Gay Erotic Stories

The rush was that I was back in combat. And not any regular combat missions, no; MCSOCOM and later MARSOC was what you see in movies as Delta Force, and our missions were the elite in exigency and impossible in execution. During our off-times we returned to Swampy after being in armpits like Iraq and Afghanistan and Somalia, Darfur, etc., and this made Camp Swampy a treat to dawgs like us.

There were 2,500 of us, all in superlative shape, all prime male specimens, in MCSOCOM’s corp of corpsmen, as it were. Testosterone was in abundance, and the vast majority of it was fraternal and comforting; rarely did the natural competition become a negative. Maybe we were managed that way (commanded with a fraternal glove rather than a crop); maybe it was our training as humble members of the Corps, grateful every day for both our waking alive and for our right to serve.

Myself, I had just been promoted in rank from light colonel, as lieutenant colonels were commonly called. Outside of Swampy when we were on missions we never wore rank insignia or anything else which identified us with the Corps, generally, so my focus on my recent achievement was naturally limited. And in my case my excitement and pride at my achieved rank was more along the line of wonder: I never, ever imagined I’d be anything but the lieutenant I left the academy as. Had I been more humble and allowed myself a bit of vanity I’d credit myself with being the perfect soldier because truly the right to serve was the subject of my deepest and most enduring pride.

Back to the testosterone. It was often overwhelming, always unavoidable and to be maneuvered around and through when reflexively flawless execution wasn’t being demanded because we were on a mission. When we were at Swampy (or returning to Swampy) the maleness of our group was almost an entity in our consciousnesses in and of itself.

And such was the setting for this story I recall which I’m about to tell here. As a full bird colonel my own command had broadened somewhat, with about 55 men under my direction. My recent increase in rank had also changed my absolute peer group, as well, bringing me into a tighter orbit closer to the brass and among other full colonels. I say “absolute peer group” as in reality the vast majority – including yours truly – inherently considered ourselves peers within MCSOCOM, and rank was merely an occasional and organizational tool.

My unit and two others had executed a particularly intense mission, and those of us who had survived had finally cleared debrief in the middle east and those of us in command positions – majors and both types of colonel – had been sent to DC for some further debrief on what was to become a very popular story in the news in its aftermath. It was already manically streaking across the Net and across the wires; but none of us know what it would evolve to. But that’s not the story.

We were at Quantico. BACK at Quantico for all of us, for all of us had, at one time or another, been trained there and many of us had served at Quantico after our various trainings. It was early August. Have you been to Virginia in August? Swampy could take lessons from Quantico in the midst of summer in the area of stifling heat and humidity so high it’s almost impossible to tell if rain is falling or not.

The mission had taken its toll on me like few others. I’d lost eleven men and had twice that being treated for injuries in various base hospitals between the middle east, Europe and stateside, depending on the severity of their injuries. I’d visited each one of them, along with the three who’d left the mission injured and who’d succumbed afterward. I was being “counseled” and “supported” in this new touchy feely service, but I was a loner and, ultimately, I had to work this out on my own in my own head.

I was out for a run – my second of the day, as it happened. Ten miles twice a day was brutal, but it was also life-inspiring from a mental standpoint. I got back to the general area of my quarters late, but the sun wasn’t set yet, and I was walking it off in the area by one of the ranges that I knew weren’t used after 7pm at this time of year. I could smell the grass and I could smell the heavy humid air around me as well.

* * * * * * * * *

And speaking of what we wore and didn’t wear, I had just headed to the lockers after a typically punishing session in the gym – P90X, Tae Bo, anyone, child’s play compared to our training. My khaki t-shirt was soaked through so thoroughly that even my stenciled last name’s paint was wet, and my long basketball-style shorts were soaked from the waistline to mid-leg. I peeled my filthy gear off and threw it on the floor by my locker, almost running to the showers.

