Disclaimer: This story is fictional and thus explores a slightly different world than ours. Any similarities to real-world people or events are purely coincidental. The story is also not meant to be social commentary.
Author's note: This is part 1 of an ongoing series. Your feedback on what you liked or disliked about the story is appreciated and helps me refine and fine-tune my writing. Comments and suggestions are welcome at [email protected]
The office of the Grand General smelled of paper and no amount of cleaning on the soldiers' part could get it out. Visitors to the general would sometimes add their own scents into the mix, some soft and sweet, some rough and acrid, but paper remained king. After all, paperwork was all the great warrior did nowadays. He still commanded troops and decided battles through strategy and cunning, just not in the good old way of punching his fist into the air and rallying his men with a battlecry before storming an enemy encampment in the night. No, those days were gone, and at 43 years old, the Grand General - a mostly honorary title invented specifically for him - had played a greater role in the War for Freedom than all of the other generals, all significantly older than him, combined. He was a war hero.
And he was doing paperwork.
1. The Secretary
'Great General, Sir!'
The sound came from behind the massive black door to his paper fortress. The general grinned and clicked his tongue against his palate, stretching his sore jaw muscles. He was cleanly shaven and groomed. It had been long since he'd shaven any part of his body himself; he had men do that for him now, young soldiers tasked with taking care of the country's greatest war treasure. One of them, a relatively new recruit, was his secretary. The general got up from his desk, stood up straight, chest out, chin up - old habits died hard - and said, 'Enter!'
'Great General, Sir,' said the young man, barely out of his teens, as he entered the room. When he caught sight of the general, he paused. He stood up straight, chest out, chin up, in an attempt to emulate his hero, and continued. 'News from the western front, Sir. Commander First Class Belfario has successfully captured the enemy base at Elden after two weeks of clandestine operations. The base staff is unharmed and has been converted to our cause. Enemy casualties at a minimum; most have been persuaded to desert. CFC Belfario says it will take him another two weeks to incorporate the new additions to the army into his regiment and asks for your permission to remain stationed at Elden for that duration. Here's the, uhh, form.'
The general took the paper from the soldier's outstretched arm and let it join the pile already on his desk. He fixed his eyes on the secretary and let out a heavy breath. He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned back on it, still half a foot taller than the young soldier before him, crossed his arms and gestured for the secretary to close the door. He observed the youth as he turned; his eyes fell to his behind, visibly round and firm even through the uniform, and the general felt his cock stir against his will. He still enjoyed sculpted muscles as much as the next guy, and no soldier in his employ was lacking in that department, but the general had sworn not to go down that road again.
'Do you know what Commander First Class Belfario means when he says that enemy troops have been persuaded to desert?' asked the general, his deep growl filling the room, as he observed the young soldier squirm under his penetrating stare. 'You seem like a bright soldier. Do you know what CFC Belfario means when he says that the base staff was converted to our cause?'
'It's the same thing they mean when they talk about Jan-27. Tell me what happened on January 27th, soldier, I'm sure my old friend Garmin taught it to you at some point.'
'Yes, Sir! General Garmin was an amazing teacher, Sir! Jan-27 is the codename of your... of General Maden's month-long single-handed takeover of the fortified enemy base at Marydon, a turning point in the War for Freedom and the beginning of the end of the war. Sir!'
The secretary swallowed and kept his eyes glued to the Grand General's, resisting the urge to look down and appreciate the mountain of a man that inspired him to join the army in the first place. He remembered watching footage of the general in action almost a decade ago, admiring his every move, his every utterance, his every muscle. The general was living the dream. The young soldier didn't understand back then how much danger the general had been facing at the time. All he saw was the glamourous side of war: a man among men, rising through the ranks, earning his peers' respect, winning battles. He felt honored to be in his presence. He felt indebted to him for even being alive.
'I know what Jan-27 is, soldier. I'm asking you to remind me what you were taught happened on that January 27th.'
'Yes, Sir! Uhh... General Maden, of his own ability and volition, devised a plan to infiltrate the Marydon base and take over from within. The base was staffed with 75 men, was heavily fortified and had proven to be unassailable due to its position at the top of a berg. The Ninth Council had concluded that bombing it from the air could cause landslides that would damage the surrounding valley towns. Therefore, an infiltration was the only option. No one knew how it would work; I... I remember my father yelling in protest when the decision was announced over secure radio, saying that it was lunacy... S-sorry, Sir!'
'At ease. It was certainly an unorthodox turn of events. Your father was wise to doubt it, having the information he had. Continue, soldier.'
