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Stand at Ease

Look, if I tell you about this, you can't tell nobody else. And I mean NOBODY.

It's not like I'm embarrassed. Nah... nothing like that...

Listen... I could get into a whole lot of trouble telling you this story if the wrong people hear about it. And Rex'd get into even more trouble. You cause problems for that kid, and I'll slit your throat. You feel me?

Heh. LT Masterson'd have my ass for calling him "kid." But it's hard not to think of him like that sometimes, you know? I mean, he's a grown ass male in his own right. But he's a tiny little hare--barely comes up to my chest, really. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he medically qualifies as a runt. He's normally brown aside from his pure-white tail. Not that I was, you know, really looking or anything. Creatures just notice these things.

Anyway, I say "normally" because winter's coming and you know how some creatures grow in winter coats that are different colors? So, the LT's normally got this fine--I mean like the consistency of the fur, don't read too much into it--chocolate-brown coat. But, at the time, he had patches of thick, pure white fur--almost like puffs--over his right eye, and even one of his whole ears! The shit would have been funny if he wasn't my boss.

But, seriously, he really is a tiny little thing. He's got a real lean and... the hell's the word he likes to use... lithe? Yeah, real lean and lithe body. If he wasn't older than most of the lieutenants we typically get, I'd call him a twink. The things a man can do with little guys like that...

Sorry, I'm rambling. You ain't just here to hear me reminisce. You're here for a story... or at least the juicy parts of it. Well, patience is a virtue, damn it! Storytelling is a goddamn art.

So no shit, there I am. In the motor pool after final formation before the weekend. Just finishing up some "corrective training" with a soldier--Private Spat, this scrawny coyote we got in a few months back. Spat's been late to formation FOUR separate times that week, including that morning.

Now, I know I look pretty mean: what with the height, and the black fur, and the broad shoulders, and the long tusks, and the boar beard and all. But you know I ain't all that bad. Shit, I could have beat the boy's ass like they used to back in the day. But, nah, I only have the kid doing push-ups.

Okay, fine... yeah, it was payday weekend so we're in our dress uniforms. And yeah, he's sweating all the way through the shit--heh, turned the light green dress shirt regular and the dark green slacks damn near black. But, really, how am I supposed to know the kid's gonna throw up after just a hundred pushups?

Anyway, after that, I figure Spat's done the time for the crime, so I cut him loose and send him off back to the barracks. I'm thinking about whether I want to get a hose for the puke or just let the rain take care of it over the weekend. But before I can figure it out, I turn around, and I damn near have to throw myself back to keep from running straight into LT Masterson.

Now, I have no idea how long he's been standing there. I swear, I've heard the man yell orders, and I got no problems hearing every word he says when he speaks... but in just about every other way he's as quiet as a damn mouse.

Is that offensive these days? Whatever.

So, the LT is staring me down, right? Kinda weird how he's so good at it when he's looking up at you. But he's not saying a damn word. Kinda dead in the face, but he's normally like that--he says he's been "accused of being aloof" a lot. Honestly though, he's warm enough... when you're not on his shitlist. Now, he's not quite giving me the shitlist look, but he has my gut starting to tense up all the same. I have to fight the urge to cuss under my breath when he finally says,

"Sergeant Carroll, can I speak with you in the office before you leave?"

He's asking it like it's a question. I know it ain't a question. I also know what the only acceptable response is.

"Of course, sir! I'm not doing anything now. Lead the way."

So he turns and starts making his way to the office, and I'm following behind him, wracking every single cell in my brain to try to figure out just what I did or didn't do this time. Did I forget something? Nah, I'm pretty sure I hit everything on the checklist he gave me that morning. And what we talked about on Monday. Did one of the soldiers get up to something? That can't be it, we just let 'em all go for the weekend. They'd all still be here fixing shit or they'd be fucking stupid, doing something to jeopardize their weekend. Unless... it hits me.

Is this about Spat? As quiet as he is, I really have no idea just how long he'd been standing there behind me. Had he seen me working the kid out? He and I are like the ma and pa of the platoon... respectively and respectfully. You know, the running joke in most platoons about the platoon sergeant and the platoon leader. And, like the stereotypical ma and pa, sometimes he and I don't really see eye-to-eye when it comes to discipline. Nothing too major, but the more I think about it, the more I decide Spat has got to be the reason I'm getting called into his office. Well, "his office" ain't really all that accurate.

See, at the platoon level, the lieutenant isn't really important enough to have his own office. Neither is the platoon sergeant, honestly. So, the leadership of all three platoons in the company shares an office, divided up with cubicles for at least some semblance of privacy and organization. We've got the first cubicle--the only one with a window, so you know we're special. The LT leads me in there, takes a seat at his desk, and scribbles something down on a piece of paper before he turns around to face me.

"Sir," I start. Not trying to cut him off or anything. I just like being on the attack, one step ahead, all that good shit. I say, "If this is about Private Spat, I apologize for not letting you know what I was planning to do. But he's been late four separate times this week and that shit is just not acceptable."

His ears twitch a bit, standing straight up on his head. I swear it would be cute... you know, if we weren't NCO and officers. As it is, I start thinking I'm in trouble when he starts twirling his pen between his fingers. See, he only does that when he's thinking real hard about something and he's trying to find the best way to say it. So I'm a little surprised when he speaks like Spat ain't been on his mind at all. He says to me,

"Right, Private Spat. That's a good place to start. You know I don't always agree with your methods, Sergeant. However, I respect you and your judgment. And I respect that, sometimes, it's more effective--and easier--than paperwork. And you're right, his behavior isn't excusable. But the issue is a bit more complex. Did you know that his girlfriend broke up with him two weeks ago?"

Girlfriend? Hell, I wouldn't have been surprised if Spat was still a virgin if I'm honest. My surprise must be real on my face because LT Masterson just chuckles and shakes his head.

"Don't worry. Like I said, it's not an excuse; there isn't one. But, given his previous track record as reliable, it does seem to explain the sudden change in behavior. And I think it requires a different course of action than... 'corrective training.' At any rate, I'll speak with Private Spat later. That's not the main thing I was intending to talk with you about."

