— Originally published in Playguy magazine - August, 2001 —

New Corpsman Gets "Instructed" To The Core

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Marine Corps boot camp isn't as rough today as it was when I went through. Like everything these days, the strain and quality seem to have gone downhill. In my day, the idea behind our time in hell was to break down our civilian minds and bodies and put us back together as Marines. Our drill instructors worked hard to make our lives miserable and were often a genuine pain in the ass. By the time they were finished with us, though, we were Marines.

I was just eighteen and halfway through Phase Two at MCRD in San Diego when my military life took a serious turn toward the unusual. Unlike most of the recruits, I'd been in good shape from the get-go. After weeks of 'round-the-clock training, the Corps had built me into a fucking god. I didn't realize just how good I was until Gunnery Sergeant Miller rolled me out of my rack, buck-assed naked at 0230, and ordered me to follow him to his quarters.

I had known about what a lot of the recruits were doing in the showers late at night. I just hadn't been interested. For one thing, I was always drag-assed tired and happy to rack out at taps. Those few times I'd had the energy to pop a nut, my hand had always been nearby. Besides, I was censorious about sucking guys' dicks or being fucked up the butt — not on the grounds of morals, but because I knew it would be uncomfortable, unpleasant, and unhygienic. Given this philosophy, you can imagine my shock when here I was, made to stand at attention, naked as a congressional lie, in my Drill Instructor's quarters while he ranted at me about being one of the "butt-pussies whoring around all night" in his shower.

Don't get me wrong. I was long since used to being screamed at by the bastard. This was years before all the "Don't Ask" nonsense so I wouldn't even have much minded if I had been caught — long as I'd been doing anything. As it was, though, I felt a little like an old lady accused of witchcraft by the inquisition. Since I wasn't qualified, I couldn't really confess. For all I knew, there might be a quiz later. In a way, there was:  the crazy bastard started in on me about how he'd go easier on me if I named the names of my "pussy-assed fuck-buddies." Then, I was even more confused.

I could have named nearly everybody in the platoon but they hadn't done dick to me. Besides, Marines are supposed to cover their buddies' backs. I wasn't about to lie, so I just told Gunny that I liked to mind my own business. That set off another round of screaming, and he stalked over, grabbed my neck, and shoved my head down onto his desk. As he kicked my legs wider apart, Gunny barked that he was going to do an asshole inspection to see how bad I'd been letting myself get ripped up.

I started to tell him, again, that nobody had ever been up my ass so there wasn't any "up" to get ripped, but when the wretch reached low and grabbed my nuts, I shut my mouth in one quick hurry. I hadn't even beat off in over a week, so my 'nads were swollen way too full and tender to put up with his crap. As he kept one hand on my neck, he shoved two fingers of his other hand into my mouth and said something about since I liked to suck dick so much, maybe I'd make do by sucking on those as well.

A minute later, he pulled the fingers out and found a new use for them — rubbing them up and down my ass crack. He'd turned loose my neck by that time, so he had plenty of hand to spread my hard, Corps-built glutes wide. His face was all but up my ass, too; but, if anything, that turned me on. In fact, much as I tried to hide it, I felt my nine inches of thick hang starting to pump proud and stand to attention.

Like any normal person, I fought the sensation, thinking of all the thrashing the bastard had put me through in the pit, how he'd been such a dick to everybody, halfway reminding me of my father. Something about those fingers sliding along my cherry ass crack on a layer of my own spit was decidedly un-paternal though. I sensed for the first time in my life that I was being treated like the merest piece of meat, a soulless sex object — and I liked the feeling. I liked it a lot.

The bastard reached up and shoved his fingers back into my mouth. I'd showered before turning in, but my hairless ass crack was anything but fresh by 0300. I might as well have just come in from two weeks in the field. As those fingers slid past my lips, I caught a whiff of my ass; but by the time the taste hit my tongue, I had a whole new outlook on haute cuisine.

My mouth watered out as that musky man-taste flushed its riotous way across my taste buds and set my heart to racing.  The harder I sucked and slurped on Gunny's fingers, the more the blood pounded in my ears and the less I was certain of anything except that my dick was throbbing something fierce, and unless Gunny was as blind as he was vicious, he was bound to notice.

Just about the time I'd sucked those fingers clean, he pulled them away again and hunkered back down at my ass. This time though, he didn't bother with foreplay but shoved his fuckfinger smack through my virgin shit-hole and twisted it around inside. He was muttering something about how a homo pervert like me probably liked having his shithole reamed by a real man, but I didn't catch much of what he was saying and cared about it even less.

Just then, my whole world was wrapped around that surging finger, gripping tight and subconsciously yearning for more. I heard myself groaning as though in agony, but there was no agony about it. Gunny must either have known what I was feeling or not given a shit because the bastard shoved the other finger up to join his first, splaying the two of them wide and torquing them around inside my slick, convulsing shit-chute like some deranged quack gynecologist. When he couldn't find a handy cervix, he tore into my prostate by way of substitute, until I couldn't decide whether I needed to piss, or shit, or pop a nut, or just plain pass the fuck out.

I couldn't do any of them right then, of course — not with my Gunnery Sergeant having a military inquisition up my ass. Marines are supposed to bear up under adversity, but I've never experienced anything half as hard as trying to keep my bearing with those fingers tearing one new wanton feeling after another out of my raw, clenching butt. I heard myself moaning louder, but couldn't help it. I felt my dick pounding hard against my belly but was powerless. When the low tickle in my tool told me I was about to start flushing pre-cum out of my bone, all I could do was lean over that desk and ask myself some questions.