'Yes, Sir! You volunteered and were derided for it. People expressed doubt that a man of your size and stature could perform an infiltration efficiently. However, your method of infiltration was roundabout: your squad staged a skirmish with the enemy troops and you were captured. Six of your men died that day, but they gave their lives for the cause. The enemy surely thought it a great victory, capturing a general and some of his squad. Your squadmates were... terminated on the first day for refusing to cooperate. You spent the next month in captivity, corrupting the enemy from inside, and when you reemerged, it was to announce their surrender. All 75 men had had a change of heart and were ready to fight for our freedom. I remember the day better than yesterday! Even after a month of being a prisoner, you were a sight to behold... Sir!'
The general smiled at the youth. He was aware that the young soldier admired him, and he was flattered. He was an old warrior, experienced and jaded, but small tokens of appreciation like this kept his heart alive. They told him he wasn't just a title or a war hero or a name on a plaque or a commander in a room signing papers most of his days. He lived in the hearts of young lions like the one before him. It pained him, then, that that image was not entirely without artifice.
'You're a bright kid, but don't believe everything you're told,' said the general as he contemplated his secretary. 'The military has an agenda. It's a good agenda, but you still shouldn't trust it without question. I'm sure you'll have your Jan-27 one day and learn the dark side of warfare, but until then... thank you for applying to serve under me even in this less than glamourous position. You're a damn good secretary, Thomas!'
'... Sir! Yes, Sir!' said the youth, the cloud of the general's ominous words dissipated by his words of approval. 'I... I thank you for the opportunity to serve under you! My father... although he was critical of the Council's decisions at the time, my father owes his life to you. We learned soon after you took the Marydon base that they were planning to invade the surrounding valley towns next, one of which is my hometown. If you hadn't dealt with the situation, Sir, I wouldn't be standing here today! Thank you, Sir!'
The general smiled, having received another token of appreciation. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and muscular, the type of man you wouldn't be thrilled to meet in combat. He still trained daily to stay in shape, although these days it was mostly for cosmetic reasons: the military had turned him into a figurehead, a walking piece of propaganda, and he had to look the part. In the previous month alone he had been photographed more than in his entire life before the war. He wasn't ashamed to admit, however, that he didn't mind the attention that much. He had invested much into his body, and having it appreciated was yet another form of approval that he cherished. His stature being as it was, a smile never looked at home on his gruff, normally forlorn face, but he smiled nevertheless. He had learned long ago that a smile was a good morale booster.
'I'm glad I helped. Listen, Thomas... Would you like to join me in the gym later? I still have some hours of signing commands to go, as you know, but after that's done I'm heading down for a workout. You seem like you work out too and I'd love some company there.'
'Sir! Thank you, Sir, but it's your private gym. I don't think we soldiers are allowed...'
'Thomas. The gym was made for me and is mine to use as I please. If I want to invite a hard-working soldier to join me there after hours, no one can stop me. And I'm inviting a hard-working soldier to join me there later. Unless you have some pressing family business, I don't think you can refuse an order from your general!'
'Sir, no, Sir! I mean... Yes, Sir! I'd be happy to join you, Sir! I... I don't have any gym clothes with me, though.'
'Hah, ease up, soldier,' said the general, amused that the youth took his talk about refusing orders so seriously. 'You'll manage. I'm sure I have some spare clothes lying around in one of the lockers.'
'Until later, then. You are dismissed, Thomas. Nice talking to you, by the way. Thank you for hearing an old soldier out. I appreciate it.'
'My pleasure, Sir! With your leave...'
As Thomas turned to leave the office, he breathed out and begged his heart to stop pounding. He had only been in the general's employ for a month. He had always secretly hoped to befriend his hero, the man responsible for saving his family from a horrible fate, but he never could have dreamed that the general would take to him so soon. He admired the general, worshipped him almost, but now he felt like the general wanted him to rise to his level and to talk like equals, like friends. He didn't want the general to know that he was already dead from going to the gym that morning. He couldn't miss the opportunity to get to know him better.
'Oh, and Thomas,' said the general, still leaning on his desk. 'Send in a latrineman.'
'Yes, Sir,' said Thomas and walked out of the room.
Soon after, the general heard his voice through the large door.
'The Great General has need of one of you. Please proceed to his office.'
Another, slightly higher voice responded.
'I'll go. And Thomas, please stop embarrassing yourself... You've been here a month now. It's Grand General.'
2. The Latrine
After a brief knock on the door and en 'enter' from inside, the soldier entered the general's office. Even as he laid his eyes on the great mountain of a man for the hundredth time, he couldn't suppress his excitement. It was an honor to serve under him. The soldier had spent many a night as a teenager jerking off to the general's photos in secret. He was part of a fan club at school, but he was sure he was the only one of the boys to actually be attracted to the general. He struggled with feelings of inadequacy for a while, but eventually concluded that he was happy that men got him off rather than women. It let him appreciate the Grand General in a way none of the other guys could. And now he was working for him.