I must have looked confused or something because he tilts his head and smirks a bit at me. When he doesn't say anything, I ask him,

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about then, sir?"

He starts twirling his pen again, and I'm starting to get anxious. He might as well have been twirling a bayonet between those little fingers. Honestly, ain't sure what would have scared me more, staring down at him.

Now... I've stood in front of--and been chewed out by--full-bird colonels and even a general once. But the LT... this kid actually has me starting to sweat, and I wasn't even standing at attention for him. I'm jumping at the sound of his voice by the time he speaks up again and asks,

"What do you think about me, Sergeant Carroll? I want your honest opinion. Complete honesty."

Well, shit. I'm standing there a bit stunned. I mean, I'm thinking it's random as hell but seems like an innocent enough question. But you gotta know something. Something that I figured out for myself. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING the LT does is random. Even when it seems like it has to be, because no one thinks of everything, right?

Anyway, I'm too busy trying to figure out what's going on in that little lieutenant head of his to really remember what I tried to tell him at first. Maybe something about how I admire his work ethic and his care for the soldiers. And how he's legitimately one of the best fresh lieutenants I've ever seen, let alone had the pleasure of working with. I think I see his ear and his lips twitch at the last part... but, it's not quite the answer he's looking for, I can tell. He has this way of tilting his head and sighing softly... lika a momma telling you she ain't mad, just disappointed. He tilts his head to the side and says,

"That's really all you have to say, Sergeant?"

He puts this really weird emphasis on "all," and his eyes seem to spark in the light.

"...Sir?" I say, tilting my own head. "I'm sorry, but I'm really not sure what you're getting at or expecting from me here."

At this point, I admit, I'm starting to get a little annoyed. What the hell are we doing here if we're not talking about how I handled the situation with Private Spat? I mean, I honestly got no idea. But LT Masterson just shakes his head slowly before he says,

"Well, maybe I am expecting a bit much. I suppose I thought you'd have a worse bluff... or maybe a better memory."

"Alright, sir, seriously, what--"

"I believe your words to Sergeant O'Reilly were, and I quote... 'I'd fuck his tiny little runt ass senseless.' Do I have that right?"

Nope. No bullshit, those were the exact words out of his mouth. And I'll never forget it. People talk about fight or flight, but most don't even know about people freezing in the face of shock and shit. And I'm freezing hard after those words leave his mouth. Not because I'm sensitive or something. More because... well, he'd gotten the words exactly right. And, more than anything, I guess I just couldn't figure out how. I could've swore that me and Sergeant O--otter bud of mine, platoon sergeant of the second platoon (more like "second best platoon," heh)... anyway, I thought we had been alone in the office at the time. Shit, I guess LT Masterson's ears do more than just pad his height on his paperwork.

Anyway, me and Sergeant O go way back. Crazy far back. Like, thick as thieves. He knows the type of guys I like. Little slips like the LT, maybe with a bit less muscle. You know, you can throw 'em around, bend' em, do whatever you like... as long as they're into being manhandled. I honestly don't even remember how the LT came into the conversation. Maybe O noticed just how closely the LT fit my type. Maybe something about the "platoon mom and dad" joke and who actually filled what role. Whatever.

Yeah, I'd told O that I was definitely the daddy in our relationship. And... yeah, I said if things were different and I had the chance, I'd fuck the little hare's tiny runt ass senseless. In hindsight, probably not my best or proudest moment, but, hey, sometimes guys talk, sue me...

Actually, nah. I'm not gonna brush it off or justify it or anything. I know now it ain't fair, especially not to him. But, anyway, in the moment, he don't actually seem all that bothered or insulted as he waits for me to come to my senses and respond. If anything, he looks like he's waiting patiently because he's curious about my answer. Of course, I figure I'm up shit creek without a boat, fuck, a paddle. So I'm fucking stuttering,

"Uh.. w-well... I, um... I'm sorry, sir, I... I didn't mean--"

"Oh, Sergeant. Please, there's no need to apologize," he says, waving a hand to shut me up as he sits back in his chair. He really doesn't sound mad, but something about the way he's eyeing me has me wanting to run for cover. "You said what you said. And you said it with such... confidence, I find myself hard-pressed to doubt that you meant it. So, here's your chance."

Honestly, all I can think is: What the fuck?

"Uh... sir? I... I don't..."

"You spoke with such conviction," he says, tilting his head to the other side. " Such... gumption. So, I think I'd be remiss if I didn't provide you the opportunity to act on it. If you're up for it, of course. And I have no doubt that you are."

My jaw must have fell open at some point. I only really notice because I have to close my mouth to swallow the lump in my throat. I'm looking at him for something, anything that says this is a fucking joke. But he must be one hell of a poker player. His ears are stiff like most hares, but they're still nice and relaxed, completely still on top of his head. His tone seems still as light as ever, not an ounce of reservation or awkwardness about the words marching out his mouth. His eyes... his eyes are what get me the most, honestly.

I ain't ever really locked eyes with him like this before, but looking down into them like I was now... it felt like I was on the edge of a cliff. Staring down into thick, quiet little lakes of gold. Still waters run deep. That's what they say, right? But this is more than that. Something flares underneath the surface like... like muzzle flash or something, I don't know. All I know is his eyes... they're fucking dangerous, those eyes.

...Sorry... uh... anyway, I almost jump as he leans back in his chair, spreading his arms wide and saying,

"Well, Sergeant? I'm all yours. Show me."

I'm sure I sound like a fucking private being chewed out when I stutter back, "Sh... show you, sir?"

"How you'd fuck me," he said. Fucking straight face. And then he raises a finger and smirks and points at me like he's knows I forgot when he adds, "'Senseless.'"

I'm thinking there's no way in hell this could actually be happening. I mean, this only happens in those cheesy old pornos, right? Was this tiny young rabbit--my superior officer, sure, but still tiny and young--sitting at his desk, looking like he's enjoying my floundering as he asks... Nah, tells me to fuck him as casually as he might tell me to double-check a maintenance report? I don't know how long I stand there trying to decide if all this is real or not. I guess long enough for him to let out a hum that almost sounds... genuinely concerned for me. He says,

"Hmm... should we start slow then? Take your clothes off for me."

