If you were to ask me what my favorite pastime was, I would have to say fucking. Indoors, outdoors, one-on-one, or with a group, I love getting down and dirty with my friends. It’s the Army way, and it’s my way. When duty calls, it’s time to fuck.
It was back in basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, during an evening of spare time that didn’t happen too often. Everyone was restless from all the regulations, too many drills, and too much roughing it in the damn dirt. No play. Human nature had begun to give way to cravings for positive feelings and dreams of risky adventures.
The humidity was thick, and the atmosphere oppressive, the air so wet you could almost choke, and everyone was complaining of blistered feet and sore muscles. And my level of pain was no exception. Something had to give. And everyone knew it had to give soon, or we would all end up in the psych ward.
I was with my bunkmate, JoAnne, as we always stuck together. One thing that you learned fast in the Army is that it pays to have a faithful friend that you can trust, and JoAnne was the one I’d want watching my back if I were ever in the shit. Together, we were like sisters.
I remember the full moon first becoming visible when we met up with a couple of guys from Alpha Company and started chatting them up. I told them my name was Jennifer and introduced JoAnne, but, as always, I avoided telling either of them that we both had husbands at home. It was never safe to share personal details with guys you were planning to get down and dirty with. Army life was, after all, its own world, and I was lucky that my man was open-minded. I could only imagine him at home jacking off after hearing about one of my crazy sexcapades. However, Army rules were strict.
And it didn’t take long for the conversation to steer toward sex. JoAnne and I were fortunate that most of the young guys that we wanted to fuck had little vocabulary outside of that subject, so we continued our banter and strolled along the grass.
JoAnne noticed some picnic tables in a wooded area and suggested that we sit there for a bit before bed check. And as we sat, talked, and listened to the bugs chirp, Randy, one of the young male soldiers, suggested that we play a relay game.
Since we had an even number of guys and gals, his idea was to pair off: one couple acting as lookout while the other couple banged on the table. And when the first couple finished, they would relay the second couple by slapping their hands, and the game would continue until everyone was satisfied. But everyone knew it wasn’t a game. We were just four frustrated soldiers who needed to fuck.
Sounds like sexy fun, huh? Believe me, it was exhilarating! The first order of business was choosing partners, so we each plucked weeds along the road, selecting two, each of equal but varying lengths. We then drew the weeds like straws—short-short, long-long—until there was a male and female match. This method took a couple of tries.
The rules were simple: No one was allowed to peek at the other couple fucking. And while one couple was busy at the table, the other couple would stand watch and whistle if they saw anyone approaching. The whistle would allow the compromised couple adequate time to get their pants back on. Everyone understood that if one couple got caught, we’d all get shoved into the same shitcan for punishment. None of us wanted to get caught with our pants down, let alone get an Article 15 or worse, a court-martial.
When my turn came, it was touch-and-go. Jeremy and I ran like two sex-crazed teens, unbuckling our belts as we sprinted across the road, disappearing into the woods where the picnic table shone like a beacon under the full moonlight.
Since there wasn’t enough time to take everything off, we only shucked off our ACUs, loose-fitting pants, and underwear and ditched them on the ground. I noticed that Jeremy’s cock was already hard with pre-cum glinting from the tip, so I knelt in front of him on my knees in the gravel and took his cock into my mouth, giving him the most beautiful blowjob as I always did. I paid special attention to only using my lips to pleasure him, working back and forth, careful not to scrape his shaft with my teeth.
Given the fact that I wanted his young soldier’s cock inside of me, I stopped short of allowing him to shoot his wad. Besides, I wanted Jeremy to eat me a little before we fucked, so I stood up and scooted my naked ass across the warm concrete table and lay back, widening my legs with knees flexed and my feet rocked out to the sides, my manicured toenails gleaming under the clear moonlit sky.
Jeremy leaned in, his cock waving in a see-saw motion, wrapped his rough hands around my sticky thighs, and dove in with his warm tongue, which felt spectacular on my stubbly-shaved pussy in the hot Carolina air. The frogs and katydids were the only sounds around.
And while he licked me, I smoothed my fingers over his short, prickly hair and talked dirty to him, asking him in my softest voice if my pussy tasted good to him. After all, neither of us had showered in over three days. He looked up and nodded, and by decoding his breathy, garbled voice, I got the green light answer I was looking for.
I then reached down with both hands, stretched my pussy lips as wide as I possibly could, and in my sexiest whispering voice, I let him know that my pussy was all his to enjoy for pleasure. And for that moment, it all belonged to him.
He must’ve licked me for four or five more minutes before I started to ride the wavy feelings in my tummy, so with a gentle hand, I pushed his head away and asked him to climb aboard. I wanted his young soldier cock inside of me while the waves were still fresh. That’s just the way I like it. Even with my husband, I always like it when he enters me this way.
Jeremy climbed aboard, bracing his sweaty, lean body above my clammy, soft skin. He then began inching his twenty-two-year-old cock into my thirty-two-year-old pussy, huffing and groaning through hot, garlicy breath, the sweat dripping from his forehead onto my face and into my eyes, which stung like hell, but I didn’t care.
He plowed into my sweet four-eleven frame hard and fast, my legs high, my ankles flexed, and my manicured toes scrunched. And as I came harder than I can ever remember, my toenails—which are short, mind you—scraped into the back of his calves. But in the heat of the moment, it didn’t seem to matter to either of us. We fucked like hell for what must’ve been several more minutes, until Jeremy shot his hot load inside of me, our bony hip bones pressed together, my hands outstretched—gripping the table—and his rigid body jerking over me.
I was thinking about how much I enjoyed fucking the younger guys—how it seemed they could fuck forever— and I was hoping that no one standing lookout would have to whistle anytime soon. It would’ve really sucked donkey balls if that’d happened. It’d been a while since I’d fucked somebody this young, and if Jeremy couldn’t have finished, it would’ve been a massive letdown for both of us.
After he came, he slipped out of me and rolled off the table, and we both scrambled to pick up our clothes and hustle our pants and boots back on. We then sprinted through the trees, across the grass, and back up to the road again to relay JoAnne and Randy, and they were out of the gate in a horny flash, like a couple of teens who’d never had sex.
Later that night, back at the shithole, Jeremy and I were standing fire watch when he lifted his pant leg and showed me the bloody scrapes, and we both just busted out laughing. To this very day, whenever we see each other, he shows me the scars, and we still joke about it.
Everyone did their job that night, and no one got caught, which was terrific teamwork. But the following day, during routine training, I do remember something warm and sticky running down my inner thigh, which brought a quirky smile to my face.
The following week, my husband asked me to repeat the story twice over the phone, and I could hear him breathing and masturbating. He thoroughly enjoyed every little detail, especially the toenail scrapes. That’s just the way we roll.