The only time I took my time in a shower was after a workout when we were at base. Otherwise it was a very quick, efficient operation. But as I stood under the almost boiling hot spray and let my crying muscles soak up the heat and enjoyed a leisurely lavish self-lathering, my mind was as soothed as my body. At least until I realized I was lathering my big horsecock and bull balls a bit excessively and was full-on hard and needing to take care of business.

The shower stalls are solar-plexus height there, unlike most of the more communal multi-head shower areas in locker rooms. So although the only men who could see me jacking my cock would be in adjacent stalls on either side, the sight of a man’s left arm/shoulder in motion and pec bouncing with the motion of stroking his fuckrod is pretty unique and identifiable in and of itself. I was almost so far gone when I realized what I was doing that I wouldn’t have any choice but to finish unless nuclear war broke out. You know, that point where you’re so hard and your cock feels so good in your hand and your nuts are beginning to tingle and you just have to take the time and see it through? But hell I was ALMOST there, so I stopped and went back to enjoying the spray and my muscles’ buzz as opposed to my balls’ and cock’s buzz.

When I stepped out finally and headed to the sinks I noticed as I passed that there was another pile of clothes right next to mine. Just training – taking in all circumstances in visual reconnaissance – and among a dozen others. After the shower spray and steam, the rich male scent of the locker room was tickling my senses again, and my cock’s semi-relaxed state was heightened . . . again. And the perfectly sculpted male bodies in various states of partial to total nudity around me had my cock thinking “buffet”. DOWN BOY!

I executed my toilette fairly quickly and headed back to the lockers, anxious to get myself out of there and to my quarters where I could take care of Bill Jr’s insistent need without embarrassment. When I turned toward my locker I saw an unfamiliar hunk of beef shedding his towel next to my pile of clothes on the floor. And when I say ‘hunk’ I mean breathtaking to the extent that I almost tripped on someone else’s pile of sweaty workout clothes as I tried to continue my approach nonchalantly.

My cock and nuts were sending FRESH MEAT signals to my brain as I neared him. He was easily as tall as I, and at the glance possibly taller than my slightly over six-four. He was maybe 10 years older than my age – which is to say a stone’s toss to forty – so that would put him about fifty, but that was only hinted at by his wizened face. His body put mine – which was generally as perfectly honed as any Olympic athlete – to the wolves. He had one of those very perfectly shaped torsos over a tiny waist atop two strong but lean and runner-shapely legs that seemed to go forever. His pecs were perfect slabs of steak waiting to be consumed under a dark pelt which any expert manscaper in SoBe or NYC couldn’t have improved upon. As the fur lessened under his pecs, it concentrated into a thick treasure trail to the most amazingly perfect bush and big pendulous uncut cock flopped over a set as big as mine. The trail looked like a fur arrow leading the way to male heaven. When he bent over to re-dry his legs his perfect lightly furred bowling ball marble-like ass globes did take my breath away, and I staggered when his crack parted to reveal his darkly furred hole, looking like a bulls-eye, and my shoulder banged the locker to my right noisily.

He looked up and back toward me casually, his head now down as he was drying between the toes of big wide muscular feet, and he was roughly eye-to-cock level with me. His gaze took its time there – or maybe that was my imagination, as about ten gillion fantasies were already swirling in my head and my towel was beginning to tent – before he looked up at me and smiled. “You okay, brother?”

The richness of his voice and his world-wise face’s appealing smile would have been enough, but that winking bulls-eye and his big fat dick and full sac swinging free nearly did me over the edge. “Mrmmhmm,” or something like that was roughly my reply.

He continued drying himself without missing a beat, but his eyes swept over me with all the heat of the tropical sun as he slowly and obviously scanned every bit of me in view. The tent in my towel was embarrassing, but his smile turned to something a bit feral every time he looked there, and that just fueled the blood supply to Bill Jr even more. And the locker room malescent was making me drunk . . . again.