This has to be some sort of test or... or a joke or fucking something, right? This tiny guy telling me to strip down in this office so I can fuck him into next week? There's just no way. I'm thinking he's bluffing or something. As soon as he sees my body and what I'm working with, he'll back down. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure of it. And yet, I can't bring myself to do it. To do anything. Laugh it off, get mad, get naked and call his goddamn bluff. I feel almost... bashful at the thought of undressing in front of him. I ain't ever felt that, but the way he's watching, and waiting, I just... I ain't ever blushed a day in my life, but... my cheeks feel awful hot. Maybe... maybe I did blush, and he must have found it funny. He gives me the smallest smile as he tilts his head and he says,

"Don't tell me... are you nervous now? Little young me? I don't make a big old boar like you nervous... do I, Aiden?"

I ain't sure if I draw in a breath because of the jab at my pride, because my first name was lobbed between his lips like a grenade, or because he's... not far from the truth. I suddenly realize I ain't been breathing, and I start trying to suck it all in as if he's actually hit me in the gut. My fucking hands are shaking... just like this, you see? And they're just itching. Aching to show him... something. Show him I ain't afraid of jack shit? Show him I'm more than he could handle? I guess... you know, at the very least, I want to show him... what he wants to see. Whatever the hell it is he's trying to see. Because this HAS to be a test, right?

"Hmm... maybe it'll be easier if I give you an order?" He says, crossing his legs and sitting back. He says it so... fuck, what's the goddamn word? Nonchalantly? Yeah, like the answer is the most obvious one in the world. His voice gets that edge I hear him use all the time, but I ain't never heard it as sharp or as... forceful as is now. Leveling it at me with all the menace of a missile launcher.

"Strip, Sergeant."

Look... I want to say that it doesn't make things easier. That something in my gut doesn't relax at the hard rumble coming from his young throat. That my hands don't finally stop shaking. But I ain't a liar. So... I nod, and I say,

"Y... yes, sir."

As I acknowledge the command, my hands finally jolt into action. Fucking dumbasses nearly ram into each other, scrambling to find the buttons on my shirt.

Now, I've disassembled and reassembled rifles and machine guns in under thirty seconds... but it feels like every button on that damn shirt is taking me an hour to undo. I'm cussing something fierce under my breath and letting out sighs of relief every single time I manage to get more and more of the shirt undone.

LT Masterson just seems content to watch me and smile though. I can feel his eyes roaming over every inch of my bearded face, taking in my tusks, my snout, my eyes, my tongue trying to wet my dry lips, drifting occasionally down to watch my clumsy hands work. If I'm honest, the patience in his stare is nerve wracking, like he has all the time in the world to wait for me but we both know full well I don't deserve an ounce of any of it. Or maybe it was the intensity... like nothing else in the world was worthy of his attention even though I knew he could have had anything... everything else he wanted. Or maybe it was something else... something that struck me as almost familiar, but I just couldn't quite place...

Anyway... I give this dumb grunt of triumph as I finally manage to get the damn shirt fully open, and I pull it out of my pants, throwing it off me like it's on fire. I hear the LT chuckle, and I feel the heat overtaking my body rush back to my face like it belongs there. His eyes glance at my forearms, barely fitting through the sleeves of my undershirt. Then they dart to the thick tuft of fur poking through the collar. He makes a gesture with his finger, and somehow I know he's telling me the undershirt has to go. I almost rip the damn thing, I tear it over my head so fucking fast. I grunt in annoyance as the fabric catches on my tusks for a few seconds before I finally manage to drop it on the floor on top of the other shirt.

Alright, so yeah, I got a fair amount of gut. I ain't ashamed to say it since it's all muscle under there anyway. Not that LT Masterson said anything. But... he just stares at it for a while, and then all over the rest of my upper body. I can feel drops of sweat beginning to run down my fur like he's drawing them out just by looking. He glances at the hair underneath my arms and I see his nose twitch. Look, it was hot in the office, alright? It was a hot day! I'm thinking he's got something to say about my scent, since, you know it's pretty thick. But he just smiles before he gets up and opens the window, staring out at something for a bit before he orders.

"Keep going, Sergeant. You're doing a fine job. Now get those pants off."

"Yes, sir... thank you, sir," I say, just barely above a mutter. I... I feel like I should... have to wait until he's settled back in his seat--legs crossed and comfortable at his observation post--to start reaching for the buckle of my belt.

I'm a bit more comfortable now. Fingers not as fucking clumsy. Manage to get the belt off and the pants down real quick. I kind of... well... I kind of freeze again then because... well... Look, I don't know why, but... but my dick is hard as shit. Like I can drill for oil or dig for diamonds with the fucker. It feels like the damn thing is going to tear through the tent in my briefs and launch off my groin, it's throbbing so hard and fast. LT Masterson's smile gets really wide at that, and... well, like I said, I don't blush... but... if we say I did... my face is feeling hot like a bitch in heat then.

He waves his hand at me again, and I know the underwear's got to go. So, I wrestle with the damn waistband because my cock is not giving at all, but I get the damn thing down around my ankles. My cock is bouncing in the air real hard and LT Masterson is just watching it.

Now, you take my word for it. I got a real nice weapon on me. Sure, it ain't as long as some guys, but it's fucking thicker than a California redwood. Heh, like a tree stump. Or a grenade launcher. Especially the head. I'm lucky it's got that corkscrew shape. Makes it easier to pry' em open, you know? and I got some really big nuts, full and heavy. Thick thighs push 'em out and make 'em look even bigger, I'm told. ...Look, I'm real proud of my stuff, alright, sue me. Every man oughta be! But just then... with the LT looking at it the way he is, I feel like I'm in the middle of an inspection or something and don't know if I got what it takes to pass. His eyes are looking me up and down again and I'm really fucking sweating now.