When the call went out for young soldiers to work in the general's office, he jumped at the opportunity. He had been in a relationship with another soldier for several months, but the chance of serving his idol trumped everything.
When he came into the office antechamber for the interview, he foolishly expected to see the general. Upon seeing all the other candidates, he realized that even if the general had wanted to be present, he wouldn't have fit in the room. It was a rather large hall, decorated in red and gold, with desks every which way. The only exits seemed to be the elevator he had taken and a large, black door, behind which he assumed lay the general's workspace. He told himself he would give it his all to earn the right to go in there.
Looking around, he saw both soldiers and civilians, men and women, tall and short, white and black. The general had clearly touched many lives. He realized he had heavy competition; he even saw one of his mates from the fan club there, grown a foot and muscled up a few dozen pounds. He was determined to beat them all.
The interview was surprisingly unorthodox. It was more a test of some kind than a job interview. Their turn come, he and nine other candidates were asked to approach a large desk blindfolded. They were lined up along the length of the desk and then told to reach out and drink the contents of the cups in front of them, one cup per candidate. He took his time; he soon heard one of the more eager candidates drink the contents of his cup in one go and promptly go into a fit of coughing and spitting and cursing. He wondered if it was his fan club buddy. He heard another candidate, a girl this time, retching, and wondered if the contents of the cup were intentionally disgusting to test the candidates' stomachs for some reason. A mix of mud and dead bugs, maybe?
When he picked up his cup, he was fearing the worst, but when he caught a whiff of the stuff inside, his heart jumped. It smelled... good? There was certainly some quality to it. It smelled salty and sweet at the same time, like a field of flowers next to the sea, but there was something rough about it too. Forceful. Intruding on the nostrils. He took a breath and brought the cup to his lips.
What he tasted was heaven to him. If it smelled interesting the way an expensive gourmet dish does, the taste was something else. It was the fast food of drinks, delicious in that way which made you want more and more of it until your stomach burst. It was full; parts were thick and parts very liquid, but it all meshed so well. It tasted like heaven. It tasted like pure man. He realized... it tasted like the general. He didn't know the man, but he had seen enough of him that his brain told him, without a doubt, that this was the general's essence he was drinking. And he drank, hungrily, until there was nothing left in the cup. Smacking his lips with gusto, he paused for a moment and realized that there were about a hundred cups in the room, one for each candidate. He wondered if they all contained the same drink. If they did, and if they all tasted as fresh as his, he wondered how the general had managed to produce so much. It would be inhuman. Superhuman.
Afterwards, he saw that many of the candidates had given up. The few that were left were given little slips of paper with their names and two questions. 'What were the contents of the challenge drink?' was the first. It took the soldier no time to scribble 'the Grand General's piss and some of his cum'. 'Would you like to drink the contents again?' was the second question.
Because of his answers and his sensitive palate which had allowed him to identify the contents correctly, he now worked for the general as one of three latrinemen, stationed in the office antechamber in shifts of two. When the general needed to visit the toilet but felt he was too busy - for the closest toilet was five floors above his floor - he called on one of his latrinemen to stand in.
And so he did. Approaching the great man, he saluted and fell to his knees in front of him, his face level with the general's crotch. He looked up at him.
'Sir! Emerson reporting for duty,' said the soldier, brown eyes locked on the general's blue.
'Thank you for being so swift, soldier. I have this huge stack of papers to sign and I couldn't hold it in much longer. Your services are very much appreciated.'
Emerson watched the general reach down and unzip his fly. His heart was pounding. He would see it again. It had been several days since the general had requested service during Emerson's shift, and he was thirsty. His eyes were thirsty to feast on the general's manhood, his mouth on the general's essence. Through the zipper hole, he caught a glimpse of the general's underpants and his bulge. He swallowed his spit as he watched the general reach in and take it all out. His cock and balls lay out in the open, and boy was the thing a sight to behold.
Even limp, his dick was a monster, easily covering the distance between Emerson's eyes and his chin. It rested freely atop an impressive pair of balls, half a fist in size each. His balls were covered in a smattering of black hair, but the whole thing was well-groomed, shaven and trimmed in the right places, presentable and desirable. Emerson had grown used to seeing it over time and the size didn't surprise him much anymore - though it was quite the package, even on such a big man - but his hunger for it never waned. He sometimes dreamt that the general would one day call him to his office and, instead of only relieving himself inside Emerson's mouth, would feel such a need to cum that he would jack himself off and let loose, giving his latrineman once again a taste of the other part of the challenge drink from the interview.