I finally got myself together enough to move close to his side to get in front of my locker and clothes. Whether it was my imagination or not, the HEAT from his body was warming up an already particularly HOT area of me! It took a moment of intense concentration to get inside my BIG head to get my LITTLE head to back off and go to parade rest. I knew no way would my cock get to at ease for sometime to come. SHIT, DID I JUST THINK THE WORD ‘CUM’? DOWN BOY!

Fortunately Bill Jr was obeying, like a good Marine. OK, well obeying to the limit of the negotiated compromise. And when I looked down it was obvious that parade rest did relax but most of the blood was still where it started. Under any other circumstance I’d be even more proud of my big swinging dick than usual because I was looking DAMN good!

Apparently the moment I thought I was taking to compose myself took longer than I thought because my hot locker neighbor’s rich voice was soft next to me. “You seriously okay?” he asked, his hand searing my shoulder, and that bolt of heat going straight to my problem area.

When I turned I was almost face-to-face with him, explaining the softness of his voice. And the air was pleasant with the post-gargle minty aroma of his breath. And that, inevitably, went through me like every other sensory input, straight to my cock and nuts. I did my best to get a coherent word out, but it was even worse than before: “Ummmmmrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmm.”

I felt him immediately use both hands around my shoulders and him easing me to the bench as he said, “Okay, brother, you just sit down here, and I’m calling the infirmary.”

I was horrified at the thought, but as I turned toward him I was face-to-cock. That didn’t help me at all, and I, a tough career Marine officer, was completely tongue-tied, and the incoherent sound I managed was more like a moan than even my growl-murmur before. But it was too late anyway, because my hunky locker neighbor had already sprinted off to the phone, which I knew was on the door to the lockers. I took some comfort that the few other men I was aware of around me seemed to have no idea of what was going on.

I used the consciousness of the non-scene and my gratitude for it to focus and get myself under control. Hell I was going to be forty within a few months, and I had been functioning around hot men for twenty-five years. And furthermore, I was a Marine! That did it for me. I got my head back and got myself up and got my towel wrapped around me when unknown marine hero hunk came rushing back around the end of the lockers and up to me.

“The medics are on their way,” he said, his very warm hand on my shoulder.

“It’s really OK,” I said, thanking myself for having regained the power of speech.

He looked confused. And HOT. He hadn’t bothered to put his towel around himself again, and I was greatly enjoying the view.

About the time I was savoring the scenery, the gym door slammed open out of sight on the other side of the bank of lockers and an urgent voice called, “Where is he?”

Unknown hunk-scenery looked at me for a moment and then called, “Over here.”

After that we had about ten minutes of two Corpsmen – a captain and a sergeant – pretty much refusing to believe that I was fine. They finally did accept the fact that I was fine, long after the small crowd of onlookers had gone back their lockers, showers, sinks or whatever. The good news was that the time with the doctor and medic had yielded one bit of valuable information – my hunky locker neighbor cum hero was Major Thomas McGregor.

I put out my hand. “Guess we should meet, since you tried to save my life. Bill Cate. Sorry I wasn’t cooperating by dying or anything,” I said, chuckling.

I’d caught him right as he was removing the towel he’d put on when the medical team had got there, and he reflexively put out his hand to take mine, the towel dropping. I looked down with unabashed appreciation as we shook hands.

“Thomas McGregor. Major Thomas McGregor. But my friends call me Mac. And judging by the way you’re enjoying the sight of me, I suspect we’ll not only be friends, but I bet you’ll have all sorts of interesting things to call me,” he added with a broad grin that lit up his wizened face.

We stood there, joined in a firm, manly handshake that went on way too long. At length, I was the first to break the contact. I’d like to say it was because it was the right conduct as an officer, particularly as an officer of superior rank, but it was actually because my cock had, once again, begun to respond to the heat that was radiating from him.

We both started to dress in awkward silence. I was adjusting my belt buckle to perfect placement as Mac was grabbing his sweat-soaked gym clothes in a big handful. He inadvertently snagged my sweat-soaked jock strap from my pile of clothes which had been next to his, almost one pile. I was about to say something when, instead of putting them in his gym bag in the locker, he kept the arc of his heft and brought the handful up as if he was going to put them in the locker, but instead had my jock strap at his nose. He inhaled deeply, his eyes locked with mine until he closed them reverently and threw his head back a little.

