football was my least favorite sport. It wasn’t that I hated it. I just didn’t care for it a great deal, or to be more precise, understand enough of the game to really give a damn.

“Navy, huh? Care to make a wager on that?” Mike said to the backdrop of the strapped man mewling in agony, finding it a bit more difficult to take the jumbo-sized dildo.

Because I was raised to stick with my first instinct and never become a backpedaling punk, I said with a smile, “Sure, how much are you willing to put up?”

“I was thinking I would take you out and ride your sweet ass ‘til morning.”

“Ha!” I chuckled nervously knowing that he was as serious as a heart attack. But I had to play it off with, “and what if I win?”

“I was thinking that was win-win either way.”

“Are you generally this forward?”

“Try to be. Retired from games, too,” Mike added, taking his last swig of beer.

Of course, I wasn’t crazy enough to take him up on his bizarre and demented proposition since, according to him, I had only seen him at his mildest, by way of video. I did however agree to a proposition that was just as interesting and just as win-win. I agreed to go out with him, though—if he won—but only with the promise of letting him show me some more of his domineering expertise. But if I won, he would have to submit to whatever I wanted to do for a day.

We shook on it.

Navy won.

*          *          *          *          *

Close to a year later, Mike and I were living together. The first few months it was heavenly bliss, but over the past few weeks the bastard was getting edgy and getting close to crossing the line.

Before I got entangled with Mike, I was very vanilla when it came to sex. I was deathly afraid of venturing beyond the typical suck and fuck routine given his “vast” experience at everything. Even letting him screw me with the big crazy uncircumcised pisser of his was like the Great American challenge. It was hard for me to get through his thick head that being on the receiving end of dick was a relatively new concept for me, especially since he was never tender in using it. As he figured the best way to break a poor guy like me in was to shove it all back there in one merciless stroke. And since he was bound to my vanilla sex by monogamy, the only way he got his sadistic fix was by hearing me squeal like a slaughtered pig.

I accepted it—that was part of the problem.

The bastard was chipping away at my curiosity even then. Of course, I was too damn naïve to even know it. But he knew it. Deep down, I think he was proud of that, too. He was corrupting my psyche to the next possible level with each humiliating fuck. I never got use to him ramming me at full force. I did—overtime—curve my wild girlie shrills into obscure hoarse grunts.

The bastard even came ugly, like the sadistic freak that he was. He would fuck me relentlessly long and hard, and when it came time for him to pop his cork, he made sure that his enormous dick was somewhere in the middle my canal. As his hot cream filled me up to the brim, he would start to pull out bit by bit and fuck me again with his cream as lube until he came once more. With his second—or third—sometimes forth—load—whenever he lost the will to fuck again, he would put the messy cum-drenched thing in front of my face for me to tongue bathe each and every time.

I loved him, I told myself at night. There could be no other reason I would let him, a stranger, months earlier, humiliate me as he did. I was beginning to understand that it was not love that I had for him—it was pure submission.

That was when things went from bad to worse.

A couple of months after lapping up his cummy dick, he would hold me close at night and whisper in my ear (when he thought I was asleep) and tell me that I was nothing more than a cum-hungry slut. That my only purpose in life was to be his cumdump. I confronted him, of course, but he said he must’ve been asleep when he muttered those words because he would never say such a thing in conscious. In a silent protest, I started sleeping in a lounge chair in a corner of the room. And, in protest of my previous protest, he got a dog, knowing full well that dogs were one of my greatest phobias. The dog fell in love with the lounge chair, and I slept curled up next to the dog basket that his mutt never used.

Along with calling me his cum-whore, which he later confessed to doing after I stopped using my mouth to clean off his slimy dick, Mike started popping in some of his homemade escapades much like the one that first brought us together. The tapes were mild, according to him, ranging from torturing one poor bottom with a dick wand that doubled as a enema shower accessory to holding a scared little twink at gunpoint while he bounced on a dick ball for an hour and a half, simply for his barbaric amusement. Either way, once the tape started, Mike pulled out his masturbator and spewed once the tape came to a dastardly end. I wasn’t bothered by it—at first. After some time, however, I started to think about all that cum going to waste and the way it tasted right before I gulped it down. Too, I had to admit to myself I missed the salty taste of his flesh. The thought drove me crazy to the point of obsession. One morning, I thought by waking him up with a freshly brewed blowjob that I would be back in his good graces. But all the bastard did was slap me away, first with his spit-shined dick and then with the palm of his big, callused paw. I retreated to my place next to the dog basket. I got desperate, pitiful even. I started smelling and licking the hole of his well-used masturbator just for the pure flavor of him. Then one night, my greedy taste buds got the best of me licking dried crud from his masturbator when he caught me red-handed out of his sleep.