Now that I think about it, I know exactly what it was about those eyes roving all over me that seemed so familiar. I'd seen senior officers look the same way at maps and terrain models while they were planning missions, their eyes capturing info, analyzing angles of approach, possible enemy courses of action, key terrain to take.

That's how LT Masterson looks at my mouth, my chest, my junk, all of it rolling out for him like a map of muscle and sweat and fur. He's getting the lay of the land of me, and something about that makes my dick even fucking harder.

Finally, the LT uncrosses his legs and slides closer to me.

"Well, someone's eager to make good on what they said, aren't they?" he says with a smirk. You know what he does? He fucking flicks my cock! Not hard enough to hurt or nothing, but I fucking jump like it does, and my cock bounces real hard. I uh... I fucking shoot a line of precum clean over his shoulder and onto his desk. I start stuttering out an apology and he just fucking smirks and laughs, like he'd known it was going to happen. He's looking up at me watching me squirm and all I can do is say,

"Y-Yes, sir."

His buck teeth are shining like sabers, he's smiling so wide. He says,

"Alright, alright. I guess I've kept you waiting long enough, haven't I?"

I know the question ain't a question, but I nod like a needy kid anyway. I back up into the cubicle wall to give him some room as he stands up and stretches a bit before reaching down for his belt. Compared to me, he's basically a wizard and he's got his pants and underwear down in seconds. And I feel my jaw drop with them to the floor because holy fucking shit. I ain't never seen anything like it. I mean... fuck... even now I can barely believe it.

First thing I think is that the LT's boner is weird, pointing down and white like the rest of him. And then I realize, oh, wait, that's not his cock, that's just his sheath. Then I'm thinking, fuck me six ways to Sunday, that thing's a sheath?! It hangs down over his balls like creatures without a bone in there do after they're done or when they pop out of their sheaths sometimes. Fucking massive, looked like it was damn near thick as mine, but so long that it fucking swings under its own weight with just his goddamn breathing. And his nuts! Those fuckers are massive too, ever bigger than mine. I can see them swinging along with that giant sheath, flopping around between his legs as he picks his pants up, folds them, and puts them on his desk all nice and neat like. I'm practically hypnotized. Almost sad to see his dick go as he turns around. At least, until he actually turns around and his ass his me like fucking LMTV doing 60. I mean, fuck, he's got an ass like that too? Of course, I'd kind of seen it in his dress uniform, But I ain't expect it to be so... round, and full, and perky and shit. Like a legitimate handful, but I could feel the muscle behind it too just by looking, you know? Like I could grab each cheek in both hands and they'd grab back as my fingers sink in. I can't see his tail hole, but those cheeks are more than enough to get my dick bouncing again, and I have to put my hands underneath my head to keep from fucking leaking onto his floor. And the way his sheath swings when he turns back to me... damn near makes me want to duck, especially the way it smacks against his thigh.

A-Anyway...

"My eyes are up here, Sergeant," I hear LT Masterson say. I think I almost crack my teeth snapping my head up to meet his eyes, and I can feel my face burning hot as fresh brass, like a kid caught in the cookie jar. But it's like he thinks the whole thing is funny more than anything else, like he's used to this sort of thing. Shit, hauling a weapon around like that on his frame, I guess he must have been... and I ain't even seen it hard yet. How the hell he managed to keep that monster a secret, I'll never fucking know.

But anyway, he gives his sheath a little tug, letting his pink tapered cock head poke out, but he says, "We're not here for this today. We're here for that."

He jerks his head at my cock, practically trying to leap clear off of me to get to him.

"Well... here I am, Sergeant. All yours. Show me what you've got."

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling put on the spot. I mean, it's not like I don't want to get down. I'm cocked, locked, and loaded something fierce just staring at his lower half, even though I itch to see the rest of the body hiding under his shirt. Actually, it's kind of hot seeing him with the top half of his uniform still on... like, I don't know, his last name flashing at me, a reminder of who and what he is in relation to me. And yet here I was about to fuck him. To fuck him senseless like he reminded me I said I would.

I don't know when I actually step forward and take hold of him, but I remember shuddering as I lift him up and he locks his lithe little legs around my hips . The hare in my hands is burning even hotter than my face. The man is a goddamn furnace and his heat is washing over me. Every inch of my skin that touches him suddenly feels like it's burning against his fur, and it startles me to the point that I almost drop him. But he just pulls himself forward and wraps his arms around my neck, bringing his muzzle just inches from mine. I fall forward a bit, and we almost slam into the damn desk before I get my balance. I started to stammer out an apology, but he just shuts my mouth with his nose. Like, boop, right on the lips. And he's just... staring at me, holding me captive with those eyes and a grin that I can only call wolfish.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Aiden?" My name from his lips makes something at the base of my neck tingle. It's fucking weird... but in a fucking good way. "You better get started before I lose my patience."

"Uh... sir, what about--"

"You really think I'd come here and do all this if I wasn't already... prepared," he whispers in my ear, making my breath hitch. I can't imagine when the fuck he'd have the time, but I had no doubt that he was telling the truth. "You're leaking enough to take care of the rest. And you don't have to worry about being gentle. It certainly didn't sound like you were concerned with being gentle when you were talking to Sergeant O."

Well, he ain't exactly wrong. I definitely wasn't thinking gentle thoughts or saying gentle things when I had been talking with O.

Alright then, I think, gripping him tighter, trying to take the reins he was handing me like I'd had 'em all along. He wanted it rough. I could do rough. Shit, I hunted, skinned, and ate rough raw rough!

So, I'm starting to feel more in the lead now. I whirl us around and I slam him up against the cubicle wall. Kind of surprised the damn thing held. He lets out a huff, but he's still smirking up at me. But now, a part of me wants to fuck that smirk right off his face.

"Remember, sir," I say to him, voice finally steady. "You asked for this."