The general took his manhood in his hand and squeezed it; he pulled back some of his foreskin and revealed the head in order to get the piss out easier. As the beautiful cock approached Emerson, he parted his lips and opened his mouth. The general put it in gently, entrusting his manhood to Emerson's hole; there was hardly any free space in there once the whole thing was in. Emerson felt the general's ballsac against his chin, the two orbs clinging to his face as the general's dick filled his mouth completely.
'Get ready, soldier,' the general announced from above, always considerate of others. 'I can't hold it in anymore.'
Emerson had no time to mumble any kind of approval. The stream came immediately. He felt it pass through the general's shaft as it made its way into his mouth, forcefully rushing in and filling it almost to the brim. Emerson swallowed, enjoying the taste of it all over his tongue, as the general produced more and more. The stream kept coming, a river of pure manhood entering him, and he thought back to the hundred or so cups at the interview. Having served the general for a while now, it was clear to him how he had been able to fill all the cups. The man's emissions were profuse; a large amount of piss in a large man. Emerson could only wonder and dream about how much cum the general's balls were able to push out.
The general let out a sigh and a grunt of contentment, relieving himself inside a warm mouth. It certainly beat having his cock out in the cold and pissing in a bush the way he had to on any of his missions.
Emerson breathed deeply through his nose and swallowed the general's piss diligently. He felt proud to serve his idol. He always hoped for more, but he understood that the general wasn't the type to just stick his dick in any random guy - if he even had a thing for guys, which Emerson doubted. He was happy at least to have this, to have the general trust him enough to put his cock in his mouth and feel comfortable enough to piss down his throat. It wasn't something he did with just anyone.
'Ahhhhh,' the general let loose another sigh as he finished. 'Thank you, soldier. Don't forget to clean it off.'
Emerson swallowed a last time, rolling his tongue around his mouth to pick up any stray traces of the substance. He couldn't help touching the general's manhood a few times as he made his rounds, but the great man didn't seem to mind. Emerson didn't feel his cock grow as a result of the stimulation, either. He realized it was too much to ask for. On second thought, he realized he probably couldn't hold the thing in his mouth anymore if it grew at all and was thankful for it staying relaxed.
He sucked on it for a moment, removing any trace of piss as he slid his mouth off the general's dick. He stood up and saluted as the general put his stuff back in his pants and zipped himself up.
'Thank you, soldier. Dismissed.'
Emerson turned quickly and left the office, unable to stand looking at the general's thankful smile, surrounded by that masculine face: a defined jawline that looked like you could crack nuts on it, neatly trimmed black hair with the occasional gray strand, bushy but groomed eyebrows above a set of blue eyes with pupils almost permanently dilated. Emerson often wondered if the general's eyes were always like that or if his pupils dilated in response to something he liked. He preferred the latter explanation; it made him feel proud.
3. In the Dark
The general returned to his seat, ready to begin finishing up for the day. He hadn't been to the gym in weeks and was very much looking forward to hitting the weights in a few hours. That he would have Thomas to keep him company made him even happier. The gym was a lonely place. It had been built especially for him so that he would be able to keep his body in shape without disruption from other gymgoers, and at first he had thought that that sounded like a great idea. He'd been to communal gyms too many times before, and some of the people there succeeded at getting on his nerves more than once despite his good demeanor and positive outlook on things. After some years of working out constantly alone, though, it started to get to him. He was already isolated enough from the common world by virtue of being the Grand General. He was only human; he needed company.
His son Raeme was all grown up and had a life of his own. He had come to visit the general for his 40th birthday, but could only stay so long; had a girl waiting for him home, he said. The general understood this and was happy for his son, who had been notoriously bad with the ladies as a teenager, but couldn't help feeling lonely from time to time. His wife had died during the war; unchecked breast cancer, apparently. He blamed himself a bit for never noticing anything wrong even though he'd been told multiple times that there had been no way for him to notice anything. But the general held himself to a higher standard. He had loved his wife and therefore, in his mind, should have been able to tell something was wrong.
But she died, the general on deployment hundreds of miles away. When he heard the news, he went mad in the barracks and began tearing beds apart and breaking his fists against the walls. It took three of his fellow soldiers to calm him. They made an exception that night: instead of going for an hour-long run through the woods, one of them smuggled in some vodka and they sat around in the dark together, sharing drinks and stories. After a few glasses and when it was his turn to speak, the general broke down in tears and embarrassing weeping, but his mates didn't mind. They hugged him and shared in his pain, all through the night.
The general shook his head and broke loose of the bad memories. Papers needed signing, and so he started.
4. Other Jobs
Thomas was nervous. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his hero at the gym. The general was a great man and looked like he could hold a mountain on his shoulders and Thomas was... not. He was fit, to be sure, and could run any marathon, but he wasn't a big weightlifter and he'd already spent an hour in the morning working out. His muscles were sore. What's more, he had no idea what he was going to wear. As he undressed in the needlessly large locker room, stepping out of his military uniform, he was left in his tight undies and a white undershirt, certainly not the most glamourous or efficient workout getup.