He punished me for waking him up.

He threw me onto the bed, belly down, climbed on top of me and rammed into me, again and again as his big hand pushed my shoulders into the mattress. Unlike the routine I’d grown used to, of cleaning off his mighty dick, of saving his gag-guzzling load for my throat, threatening to do me bodily harm if I dared drooled a drop, he rammed into me one final time and unloaded into me, coming and coming again with no regard to my muffled whimpers into the fitted sheets.

And when I cursed him at the top of my lungs with a sore hole still pinned to the bed, he threatened to show my commanding officers the disobedient cum-sucker I had become with a video we made prior.

Something else powerful happened that night, too—our climax—the one that had been building between us since the night of the football party. The night he went from controlling me like a lovingly abusive boyfriend to owning me like a slave of a god.

Before, our sex was our sex—my submission, his control. This ceased to exist after that night going from his dick to his sex to his violent loads pumping their way into me. And whenever he permitted it, I was the joyful recipient of my ass and mouth and body after he finished using them for his amusement.

He kept them instead, after that night. I was exhausted, spent, and no longer went back to belonging to me.

Then one glorious day, after another night of using me and discarding me like a snot-wad of toilet tissue, Mike woke my unclothed body off the floor. He was fuming mad, hollering at me like a drill sergeant that he was going to teach me a lesson about my unruliness. Half-sleep half-wake, Mike led me down to the basement where he cuffed my wrists to the dingy brick wall.

I was fully awake when I almost gagged on the oily rag he stuffed in my mouth. My gags soon turned into muffled screams once I saw the metal pole of the fuck machine pointed directly between my legs.

“Got your attention now, Fuck Hole!” Mike scowled.

Mike turned on the machine. It jabbed at me. Because of my present position, at the time, I knew that it couldn’t do anything to me. Even so, I also knew that my position was only temporary even in my most adamant of fights. Just as if the bastard was reading the script from my worst nightmare, Mike grabbed some heavy rope and bounded my ankles together. He then took the rope tied to my feet and hung them on a hook that was anchored to a wooden beam that perfectly covered the fuck machine that jabbed underneath my legs. As I braced for the worse, I was praying he was kind enough to lube the pole underneath me. Mike surprised me. Not pleasantly, but graciously nonetheless, by stuffing a cold metal lubed butt plug in my hole, saving me from the ravishing machine.

He left.

After being suspended in solitude for a few hours, my muscles and hole began to balk. I tried several times to expel the plug. And without thinking about it, just like that, it was out free and clear as if I really wished it out. At the same time, however, my feet were dropping from the hook. And before I could recuperate from the agonizing pain of my heels slamming against the brick wall, I felt the whip of a swift blade free my feet from its bounds. When I saw my rescuer, I was even more astonished than I was with the butt plug. Mike was not my rescuer. My rescuer was instead a kinky-haired kid with worm-like twists coming out of his scalp that couldn’t have possibly been a day over twenty-eight. Stranger than that, the guy looked oddly familiar, which was odd in and of itself because there weren’t a ton of new faces I often came across. Other than my work, life revolved around Mike, and Mike hardly had any friends other than his old Semper Fi buddies.

The new guy said nothing.

The guy seemed quite content with me just hanging there as he stripped his clothes from his Nutter Butter exterior and pulled from the dark corner of the room an oddly familiar chair that tilted back equipped with leg restraints. The part that got me was the guy had it facing me. With the machine turned towards the chair and the seat of the chair facing me, the guy retreated to the dark corner. He reappeared with a plastic-covered box. On one side was a picture of a really buffed light-skinned black man in a pair of suggestive briefs, and on the other side was the picture of a long black dildo professing twelve inches long and realistic.

The guy slathered it with a thick white lube from a jar and anchored it to a fuck machine. He strapped his long legs and feet next to the angled chair around the aligned dildo. Other than looking familiar in the face, he also had a freakishly long limp dick that mushroom head nestled itself in the groove of his morbidly bigger ball sac, which from my visibility happened to cover a handsome bit of ass crack.