Then I bring him down, throw my hips forward, and slam up into him. Every single inch of it. To his credit, he took it a lot better than I was expecting. He lets out a gasp, and a soft sigh like the feeling was something he hadn't felt in a long time. I let out a groan because a second later he's clenching down on me and my dick is just wrapped in this hot, tight vice grip. I swear I can feel his heartbeat fighting mine as his insides pulse against my cock. I actually stumble, feeling a bit light-headed from just how good it felt diving into him, the contours of his innards stroking along the ridges of my corkscrew and the soft fur of his cheeks caressing my nuts... Fuck...

I manage to play it off like I'm just widening my stance so I can start giving it to him proper. He sure as hell wasn't lying about prepping. There was friction because he was so damn tight, but I could tell just how slick he was, and thrusting into him is sending fire up and down my chest and spine. Only a few minutes of fast, rough thrusting into him and I'm sweating something fierce, even though I ain't even nearly out of breath groaning against his neck. I can feel his pulse against my lips, sped up but steady and even just like his breathing. I glance up to look at his face and Rex... I mean, LT Masterson has his eyes closed. And just... this serene look of pleasure on his muzzle, like he was drinking in my dick and savoring it in his ass like a fine wine on his tongue. A connoisseur enjoying a delicacy. I don't know if he felt me staring at him or something, but his eyes suddenly pop open and he's staring at me again. But this time, his eyes are a bit different. Still bright, but sharper... hungrier.

He tells me to let him down, and I do. Even though it fucking murders me. Sliding out of him is the hardest pullout I've ever had to do in my life. It's rather jump out of another hundred planes. I have to fight not to whine as my head pops out of him, my dick throbbing hard and lonely in what feels like freezing air. He gently pushes my hands away and turns from me. I ain't ashamed to say my heart started to break because I thought I had disappointed him. I mean, yeah, I'm worried about fending for myself getting off, but my hands shudder more to hold him again, my body shivers with the need to have him on me, to be deep inside of him again. It feels like my dick just got kicked out of the first home it ever really had. More than that... more than pleasing myself, I want to please him... like I promised and... like he'd ordered me to.

Thankfully, he just puts his hands against the wall--the real stone and single coat of paint wall, not that flimsy cubicle shit from before--and pokes his ass out before glancing over his shoulder at me, that damn smirk still on his face. Even wider, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking, feeling, craving.

"You didn't think we were done, did you?" he says, a laugh in his throat. "Not by a longshot. Get your dick back in my ass, Sergeant."

I hesitate, not because of what he says or how he says it, but because of just how fucking mesmerizing his ass is. Surprisingly thick on his lithe little frame, swaying back and forth, waving at me. The insides of his cheeks glisten with lube and precum... my precum. I could just barely see his pink hole winking at me, beckoning me back. No, ordering me back in like I'd stepped out of line, and I jump to correct myself. Next thing I know, my hands are on top of his on the wall and I'm slamming myself back into him, practically whimpering as that fucking hot hole swallowed me whole again.

"F-Fuck, sir," I moan out, melting into him. Without missing a beat, he glances back at me, his eyes flashing.

"That's your job, Sergeant. Get to it. Now."

"Y-yes, sir!" I cry, drawing myself back and slamming into him again. And again, and again until I manage to fall back into a rhythm. Hard, fast, just like I'd always imagined I would. I press my body against him, and it feels like he can support my whole weight on his back and ass if he wants. Instead, he lets me press him into the wall just because it means I can dig my dick deeper into his depths.

He's humming now. Not so much moaning, but little vibrations I can feel running through his body beneath me. I was doing good. But I needed to do better. I wanted more... needed more. He needed to scream, to beg, to call my name like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You can do better than that," I hear him call from beneath me, goading me. The smirk is in his fucking voice now. I can hear the twist of his lips even as I'm busy staring at where his ass is devouring my dick for dinner. "Come on, grab my hips and fuck me like you mean it, Aiden."

That sounds like a challenge. Feels like a challenge. I don't shy away from challenges. But I still feel the sharp twist of apprehension in my gut, the worry that might not meet the expectations hidden just under the bite in his voice, the flash in his eyes. But I did just as he ordered. I slide my hands from the wall, down his arms, chest, and abs, drawing hunger and power from the strength I can feel in every inch of his little body even as I beat against his insides with mine. This is going to be mine. I'm going to make him mine.

I sink my fingers deep into the fur, skin, muscle of his hips, widened my stance, dig deep in my gut, and stirred the animal there that wants nothing more than to destroy his ass and claim it. Then I start pumping out my thrusts like the old M16s on burst. They fire in threes, uneven, but hard and fast. BangbangBANG. BangbangBANG. I can feel my cock popping out every now and again--look, it happens when you're not that long, alright--but his ass is a vacuum or something because he catches me and lets me back in every single time. And the emptiness I feel outside of him only makes me all the more eager to slam myself back into him, scrambling to keep throwing myself at his insides like I'm this close to penetrating something even deeper as his walls writhe and give way to me.

I'm starting to feel the ache of my motions in my hips and legs, but I keep on driving, gasping for air even though we can't have been going for nearly that long.

"I said harder, not faster," he says, suddenly, nearly throwing me off.

That bark has some bite to it, and I stumble in my thrusts as I scramble quick to dig my heels in and make sure I'm putting every pound of weight I have into my hips like I'm trying to break through the wall in front of us. I can feel my balls slapping against his larger ones dangling between our legs, and the loudness of the wet smacking makes feel like I'm giving him the proper fucking he's been telling me to give him all this time. Just BANG. BANG. BANG.

"That's more like it," I hear him say with something of a sigh. I swear I can barely hear him over the sound of my thighs slapping the back of his legs like we were starting a slow clap there in that empty office. I've actually never been so happy to have all this meat and fat on me as I think the momentum of it all is the only thing keeping me going. That and the call of his ass and cheeks, and I'm helpless to resist. I need that warmth, that tightness, the heat of him, even if I can barely stand to keep up the pace to earn it. He must have felt me slowing down or softening up on my thrusts or something. I don't know how long it took, but soon he looks back and says,

"Getting tired already, Aiden?" Barely bothered by the slam of my cock into him, he keeps going, "Don't worry, I can take it from here."