The locker room was clean and smelled fresh. Of course, not a lot of dirt could get in since the general was its only user, but it was obvious that there was still a cleaning service, probably a soldier just like Thomas, employed to keep it in order. Multiple lockers lined one of the walls, with several low benches spread across the floor. Thomas sat down on one of them and started flexing his muscles to warm them up. The general was coming any minute now; he had needed a latrineman's services again after finishing his work.
Hearing footsteps outside, Thomas raised his eyes to the door he'd come in through earlier; another one at the opposite end of the locker room led to the gym proper and one in a side corner led to a shower cabin. The general, clad in full uniform and boots, came in and greeted him with a smile and an apology for taking so long. Tall and elegant despite his mass, the general took off his jacket to reveal a simple white shirt underneath, fitted perfectly to his body, with a V-neck revealing some of his trimmed chest hair. Thomas admired the silhouette of his large chest and the bare skin of his strong arms, not too beefy and with very well defined triceps. Thomas himself had always focused more on his biceps at the gym. Seeing the general's guns, he realized he may have been doing himself a disservice.
'Ready for a workout, soldier?' asked the general, steeping out of his boots and sliding out of his pants, revealing a pair of lightly hairy pillars for legs and a pair of white cotton boxer-briefs covering his bulging junk and ass.
'Yes, Sir!' said Thomas, subconsciously pulling in his stomach a bit and flexing the muscles.
'I'm just joking. We're off-duty here. What should I call you out of uniform? Thomas fine? Tom?'
'Uhh, I prefer Thomas, Sir. My twin brother got nicknamed Tom first, so I just stuck with Thomas.'
'Alright, Thomas. Nice to meet you out of uniform!' said the general and laughed, towering there above Thomas out of uniform and most other clothes too. 'And none of that Sir business here, please. Conner will do. Or Maden if you'd like to stay on a last name basis.'
'Thank you, S... uhh, Maden. It feels very weird saying it, S... uhh. Heh. You'll have to pardon me if it takes me a while to adjust,' said Thomas with a chuckle, still subtly eyeing his idol's body with a degree of respect and envy.
'You've got a nice pair of guns there, Thomas,' said the general with a friendly smile. 'Nice flat belly too. Sure is nice to be young, eh?'
'What are you talking about, Sir? Ugh, sorry. I mean... Yeah, you're older than me, but you're not old. And your stomach looks just fine from where I'm standing. Or, uhh... sitting.'
'But I have to work a lot harder for mine is the difference. I'm not complaining, though. Age has its advantages, as I'm sure you'll learn.'
Thomas wasn't expecting it. It was a locker room and Thomas had of course been in gyms before, but for some reason he wasn't expecting it. In one swift move, the general pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it on the bench together with the rest of his clothes. Unwittingly, Thomas's jaw dropped and, if he had been eyeing the general with reserve so far, he now started staring outright. Everything on the man looked like it was made of tight muscle. Even his pits, with black hairs trimmed like the rest of his body, looked firm and taut. His back had that nice V-shape that Thomas had always tried to achieve but never did; he just had a squarish body type, he was told. Laying his eyes on the general's stomach, Thomas realized that he wasn't joking when he said he had to work hard for it. It was pure, ripped muscle, but in that nice way that makes it look like all the muscles flow together and into each other, from shoulders to chest to abs, and not the disjointed bodybuilder look. The young soldier was positively awestruck. His admiration only lasted a brief second, however, and he quickly managed to pull it together and close his mouth before the general could see.
In his undies, the general opened a locker, letting out a soft 'hm' as he looked inside. He silently opened another one. And another one.
'Hoo, boy. I assumed I'd left some spare shorts here at least. In fact, I'm sure I did. The cleaning guy must have thought I'd forgotten them. Must've thrown them in the washer. I haven't been to the gym in a few weeks, you see, took a break after that last photoshoot... Oh, boy. Sorry for rambling, Thomas, uhh. Hm.'
As the general stood there, pondering the lack of spare gym clothes for Thomas, the young soldier kept ogling the general. He didn't even register what he was saying. His eyes absorbed his idol, drank him up thirstily. It had just hit him that his dream had come true. He was in his hero's presence, being treated as an equal. Hanging out with the Grand General. It was beyong belief to him. His heart was racing and his feet felt cold, as they always did when he was nervous. He was aware that he was overreacting a bit. He tried telling himself that it was just another man he was in the locker room with, a man of flesh and blood that just happened to be exceptional in some way, but his brain wouldn't listen. He'd spend so much time in awe of the man and his work that seeing him as anything but a living legend was out of the question.