I was back to moaning and mumbling. Mac didn’t seem to mind, opening his eyes again at the sound of my plaintiff exhalation. “Why don’t we get you out of here, Cate, before we have to call for medics again?” he said with a snarky smile and a wink.

* * * * * * * * * * *

His quarters in the Officer’s Guest Quarters or “GQ” – which were anything but – were closer to the gym, so chosen for expedience. They also told me that Mac was a temporary tantalizing temptation, which on balance was a good thing, but that knowledge also brought with it a pang of regret.

When we were in the door, he turned and stopped me with a warm hand to my chest. Wordlessly he began to unbuckle my belt and open my pants, smiling into mine as he did it. He didn’t lean in, and neither did I. Nor did I reach for his pants. This scene was taking shape, and I liked the shape.

When he had my pants opened fully, he reached into my boxer briefs and pulled my mostly hard horsecock and bull balls out over the stretched waistband. He looked down briefly, and his smile took on a more admiring and needy look, but his gaze returned to mine as he used two hands to very slowly massage my nuts and stroke his hand over my fucktool. His breath was loud and filling with low moans. The feeling of his slow, light touch was amazing, and my eyes narrowed to slits, wanting to close but wanting to see his face also.

I was momentarily saddened when the hand on my balls left them, but only for a moment because that big warm hand re-connected flat on my cut groin and moved up slowly over my eight pack and up across one nipple and then the other, sending shivers through me. All the while his other big paw was lightly stroking my rod from pubes to head, all over it, as if he was memorizing every vein by braille.

Then that hand left my cock and he began to unbutton my shirt. When he was done he slipped it off and quickly laid it neatly over the back of the straight chair by his desk. His hands returned to me, and I whimpered and leaned into his touch on my chest. He did the same thing with my upper body, running his hands lightly over all of me – my pecs, shoulders, back, abs again, where he spent considerable time and his long appreciative moans became a big louder.

He started to bend his knees to lower himself, and that’s where I stopped him with my hands to his shoulder and holding him standing. “No. First you strip.”

He smiled into my own smile and said huskily, “Agreed, but then I tackle that monster and give you a blowjob that’ll knock you off your feet!”

His eyes danced, and I said, with determination, “Yes, you will. And that’s my favorite foreplay before I fuck my second load into you and make you remember my cock when you write your memoirs.”

His growl was guttural, and his eyes turned smoky.

For a moment we stood there, his hands on my waist, our eyes locked. “Strip, major!” I ordered.

As if he was fighting laryngitis his voice broke and croaked and he struggled to clear it when he reflexively responded, “Sir, yes, sir!”

Mac made quick work of his own uniform, and I took the time to get my shoes, socks, pants and boxer briefs off. We were both naked at the same time, and I started for his bed, my hand on his shoulder. When we got there I got on his perfectly made bed with my head propped up on his pillows and my hands behind my head, my biceps bulging for his enjoyment and my abs in their best display. My huge cock jutted toward the ceiling fan, which he’d flicked on as we entered. We’d need that.

Mac appraised me from head to toe, lingering twice at my cock and returning to my guns, and then he silently got himself half off the end of the bed and brought his face to my balls. “Mmmmmmmmm,” I responded, as first his breath and then his tongue rushed over my sac.

He laved my sac and massaged my balls with his tongue as I moaned appreciatively, forcing myself to relax but wanting more already, more, faster, NOW. When his tongue slipped behind my sac I lifted my hips to give him more access, and his tongue continued toward my hole and brushed across it, sending lightning bolts through me.

Mac rimmed me like he was going to fuck me, even though we both knew who was getting fucked this day. My precum was running all over my abs as he ate me deep and with the skill of a man practiced in touching another man’s sensitive places. His tongue teasing and thrusting in my hole was driving me nuts, and I was grinding into his face for more. His growls and slurps were almost as invigorating as his tongue itself, and the stream of “oh fuck yeah eat my hole bitch” and the like seemed to fuel his energies.