I don't even have time to ask him what he means. I don't know how someone can be so fucking flexible, but he manages to lift a leg while I'm pulling back and he kicks me in the thigh. Not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force that I reel back. Instead of falling flat on my ass, I'm landing perfectly in the chair at his desk. Before I can really appreciate the fact that I ain't on the floor, or even really catch my breath, he's on me. His hands are on the armrests, blocking me in and pushing the chair against the desk. Suddenly, it's like the wind changes, and his scent catches up with me. It's sweet but spicy and sharp, and it feels like it clears even the slightest whiff of my own musk out of my nose. I can fucking feel it burning on the tip of my tongue and in the back of my throat. The look in his eyes is almost wild, and suddenly, I get the sense that all of the mapping and planning has led us here. He has me exactly where he wants me the whole time.

"You did good," he says, and I feel some remnant of heat flaring up in my chest. But then he draws even closer, his eyes boring into mine as he presses our noses together. His smile is the widest I've ever seen it, his buck teeth shining as he adds in a breath, "But now we can have some real fun."

I feel the heat of his words in my mouth. I swallow those words hard and cough up a whimper as he jumps up onto the chair. No shit, his hands on my shoulders, his feet on what little room the seat offered with my fat ass on it. And then he just slams his down like he knows I'm standing rock hard beneath him and sinks all of my schlong back into his ass in one go.

He doesn't waste a second. His hips start moving like a well-oiled machine gun, smooth and powerful motions with vicious and intense action, but faster than anything I could have ever given him. Faster than anything I've ever seen. If it not for the lube and all precum being milking out of me, I'd be scared that we'd start a fucking fire.

Well, honestly, it was hard to be scared when I could barely fucking think straight. The only thing going through my mind was "fuck" over and over again. I swear, I'd never had anything-- ass, pussy, or mouth-- that felt as good as LT's Masterson's hole riding me for all I was worth. His walls feel like they're everywhere, stroking, pulling, wrapping every single inch of my dick in just... him. I swear I can feel his blood boiling against my cock, my stomach, my chest as he continues to jackrabbit against me like an animal unchained and uncaged, running free for the first time in a long time.

I can hardly fucking breathe, honestly, both because he's practically panting the scorching air in his lungs into my mouth, and because it all feels so fucking good my body forgets how to function. It's less strength or willpower that keeps me from busting my nut so much as my dick and balls just don't have any idea how to handle what the LT is doing to them. Forget about thrusting, I'm just squirming underneath him, my toes and legs flexing with every bounce of his backside on me, and my fingers digging hard into the foam of the armrests. The bounce of his cheeks is making my fucking thighs ripple with the force of his riding, and I can feel his balls and this hot and massive wet weight slapping against stomach and damn near my chest. Vaguely, I'm aware it must be his cock, slapping against me in its full, massive glory like damn baseball bat. But I'm too busy drowning in the hot ocean waves of his ass crashing against me. The armrests are the only things really keeping me afloat in the pleasure. Nah... I'm drowning in him, his scent moving from overpowering mine to overpowering me, making me gasp and choke on him, on the pleasure, smothering me. And yet, I want... I need it more than I want to breathe, I can't suck in enough of it.

The LT says something. I can't remember what it is and I can't remember seeing his lips move. I think my eyes must be rolling back in my head because I can't remember seeing much of anything, too caught up in everything. But I definitely remember his hips suddenly stopping at the top of his next bounce, gripping the corkscrew of my cock tighter than any lips or hands and making me... well, making me squeal. Like, an eyes-wide, body-tight, mouth-wide-open-and-tongue-out squeal.

"Can you hear me now, Aiden?"

"S-Sir?" I whine, barely managing to focus on his stern face glaring down on me. Those golden eyes are clear as day though. "Wh-What... I..."

I almost feel self-conscious about the slobber I can feel dripping down on my lips and chin from my floundering mouth--when had I started panting so fucking hard? But I blush more as I feel the hare's quick and nimble little fingers sliding into my mouth and firmly grasping my tusks. My tongue can't stop itself and presses against his fingers, tasting my sweat and his, fighting it out for dominance on his skin, on my tongue. I remember thinking his taste is much better... getting drunk on the shit, I swear. But I sober up quick when LT Masterson pulls me by my tusks to bring our faces together, his golden eyes suddenly all that I can see.

"I was asking you a question, Sergeant."

I try to recall what he'd said, and I guess I take too long because suddenly his ass is grinding hard all along my cock head and I'm practically crying at the rotation of those walls along every sensitive edge my head has. My head and eyes try to roll back, but the grip of his hands on my tusks and his flashing golden eyes command my attention.

I try, really fucking try to buck my hips up into him, but my legs and feet aren't working right. I'm honestly just flopping in the chair. Not that Rex cares, his balance godly and his gaze not even budging from mine.

"Sh...sh ... shit , sir!" I beg... Yeah... yeah, I beg, "L... let me just--"

"How is it?" He talks over me. "Is it everything you imagined?"

Honestly, it was nothing like I'd imagined. I'd pictured this tiny slip of a hare beneath me, maybe on his knees gobbling and gagging my cock, or maybe over this very desk, hanging on for dear life and unsure whether to beg me to stop or keep going. But, now... he was hanging on alright, but he was hanging on to me, the only thing keeping me from slipping over the edge, whether ecstasy or fucking oblivion, was his grip--strong, firm, sure--on my tusk, and the hold his eyes had on me. I don't have thoughts for what I'm feeling. Let alone words. I just flap my mouth up and down stupidly for a bit before his gaze demands I at least attempt to say something, anything.

"I... I...."

"Do you want me to keep going?" He cuts me off again, putting the pieces of my thoughts together for me.

"C-come on, sir..." I'm pleading, barely able to whine it out. "Just... just..."

"It's a simple question, isn't it?" He says, tilting his head slightly. His ass moves in the same direction and my breath catches, stumbling over the moan bubbling up from my gut. "Do you..." he moves his head and his ass to the other side and I'm fucking trembling against him. "want me..." He moves again and I swear I'm almost blacking out now... "to keep going?"