Mike soon reappeared. He and the stranger indulged in each other in a staring contest. I just happened to notice that unlike before, Mike was sporting his new leather chaps. To say the least, it wasn’t the first time I had seen him dressed in his finest leather attire. It was however the first time that he dressed up for me—or rather for him.

Mike ignored me like I wasn’t even there devoting his undivided attention to this new guy. From his strapping his bulging arms to the chair to fingering his hole with the thick lube, which made everyone hard. And when he got the machine property in place to fuck the guy with ease, Mike disappeared back up the stairs.

Watching the guy getting fucked was like watching a train wreck. Simply, it was hard not to watch, especially from his bloodcurdling shrieks every time the makeshift balls of the long fat dildo smacked dead against his giving hole at a speed only a manmade device could deliver. Even my own hole ached in empathy. But after what sounded like a screeching microphone cutting off, his insane screams ended abruptly. Even more astounding was the expression of his face, like getting fucked by that huge thing was some sort of luxurious spa treatment.

“Should’ve packed some gum in my mouth,” the kink-haired stranger calmly articulated.

Because I still had the rag in my mouth, my words were limited to gagging muffles, but I was thinking everything all at once. Just as if he was reading my thoughts too, the guy answered each question racing through my mind meticulously. The gum was to sooth his throat. The screaming was nothing more than pure theatrics for Mike. He said Mike—Big Mike as he called him—was a sucker for men that howled at the top of their lungs on the receiving end of a nice juicy tubesteak, though he was certain Big Mike knew that after all these years the melodrama was all for him. The guy never gave his name, and for good reason. He said it would be awkward to give me his name considering I couldn’t reciprocate. He also added it would be no point in remembering it, especially if Mike kept me as his slave as he would have stripped me of everything—much like he already had.

The guy later confessed the room was soundproof except for the microphone Mike listened in on from upstairs. He usually kept it off, but he occasionally flipped it on every once in a while, to make sure that none of his captives were up to anything mischievous, which explained the erratic screaming and shouting and cussing whenever the microphone screeched on and off. But the most intriguing part of our visit revolved around his connection to the greater scheme of things, in particular of his story of being “jumped in” by his fellow Marines. He never went into great detail of what led up to the jump in, only to say he was slowly drawn in, and before he could do anything about the situation that the dicks surrounded him and soon enough his ass was on a silver platter. He was helping his “fellow man” he kept on repeating, as he seemed to relive each of those military dicks breeding him one by one. He was so passionate about the incident that pearls of precum were starting to bubble out of his dick. Much like his screaming and hollering, though, that tide subsided, too.

With tears in his eyes, he started talking about Mike like he was some mighty king that came in and saved the day. He was practically blubbering trying to get out one inaudible story about his grand hero turning him out with piss and forcing him to call out his name with every ferocious thrust. Of course, I was thrown by this psychotic break before he screamed mercilessly as jets of spunk erupted from his hard-on untouched.

If I wasn’t freaked out before, I was when he started whimpering like a baby again before reminding himself like a maniac that he was a Marine, and that he needed to straighten himself up like Big Mike taught him. And just like that he stripped himself out of the chair, got dressed, and left, mumbling something about never being able to hold out more than four hours.

*          *          *          *          *

Around the time the next Army vs. Navy football game came around, I was good and mad. The lousy bastard had finally crossed the line.

Once Mike came down the stairs to free me from my restraints an hour after the stranger left, I was both confused and turned on by the guy in the chair. So much so that when Mike gave me a tongue-lashing about being obedient to him that his screeching was almost welcomed. Much like I almost welcomed him to throw me on the netted swing to ride my ass, mimicking the stranger’s yelps through my rag with each tantalizing thrust. And when the poor black bastard decided to dump a load in my mouth, I guzzled it down like it was one of my better signature drinks. The best ever made—and again milking my man out of another powerful ball-draining load.

That was when the bastard crossed the line.

He blindfolded me. And while I was thinking I was getting another helping of dick, my blindfold was knocked off and Mike along with two new guys was using a dildo to fuck me. It was by no means a twelve-incher. Yet it filled me up just the same with each guy taking turns to see who could pump the dildo in me faster and longer than the guy before him. As my fears started to get the best of me, Mike assured me he wasn’t in the business of sharing me with his friends. But in a strange twist, he gave them his blessing to burden their hot spunk all over my unwilling torso like some fleshy cum wipe.

I could swallow everything that happened before. But that was the one thing I couldn’t accept. I was thirsty for revenge.