At one point while he feasted on my asshole I felt my balls start to go to boilover, and I was so amazed I almost let it happen. But since I had other plans for my loads than to spray all over myself, I reached down and yanked him up as I sat up and shoved my face onto his in a rough kiss. His “Oooooooooooh” in surprise as I shoved my tongue into his mouth and inhaled my own scent off his face made me clutch him to me even tighter. His rock hard cock was shoved against my ass and I could feel his precum as it rubbed around as I held him and we kissed almost desperately. I could enjoy the tantalization in my crack – no fears, as I knew I’d be inside him before too long, not the other way around. For my part the precum puddle in my ab valleys had started running down my sides.

When I let his mouth go for a moment he shouted, “Oh holy fucking SHIT!” and looked a little stunned.

“What?”

“You fucking KISS! YOU FUCKING SUCK FACE BUDDY! Do you know how fucking few marines kiss?” And with that he grabbed me and pulled me into another long, rough, needy, raw kiss. Our tongues dueled, sometimes his in my mouth, usually mine in his, just like my fuckrod was going to be invading his cunt before the afternoon was over.

All of a sudden as we were kissing he started to squirm and buck and make frantic noises. I tried to let him go, but he held on tight and then I felt his hot cum blasting all over my ass crack and hole, running down as he shot what must have been a gallon. “Holy fucking Christ, Mac!” I exclaimed.

When he got himself under control enough he pulled away and was sitting on his haunches with his head down. I figured he was catching his breath. When he looked up he had a very different look on his face. He looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry, man,” he said.

“Sorry? What the fuck are you sorry for, marine?” I barked incredulously.

“I haven’t lost control and cum prematurely like that since I was a teenager,” he said sheepishly.

“Dude, you—“ I started, but he interrupted me.

“It’s just that you’re so fucking hot, and you KISS,” he exclaimed again.

“Mac, do me a favor and shut the fuck up. You had me so close to blowing my nuts when you were tonguing my shithole that I had to pull you off, and for a minute there while we were I wasn’t sure your hot kissing and the smell of me on your face wasn’t going to push me over, too. It’s fucking HOT that you came, bud – fucking HOT!”

“I’ll make it up to you!” he said, his smile starting to return.

“Dude, there’s nothing to make up. Now AFTER you lick my crack clean of your spooge, how about that blowjob you promised me? And then I’m going to fuck you so hard and so long that you’re going to feel it for days, I promise you!”

With that Mac planted another one on me and then dove face first into my ass again, his tongue and mouth working it, slurping up his own load with appreciative “mmmmmmmmm”s. When he came up for air and showed me he was spitting his cum into his hand and then, with a devilishly lascivious look he made a show of using it to lube his hole. I practically came right there.

“OH FUCK!” I said involuntarily, and in response he took a broad swipe of my precum off my abs and brought it to his face for a long lick. That was it. I took him roughly by the head and pulled him into me for another kiss, pigging out on the taste of my cum on his lips and tongue. As I kissed him I flipped him onto his back and was on him, grinding our cocks between my slimy abs.

“Oh fuck, Cate!” he shouted momentarily when we took a breathing break. That sounded like a good idea to me, so I yanked his legs up onto my shoulders and leaned over to his side table by the bed. “In the drawer. QUICK!” he said, plaintively.

I yanked the drawer open so hard the lamp on the table went over, but I grabbed the lube and condoms. “If I get a say, plenty of lube. That cock of yours is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, let alone take.”

“You’re going to take it, Mac,” I said, as my fingers breached him, and his body jolted.

“Oh fuck I want it, Cate! I fucking WANT IT!” he said, grinding onto my fingers.