Had I been pretending all along, or was I just too dumb to know what I wanted? I must have shown something, or Gunny wouldn't have selected me for his special drill. I just knew that the more those fingers tore into my prostate and split my ass wide, the happier I was. I remember wishing he'd never stop, that I could stay draped over his desk and dangling off the end of his hand forever.

Did he have other ideas all along or did my dick mutely cry out in hunger? All I know is that one minute the bastard was manhandling my innards, and the next he was giving me shit about how my dick was hard: I was a fucking pervert, I doubtless wanted his dick up my ass, and worlds more of the same sort of crap. The longer he went off on me, the hotter he seemed that I wasn't excusing myself. Finally I pulled a page right out of the playbook of Chesty Puller, head of the famed Horse Marines.

I said, "Sir, the recruit didn't ask the Gunnery Sergeant to shove his hand up the recruit's ass, but he's sure he can take any abuse the Gunnery Sergeant or anyone else cares to inflict." It was a good answer — a gung ho, jarhead, Semper Fi sort of answer, designed at once to score points and piss off my putative superior. It sure as shit pissed him off fine. He just snorted, unhanded my ass, parked his hands onto my shoulders and shoved his thick eight inches of jarhead dick through my shit-hole in one swift, relentless Stroke of Doom. I came close to screaming out before I caught myself, but nothing could keep every nerve I had from exploding in agony as that big, dry dick sliced through my virgin shithole and reamed its way through my virgin guts.

Wave after searing wave of pain shot up my spine until the very gates of Hell were riven and shuddering off their hinges. The stench of my ass-musk on his hands was overpowering. The feel of my asshole stretching tight around his surging shank and threatening to rip completely out was more than any sane man could handle. Maybe that's why after only a few gut wrenching, butt-busting fuck thrusts my body magically morphed the agony into ecstasy. Gunny's self-satisfied grunts, my own groans, the slick sweat of our heaving bodies, the stench of ass and man and, most of all, the firm feel of being possessed so absolutely by another being — they all conspired to make me forget the outrage of the moment and lose myself in the blinding revelation of eternity.

Each stroke up through my guts bred a new, bolder, richer bliss until I knew I would never be the same. Gunny's hand reached across my mouth and smeared my musky juices across my face as he fucked me harder and deeper and faster with every cruel stroke. At some point halfway past forever, he reached low and locked his lips around my ear, sucking hard and fucking me with his hot, wet tongue until I knew I would die any second and didn't give a shit as long as I could go with that big dick deep up my ass.

Just when I knew life couldn't get any better, Gunny grabbed my left leg and lifted it, twirling me around on his dick like a rag doll so that I landed with my back on his desk and my heels on his shoulders. As he looked down at me a grin slid across his face for the first time ever. Then he growled, "Some of the other recruits said you didn't join in with their workouts in the shower. Remember, Recruit, teamwork is everything. Teamwork keeps you alive. Teamwork makes you a Marine."

With that, he grabbed my shoulders again, reached his teeth down to my shoulder and latched on like a deranged tomcat, tearing a whole new definition of rapture out of my already savaged ass. The louder he grunted and snorted, the louder our bodies crashed together, the more his desk rattled across the deck, the more I was sure both my heads were going to explode.

Just about the time Gunny's breathing and the cadence he was slamming up my butt told me he was about to blow the first load ever up my tight recruit ass, my own guts flared white-hot and shot out my dick. I hadn't touched the thing all night, but that didn't matter. Gunny had done enough damage to my system for both of us. My nine thick inches of outraged Marine blew more jism out with every wad than I normally get in a month of whack-jobs. As Gunny pounded my ass, my dick jolted this way and that, reminding me for all the world of a runaway fire hose, spraying my face and shoulders, his desk, and the wall behind all white with thick, dripping cream. One salvo followed another in a seemingly endless stream until my nuts were left flaming cinders and still I spewed more spume.

By the time I was able to wipe the jism out of my eyes and pry them open, Gunny had finished, too. My nut had clamped what little was left of my ass tighter than ever around his dick and tripped his wire something fierce. I was so busy having my own good time that I missed most of his, but the very last butt-reaming thrusts caught my attention enough to banish my reverie and put me back with the fucking program on the double. I could feel his load back-flushing out the ruins of my ass, splashing onto his balls and thighs as he reamed me a last few times to seal in the night's lesson. Then, he pulled his dick out of my ass with a great thwap and wiped it across the already sodden fur on my pecs, leaving his juices and mine mingled in a testament to Marine manhood and my initiation into that warrior brotherhood.

Then he looked up at the clock and said, "OK, Jackson, you have two hours until reveille. Drag your slack faggot ass into the showers and join the team. From now on, I'm going to hold unannounced musters, and if you're not working out with the rest of the recruits, you won't have an ass to fall back on. Do you read me, Recruit?"

I did. I read him fine. Loud and clear. The odd thing was that the pig-ignorant bastard was right for once. I did feel better when I joined the team. By the time reveille happened and I limped my way to chow, I really was a Marine and, with much practice over the years, have become even a better one. You can believe that's one lesson that, even in these peculiar times, I always teach my recruits as I breed a new corps of Marines.

THE     END