He jerks me forward a little, just enough to get me to open my eyes again and stare deep into his. I can almost see myself reflected in them, a panting, shaking mess of a man caught somewhere between begging for what I know I need and breaking down crying, hoping that he'll take pity on me and just fucking give it to me because I just can't manage to get the words out and I fucking need it. But the grip of his fingers and of his ass leave no room. He's not moving, not until I break through the blocks in my brain and my throat and I tell him exactly what he wants to hear. What I need to say. And... I do.

"F-fuck... yes, please, sir!" I finally manage to all but scream out. The words are a mess tumbling between my trembling lips and his stone fingers, but I force them out anyway. "Please, I need it, sir! Please, give it to me, sir, I fucking need it, I need it, please!"

You know, I actually don't feel any shame about it now. Every word seems to flow out of my mouth and relaxes every muscle in my body. I finally feel my feet touch the ground, feel my arms slipping onto the armrests, and my head and shoulders sinking into the chair beneath me. But only a little. Only as much as Rex will let them. He's supporting me fully now, his hands keeping my head and neck staring up at him, his feet keeping my legs from widening and sliding out of the chair entirely. I'm not anything at that moment. Nothing... but... his.

Finally, he smiles.

"Good, boy," he growls. I swear I feel that shit vibrating in his chest, his cock, in his entire body against mine. He nips at my nose before fixing me with another stare like... well, like a predator.

He couldn't help himself, I guess, teasing me just a little more, clenching hard on my cock head with that hot, pulsing tunnel of his, each squeeze drawing a small and breathless little moan out of me. He slides a hand free of my mouth and traces it down my neck and chest, caressing my gut and pressing against it as if testing it. His fingers slide back up slow, as if sneaking through my fur before taking my nipple and twisting. I fucking gag as the moan of pleasure and groan of pain collide in my throat, my entire body arcing with the lightning he sends racing through me.

I can't even use words to beg him anymore. I just... take it all. And wait. Not because I'm suddenly a bastion of patience or nothing like that. I guess... I guess I just realize that we're both on his time. He knows what I want... what I need. Hell, I'm sure he can tell from the way my cock head is leaking like a faucet and throbbing inside of him that I'm landmine ready to blow. But we both know that I cum when he wants me to. When he's done having his fun. When he lets me.

His ears twitch. I must be moaning and whining something fierce, and he's drinking it all in like it's music or something. I'm his orchestra. He can probably feel it against the fingers still holding onto my tusk and in my mouth, in my now shameless tongue dragging against the digits. He knows. But not yet. Not yet.

I don't know how long it takes him to get his fill, but he finally lets out a soft chuckle before adjusting his stance and finally sliding that sweet, tight asshole back down onto the rest of my cock. I want to thank him, spew grateful nonsense and noises from my gaping mouth for finally letting me back inside of him... but I don't even have a sound for how good it feels. I don't think I can even breathe.

But then he's back at it again. This isn't just the riding from before. He's doing this thing rabbits can do, this bunny hop thing that seems like it damn near might break my damn pelvis, let alone the chair I'm in. And every slap of that ass against my thighs is like a mine going off in my brain. Literally, seeing stars and shit, just... fuck. I've already been on the edge of cumming, but now it's like he was doing something else to me, dragging something wet, heavy, and hot out from the bottom of my groin, up past my stomach and through my chest. That's when I feel it start vibrating in my chest, like a groan, but it spreads through my entire body until I'm jumping and thrashing underneath him. But he keeps on me like a cowboy on a bull or something, riding me smooth. Never felt anything like it. And he fucking keeps me there for what feels like hours, like he's priming a grenade to toss.

Then he pauses on the upstroke real sudden like, and he whispers in my ear,

"Cum for me, Aiden."

LT Masterson slams his ass back down, swallowing my cock to the base and grinding real hard, hungry against me, and that was apparently what my nuts were waiting for. I let out a shuddery groan that turns into a godforsaken feral snarl before I finally start just fucking flooding him. I'm not even trying to brag. My loads are large, but this shit is something else. I can feel pulse after pulse of jizz just blasting into his insides, like a firehose or something. Each throb of my cock is another spasm across my body like he's milking my damn soul out of me. And he takes it all like it was nothing, never once stopping his grinding or clenching so fucking hard I think he might squeeze my dick off and take it home because it's his property now. I don't feel so much as a drop of my cum on my thighs or nuts.

I must have had my eyes screwed shut, and I'm thankful because I suddenly feel something blast into my face hard. Something hot and gooey struck the fur of my face and chest real good. It takes another four or five shots before I realize Rex is just painting the fuck out of my chest, stomach, and face with his cum, and I only know because the scent of it had the overwhelming power of his body. I can feel the weight and smell sinking deeper into my fur, my skin, with every pulse of that giant cock against my gut. I honestly can't tell you how many shots he fires off, but I never want him to stop, honestly. I want to be covered in him, just fucking drenched, even more than I am flooding him. I want him on every inch of me even more than I want every space of him filled by me, even if I pass out. I'm clawing at the armrests of the chair and pumping my hips the best I can manage to try to give him as much seed as I have in my sack.

But, it all ends at some point, right? The artillery shell had landed and blown. Now there was nothing left but just the shockwaves of pleasure as my cock pulsed weakly inside him, cradled by the still strong grip of his ass and the carnage of his cum sinking deep into the fur of my upper body.

I'm practically dying, I'm so out of breath and just hot and sweating. LT Masterson barely seems to be breathing hard, the fucker. He just lets out a soft sigh like he's just finishing a light jog or something, and then he chuckles again before he says,

"Good work, Sergeant. That's a good look for you."

I must look a mess. I feel a mess. I can barely open my eyes, and I can feel some of his cum dripping slow and thick into my open panting mouth. I guess he must see or feel my tongue reaching out for some of it because he finally takes his hand off my tusk and uses it to swipe some of his cum off of my chest and offer it up to me, right in front of my lips. I stare at his fingers for a bit, just because I'm so fucking wiped from the ride he's just given me. But... I want that cum in my mouth. So I throw myself forward, damn near gagging as I try to get as much of those fingers, as much of his seed in my mouth. But his cum was on my tongue finally.