I had his hole so lubed I figured I could get a Fiat in there, and I had the condom on and had my huge head against the hole I’d just stretched out. I was pushing and he was pushing back and moaning, but it wasn’t giving easily. I didn’t want to hurt him, but goddammit I WAS going to fuck that incredibly hot ass of his. “Relax,” I said, as I had so many times in my life. “Breathe, Mac, and relax.”

“Just fucking force it, goddammit,” he said.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, still pushing to no avail.

“Colonel, consider that and order. FUCK YOUR BOTTOM BITCH NOW!” he said.

It surprised me so much that I went rigid, stopped even trying to breach him.

“NOWWWWWWWWW!” he barked.

That snapped me out of it. I lined up again and SHOVED into him. His shout was ear splitting, and I vaguely thought I wondered how the walls of the O guest quarters were . . . and how many other visiting officers were in the GQ. Fortunately my hips were on auto pilot, and I was already pounding his cunt in time with his shouts.

I was drilling that hole which was clamped around my cock like a vise. But he was taking it, and soon he was fucking back onto my cock despite his shouts in pain. It was obvious he was totally into it, but it was obvious he was in major pain. I was conflicted, but my cock and nuts weren’t, and my hips were taking their orders from that head.

I pounded that cunt hard and long, and he finally started thrashing his head around and making similar noises to before. I knew for sure he was cumming when his cuntvise started spasming around my thrusting cock. His first cumblast hit his chest but his next two hit his chin and neck. I was fucking STOKED. And I thrusted myself over that edge and lost control, shouting and feeling myself grind brutally into his ass as I emptied my nuts inside him into the condom.

I collapsed onto Mac into waiting arms. We were both sweaty and his sticky cum was ample between us. “Stay inside me, Cate,” he said. At that moment I couldn’t do anything else. He gently kissed the side of my head at my temple and held me as we both panted.

A few minutes went by, and then we suddenly both started to talk at once.

Me: “Guess I---“

Mac: “Now, ab---“

We both laughed, a bit nervously. “You go,” I said.

“I will,” he said, wrestling out from under me, wincing with a loud “FUCK” when he pulled off my cock.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Fuck you are! And you have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, as he shoved me down on my back and put a pillow under my head again. “Now, about that blowjob,” he said, taking the condom off me.

“Mmmmmm a little secret sauce there for ya!” I mugged.

To that he turned it up like a shot glass and let my load run into his mouth.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I exclaimed as I watched him slurp the last drops he could get of my seed out of the condom. And when he was finished he tossed it and dove onto my cock.

If I say his technique was world class, you’ll know that I mean truly world class. Having been all over the world, I can say that his cocksucking had my toes curled for the thirty-five or forty minutes he blew me. He worked every inch of my horsecock and grabbed my balls roughly, which sent me farther into the stratosphere, until I finally felt myself close to cumming and tried to pull him off. He faught it, and I let go, my body exploding with lightning bolts inside and my cock blasting HARD into his mouth.

Mac struggled to get every drop, even though he said afterward he’d never had a guy shoot as big a load. I told him I couldn’t imagine that being true because I was sure he got all his men that hot. And then we were kissing again, my cum more prevalent in the taste of his mouth and lips, making me even hotter.

When we finally broke the kiss, we both lay back for a bit. We were both sweaty and stunk, despite our recent showers. “I don’t know about you, Mac, but I’m starved.”

He laughed heartily. “I can say honestly that I just had a big meal – two actually, though the last one was presented better!”

I laughed with him. “But seriously, I’m starved. Let’s get some chow. Cum on an empty stomach will just eat your stomach lining anyway, Mac,” I said, laughing some more.

Mac and I enjoyed his entire visit, his schedule easy enough working around my duty schedule. That first afternoon/evening, when we’d come back from mess and we fucked again, he told me he’d never been so sore . . . or been fucked so well. He was sure a smooth talker . . . and an awesome fuck buddy.

Mac was killed in combat two years later. We only got together on leave once after his visit, but those two time periods with him rank as not only among the hottest sex of my life, but also one of the nicest men I’d ever fucked, and one of the most estimable marines I ever served with.