'Right. Here's what we're going to do,' said the general and reached down to his boxer-briefs.
It took barely a second but Thomas couldn't help being awestruck again by such a simple, common thing: a man undressing in the locker room, leaving his private parts on display for his fellow men. But this was different. It was the general. Thomas had never seen him naked, although he'd heard there were promotional pictures taken of him where he was in the nude, making his way through a muddy rainforest. He'd heard comments about the size of his manhood, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing it live. As the general slid out of his underpants, his schlong came loose, rock-sized balls hanging low, and swayed a bit above Thomas's eye level. The general's pubic hairs were trimmed short, but were still a thick field of black; his shaft was hairless, probably shaven at the base. Several veins ran along the length of it to his foreskin, which was barely able to cover the entirety of his cockhead, even while flaccid.
He had an impressive cock, he did. Thomas had seen several when they passed through his field of vision in the gym, and they ranged from quite tiny buggers to very elongated, thin pieces of meat, but he'd never seen one like the general's. It was long, imposing even - looked to Thomas like it was the length of an open hand even while flaccid - but it was also thick and girthy. Thomas had seen some bodybuilders at the gym who worked hard to get their muscles monstrously large to impress either the ladies or competition committees, but they ended up looking ridiculous in the locker room just because their dicks couldn't match the size of their muscles. The general was no bodybuilder, but even if he were, Thomas thought that his dick size would never look out of place. He wondered for a moment what it must have been like for the general as a teenager, without all his muscles, but blessed with such a big manhood. He wondered how many girls he'd fucked with it. All of these thoughts rushed through Thomas's head in the span of a second, and before he knew it, the general was talking to him again, fully naked, his dick staring Thomas down.
'What we're going to do is,' said the general as he threw his undies onto the pile, 'since I'm the host here and the one at fault for you being one set of gym clothes short, I'll just lend you mine.'
'Oh,' said Thomas, looking up at the first locker the general had opened. 'Well, thank you, Sir. Err, Maden. Thanks!'
'Right. They might be a bit big for ya, but they'll have to do. Here you go.'
The general handed him a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, socks and running shoes, all several sizes too big. Thomas had been trying to avoid embarrassing himself or looking ridiculous in front of the general, but as he unwrapped the clothes, he realized fate had played a cruel trick in him. Ridiculous was the only way he could look in such oversized clothes. Dying to spend more quality time with the general, however, he swallowed his pride and put on the shirt first. He felt like a kid wearing his dad's shirt; it almost reached his knees. The shorts were no better. The only thing short about them was that they didn't manage to reach his feet. The socks and shoes worked out better, though.
As he finished putting everything on, he looked at himself in the mirror mounted along the wall opposite the lockers.
'I look like a kid,' he muttered, half-amused.
'You're a man, Thomas,' said the general, giving him the once-over. 'We come in all shapes and sizes, and I can tell you, man to man, that you look really fit. But if you really feel uncomfortable in my clothes, you can always take them off and work out nude.'
'No, thank you, Sir,' said Thomas with a laugh. 'I prefer to have my junk safe and sound around so much equipment.'
'Your loss, soldier,' the general countered with a smile and gestured towards the gym door.
Thomas started walking and, laying his eyes on the general's incredible body again, realized something mid-step as he came to the man's side.
'But, uhh... what are you going to work out in, Sir?'
'Well, I've got no choice but to wear my birthday suit, soldier,' said the general and chuckled, seeing the look on Thomas's face. 'If you're not comfortable with being around naked men, maybe you should've chosen a different profession. Besides, as I said, we can switch if you want.'
Thomas swallowed and shook his head, mumbling a 'no' as he walked to the door and entered the gym, painfully aware the whole time of the giant mountain of a man walking behind him.
'What about hygiene?' he asked suddenly and instantly regretted his wording.
The general just laughed with that booming laughter of his that came out when something caught him off guard.
'I may not have spare gym clothes for you like I promised, but there are plenty of towels. I don't expect you to sit in my ass and ball sweat, Thomas. There are other people with that job description.'
5. Pride of the Nation
When Emerson saw the secretary and the general exchange words at the end of the day, he felt a pang of jealousy. There was no reason to, but he was aware that he felt slightly possessive of the general. The secretary seemed like a good sort. Emerson teased him often and he only seldom responded, but they managed to develop a comfortable rapport. He was a good-looking guy too, which always helped.
But he couldn't help wondering what the general wanted with him. The general almost never spoke to the soldiers working in the antechamber, although he always took care to greet everyone with a smile. The office meant business for him, not pleasure, so Emerson wondered what was different this time. He eyed the secretary as he picked up his stuff and headed for the elevator. The general had already given everyone permission to leave, but Emerson stayed a bit longer in hopes of getting to service him again. The other latrineman left; had a party to attend, he said. After some minutes, the rest of the staff was gone too.