I ain't normally a fan of the taste or nothing, but... I don't know. It's still hot somehow, so thick, and more than just bland. It ain't quite salty or sweet, but maybe in between? Fuck it, I can't explain it, I just know I sucking and licking his fingers like I'm tarving and his cum is Thanksgiving dinner. He must like the sight of that because he smiles real wide, eyes flashing and growing hungry again. He opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but then he stops, his eyes no longer focusing but his ears twitching fitfully before turning toward the rest of the office.

Maybe half a second later, I damn near jump Rex off of me as the sound of someone trying to open the office door went off like a gunshot. Honestly, I might have jumped for cover if the LT wasn't still on top of me, especially when the knocks followed up. Beyond that, I really couldn't tell you what went through my head. I just knew, just KNEW we were fucked.

If LT Masterson was panicking though, he sure as hell had a funny way of showing it. I mean, I felt rather than heard or saw him inhale and exhale real quick, real quiet. Then he just leaps right off of me. I damn near bite my tongue to keep from hollering as my cock pops out of him, throbbing and leaking like it's crying to be out of that ass of his. But other than what I was leaking onto the chair, not a single drop of cum came out of the LT. I honestly have no idea how he managed to walk so calmly to the door without leaking a single drop out of his ass, but as I managed to sit up and peer around the cubicle entrance, I didn't see anything on his legs other than the wet precum between and on his cheeks.

The LT adjusts his top, smoothing out wrinkles and shit, and before I can really process it, he steps slightly off to the side and opens the fucking door. I shit you not. Nothing on but the dress shirt and he opens the door, just a piece of wood hiding his naked lower half. I manage to slip back fully into the chair and the cubicle, my heart just fucking pounding away while I listen to him give some sort of greeting. I couldn't believe what he was doing, but I believed it even less when I heard the voice of the goddamn company commander, Captain Forcum saying,

"Oh, Rex, hey. I was just trying to leave for the day, what's going on? Why's this door locked?"

I'm thinking this is it. We're fucking dead. Even if the commander doesn't see the fact that Rex doesn't have pants on from the door, there's no way he makes it out the only other door in the office to the parking lot without seeing the hare nude from the waist down and me nude as the day I was born save for a fat layer of baby bunny batter on me. If the cum hadn't been so thick I might have shook it right off me, I was shaking so bad. But Rex's voice sounded smooth as ever. He says,

"Ah, I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir. I'm counseling Sergeant First Class Carroll right now." Yeah, counseling me, I'm thinking. Damn near laughed staring down at the cum on my body and my shaking legs and barely softening cock as I did my best to catch my breath without being too loud. If things hadn't been so fucking frightening, I would have laughed my ass off. But the LT keeps going, cool like he didn't have a naked hog sitting at his desk ten feet away from the door that CPT Forcum was trying to leave through. Honestly, I was surprised that he couldn't smell what had just gone down... but then, while I was looking at the window, wondering if I could fit through it, I realized that it was open. I vaguely remembered the LT opening it, and something about that stuck with me. Then it occurs to me that I didn't even notice the sneaky fucking LT locking the damn door to the office, never even thought about it...

I know, I know, it sounds crazy even to me right now, but still... I guess a part of me wouldn't put any of it past Rex at this point.

Anyway, by the time I'm done with these little revelations, LT Masterson must have done some primetime bullshitting or something because, by the time I tune back in, I hear the Captain apologizing for interrupting and wishing us both a good evening before the door closed again. I don't know how he did it, but LT Masterson must have convinced CPT Forcum to go all the way around to the back entrance to the company. My mouth is wide open as he walks back into the cubicle, looking like nothing had happened at all and he wasn't still naked as shit with his massive schlong and nuts just swinging around free.

He looks out the window for a minute, watching. So I lean forward and I peer out with him. It takes a few minutes, but then we see CPT Forcum exiting the building and going into the parking lot... not six feet to where his fucking car is parked. No shit. Not in his usual spot in the front of the company, and I have no idea why. At this point, I'm just staring at Rex, who is staring at me like he doesn't understand why I'm just fucking floored. In fact, he has the nerve raise an eyebrow at me and say,

"Something wrong, Sergeant?"

I just stare at him for a little bit longer before I just shake my fucking head. I say, "Sir... if I didn't know any better... I mean... you didn't... plan all this shit out, did you? Like, before seeing me in the motor pool? Or even longer, when you heard me talkin' with Sergeant O?"

He stares at me for a second, then scoffs with a smirk I can't read. Then he just starts stretching his body up to the ceiling.

"Aiden," he says finally, sighing as he turns back to me. " I think you give me too much credit. No one can think of everything, right? I just pay attention to detail."

His golden eyes flash at me, and I feel my heart start beating fast again before he keeps talking.

"Well, that was fun. Though I think it goes without saying that we should probably not talk to Sergeant O about this. Or about me when we think I'm not listening."

Another flash of those eyes before he just shrugs before he grabs his pants, socks, and shoes and starts walking out of the cubicle. My eyes follow him as he makes his way to the door of the office, leaning out of the chair to keep up with him. He stops with his hand on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder like he knows I'm watching him before he says,

"I'll be washing up in the company showers downstairs. Have a good weekend, and I'll see you on Monday, Sergeant Carroll. Unless... you'd like to join me."

My eyes drift down and I can see his cock already bouncing strong at his groin. Then my eyes drift to his ass and I swallow hard as my cock gives a painful throb despite aching something fierce. When I finally manage to stare at his face again, he's smirking and he even throws me a wink before he just opens the door and strides out of the office like he knows there's no one else in the building to see him.

I swear, I'm not making this shit up. To this day, I can't tell you why he did it or why I took him up on his offer. But... shit, I ain't afraid to tell you I've never slipped on my own sweat and cum before until that moment when I scrambled out of the chair to follow him to those showers.

Nah, don't go asking about the showers. I got some other stories, sure... But that's the only story you're getting out of me tonight.