The football party down in San Diego was in the same place I had found it the year prior. Some of the men convened in the bedroom to watch another explicit video co-starring Mike and the twisty-headed guy from the basement without the twists. The video was quite graphic. The video was equipped with plenty of sucking and fucking with a finale being Mike pissing a long yellow arch over the guy after he adamantly refused for his ass to be filled with piss.

“What makes piss over the body better than in the body?” One guy asked as clueless as I was.

“That’s how he takes possession of them.” Another guy responded begrudgingly almost as if he was annoyed by such a query. “He takes one hard piss inside of them, and for some lame reason, the men go crazy from then on. It’s like he breaks them down beforehand, and the piss is like the ultimate breaking point.”

I wanted to laugh. I couldn’t because I thought about the psychotic episode of the man in the basement. Then, I thought, I wanted all or nothing, to be possessed or not to be possessed. And proposed another bet similar to the one that set us on this path to begin with.

“No way, shit, uh-un, I ain’t sharing you with no damn body!” Mike protested.

Ever since he let his buddies drain their cocks on me, I came to the brilliant conclusion I had nothing more to lose. I was going to be forever known as the cum-hungry slut in his eyes, be it good or bad. So, I figured since he wanted to own me, he had to fight for the right to do so.

“Look here,” Mike spat in my face capturing the attention of everybody in the room. “You’re my bitch. Remember that!”

“No,” I disputed. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”

“Wanna bet?” Mike got angry, to the point his friends had to calm him down.

“What? Afraid some of your military buddies might show you up where it counts? I’ll tell you what, Mike. Let’s put a little wager on it.” I smirked with all the humiliation videos he had ever shown me running through my mind.

“What? Me fucking your ass or me fucking your ass?”

“Smart ass,” I scoffed. “But exactly!” I said to his surprise. “If Navy wins, I’ll be your personal bitch from now until the end of time much the same as your friend on the screen there is to you now. But, if Army wins, you’d have to get in the back of the line while the whole here gets my ass leaving you sloppy seconds, thirds, and fourths.”

“You ain’t got the balls!”

“You ain’t got the stomach, Big Mike.”

*          *          *          *          *

I was pouring with sweat.

I was naked and tired and bound to a netted swing by my arms and legs and balls. My muscles were sore and catching. My body reeked of a sour stench, and my nose was invaded by a horrible combination of stale smells down in the dark basement of water and lube and cum. Just above my head, when I opened my eyes towards the wood-beamed ceiling, there was a huge black-and-white photo of that goddamn bastard in his leather chaps with the word “GOD” written in red across his shaven chest.

“As you were saying?” Mike beamed driving his dick in me to the hilt.

“Fuck you!” I said riled while the pain in my ass subsided.

“Gladly!” Mike smirked. He gripped the chains that bolted the netted swing to the beams above.

He slipped out and redelivered a hard lunge burying his dick deep inside my hole. He was slow and steady getting his rhythm back, but once he was in the groove, he used my ass purely for his entertainment with my hoarse grunts melting into high-pitch squeals.

I tried to keep my mouth shut, like I had done many times before. The last thing I wanted was for him to know that of all the men I fucked that night, he was still the best fuck around.

“Shit,” I whimpered with sweat pouring off his body onto mine.

Mike pulled a dirty trick, working my nipples overtime, which was the first time in ages he had shown me any sort of affection as he worked his big dick into my accommodating hole.

He brought me to the edge, stroking my prostate that produced a surprising geyser to sprout out of my dick without my touch. As I screamed for my own sake and his, I felt his dick swell in my cum-slopped hole.

He came hard, too. It was unlike anything I had felt before because when he came it was all at once. Not the sputters of a spent and drained dick. It was clearing the way for something bigger as a daze came across his eyes, almost as if he was lost in a trance. It freaked me out. I was scared and thought something was wrong. But when I called out his name, he wasn’t responding. I tried to shake the chains. He still let me know he was conscionable by clenching the chains even tighter. He took one hard smirk down at me and followed it harder pissing in my ass.

Mike laughed and continued to pump my quivering piss-filled chute with another powerful load. He tried lying on top of me, but the swing wasn’t meant to support two men at once.

After everybody left, Mike looked down at me. Instead of him sealing his control over me with his piss, he’d actually set me free as I had finally found my voice. I didn’t leave him because I loved him, captivated under his spell, but I did start to demand more out of our twosome, reclaiming my part, my stand in our relationship. Eventually, we agreed on an open arrangement and vowed never to bet against Army ever again.