Alone in the antechamber, Emerson reached down into a desk drawer and took out his freshly bought copy of the latest issue of Pride of the Nation, a bimonthy magazine featuring articles and spreads on exceptional people and events that have marked the nation. Emerson was interested in these people and events as much as the next citizen, but he had a special reason for buying the magazine. The Grand General, being considered a national treasure and war hero, had a spread done about him in the magazine every once in a while, and Emerson was an avid collector of all of them. The nation worshipped the general and his every action was interpreted to be an inspiration to the people. Consequently, every bit of his person was thought to be an inspiration for men and soldiers everywhere. Emerson knew that the general had to work hard to maintain his looks for this purpose, but damn if it didn't pay off.
Skipping to the first page of this issue's spread on the general, Emerson's eyes ate up the man, photographed standing on top of a mountain, head to toe in full uniform and regalia, red and gold, with the national flag behind him. Some greys in his hair served as a testament to his experience. He was all dressed up, but they still managed to make him look like one of the people, the first among equals. The text recounted his many great deeds and achievements. Emerson knew them almost by heart from all the documentaries he'd seen and interviews he'd watched. He turned the page.
The next photo covered two pages and featured the general standing in the middle of a line of soldiers, all fully naked and saluting to the camera. Emerson swallowed his spit as he admired the man. He had a glorious carpet of trimmed hair across his chest and stomach, leading down to his cock, and Emerson couldn't get enough of it. He didn't see these parts of the general much live since the man pissed while dressed, but he'd seen previous spreads in Pride and some unofficial photographs. Seeing the general's cock hanging there, so juicy and so large, especially compared to all the soldiers around him, got Emerson's dick half hard and leaking; he soon noticed that wet feeling in his pants and reached down to fix himself.
The general's balls were bigger than some of the soldier's flaccid cocks and that turned Emerson on. He imagined the general coming up to one of the soldiers and covering the subordinate's entire dick with his ballsac. He didn't know why he found it so attractive, but the idea of the general overpowering one of his subordinates really got him going. He'd blown his load many times thinking about the general commanding an officer to take his whole cock into his ass, and then forcing himself into the man when he couldn't physically manage it. Perhaps the knowledge that the general would never do something like that in real life made the idea all the more exciting.
Emerson palmed his crotch, feeling his meat grow within his uniform. He had a good sized dick, long but not too thick, and it started showing slowly, elongated along his inner thigh. He calmly rubbed up and down it, enjoying the sight of the naked general, forgetting where he was. Seeing the big man always made him horny as hell, and he almost didn't care if the general came out of his office now and saw him. He imagined the general's shock at seeing him beating off to his promotional photos; he imagined the general coming up to him and saying something cliche like 'the real thing's better than a picture' and smacking him with his cock; he imagined his cock getting hard and Emerson finally getting to worship it in more ways than he could count. He turned the page.
Across the whole page was the photo of a steed, a beautiful black-haired horse called Sarmigan that became almost as great a symbol of the liberation as the Grand General. General Belfario rode him into a decisive battle and, when the general was heavily wounded, the horse brought him back to safety from the field of battle, the only known time a horse had done that for its master. The animal was beautiful, but Emerson's eyes were drawn to its rider. The Grand General straddled the powerful steed with his muscular legs, naked thighs bulging out and claiming ownership of the horse, the color of his hair matching the animal's. There was no saddle; the general was fully nude atop the horse, his asshole against the horse's hairs, his ass planted firmly atop his back, and Emerson could have shot his load right then and there, so he stopped fondling himself, and just in time.
'Oh, you're still here, soldier,' came the general's voice from the door and Emerson quickly closed the magazine. 'I thought I'd told everyone you could leave?'
'Yes, Sir, I just had some papers to sort through.'
A dumb lie if Emerson had ever told one. He was a latrineman: the only paper they handled was the toilet kind, and rarely. The general either didn't notice or laughed about it on the inside, because he didn't make it known in any way that he wasn't satisfied with the explanation.
'Right. Well, it's good you're here! I've been holding it in for an hour now. Think you could help me out? I have to get down to the gym fast and I'd have to go five floors up to the toilet if -'
'Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir.'
Emerson stood up eagerly and instantly became aware of his dick, still hard, straddling his leg and leaking down it. He closed his eyes for a second and told himself the general wouldn't notice: why would he look at a guy's junk? He walked past the general and into his office. Before he could turn around, he heard the door slam and an immense force pressed down on his left shoulder, driving him to his knees. Luckily, the carpet was soft.
'Sorry, soldier, I just can't -', said the general as he fumbled with his zipper, obviously ready to burst.
Emerson took initiative and removed the general's hand - it was the first time he'd touched it other than via handshake, and man did it feel surprisingly soft. He unzipped him quickly, reached into his pants and took out his junk, wrapping his hand around his cock and planting his facehole on it as fast as he could. It began pumping piss into his throat in streams and bursts and he gulped it all down.
'Unnnh, unnn...' Emerson started making sounds while swallowing the river of the colonel's dick juice.
'I can't stop now, soldier. Tough it out a few more seconds!' said the general, apologetic for choking his latrineman.
But Emerson wasn't choking. The excitement from seeing the general naked in Pride of the Nation earlier had taken its toll on his dick and receiving the general's meat into his mouth was too much. When he swallowed the first couple of shots of piss, Emerson started cumming and his cock shot all over his pants. As he felt the last of the general's dosage sliding down his throat, he felt his own cum sliding down his left leg as well.
'Ughhhhh,' the general once again let out a content growl when he finished and as Emerson slid off his manhood.
'Oof. Thank you for your dedication, soldier. I really would've gone off everywhere if you hadn't taken initiative. I'll make sure to note that in my report to Military Resources.'
'Th-thank you, Sir,' said Emerson, getting back up on his feet and hoping to God that his cum wasn't visible through his pants.
'Dismissed, soldier,' said the general, saluting Emerson and granting him a smile. 'Good work there.'
'Yes, Sir!' Emerson saluted back and made his way out of the office and, picking up his things, made his way into the elevator and up to the toilet five floors above. That was close. He was glad the general noticed nothing, but he felt incredibly fulfilled for cumming in the presence of his idol. To his mind, it was a step in the right direction and could possibly lead to more. He would come to work with even more enthusiasm in the following weeks.
In an instant, the comfortable darkness turned into painful light. Even through closed eyes, it burned him and instilled a sense of dread. When it was dark, he was at peace. When it was light, they came.
He allowed himself to open his eyes a bit. Everything swirled around him, but after several days, he was able to figure out that he was in a small, bare room. After a few more days, he realized he was lying face down on the top half of a bunk bed and that his wrists and ankles were tied to the bedposts. In a moment of lucidity, he wondered how he could even sleep in that position and how it didn't hurt like hell, but he fell back asleep before he could think harder on it.
He heard them opening the door once again. He caught a glimpse of one of them, a tall and massive blur of muscles and body hair, before he disappeared onto the bed below him. He soon felt the bed shake and heard grunts from under him, heard yelps and pained straining, like every time he was awake. After some time, the sounds turned into what he could only describe as growls of pleasure and sighs of enjoyment. The bed shook harder and hit the wall rhythmically, culminating in a euphony of shouts.
He knew what was coming next. He saw the man emerge from the bottom bunk and could see him a bit more clearly now. He was naked, of course, very tall and buff-looking, covered in a heavy coat of body hair; his wild pubes did little to hide his junk. The light reflected painfully off it - it was clearly covered in something liquid - and it was long and thick, even while limp. He could only guess how big it got with some blood pumped into it.
The tied-up man saw the muscular one climb up onto his bed and felt it cave under his weight. Half-aware, he felt his ass being spread, like it had been every day for a while now. He felt something push against his asshole, that zone of his body that only toilet paper had ever touched before, and he felt a viscous liquid covering it. He knew it was coming. He'd made himself feel better about it by telling himself that it was only a finger or two entering him every day, but in his heart, he knew that no pair of fingers was that thick. He was being fucked by another man, by this man's massive piece of meat. He didn't understand how it could be hard again so soon after finishing into whoever lay on the bottom bunk, but it was. And it pressed against his ass. And it entered him, slid into him, filled him completely.
The first few days, it was horrible. It felt horrible and made him feel horrible and was the worst thing imaginable that could happen to a man short of having his cock cut off. But now, after a while... he was starting to enjoy it. He couldn't understand how; it was completely anathema to him. But he started loving being filled by another man, having his ass ravaged by a massive cock, and then receiving his seed as a reward. And so he let go again, let the man lie down on top of him and cover him completely as he thrust his hard pole in and out of him, shaking the bed and grunting. Soon, the two men were grunting in unison, and when the big man blew his load, the soldier beneath him realized he couldn't wait for another dose.
Such was life for the staff and enemy soldiers at the Elden base during the weeks following Commander First Class Belfario's takeover. Soon, the initially resistant enemies would change loyalties and be integrated into his ever-growing corps. As the commander slid his cock out of the soldier's asshole, he jumped down from the bed, his manhood still leaking, and left the room, turning the lights off again.
He walked a bit down the barracks hallway, hit another light switch and entered the next room.