The MP Bitch

Nis 27, 2024 // By:analsex // No Comment

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The MP Bitch

Big military cop learns the Army way to protect and serve

It all started with Kowalski in 1968, a year before I retired from the Army.

One of the men in Sergeant First-Class Kowalski’s platoon sent an anonymous note to the Military Police (the MPs) that he was a drug user, and as the senior MP detective, I got the order to shadow SFC Kowalski for a while to see if the note was genuine or just the chicken-shit backstabbing of a disgruntled GI.

Since Kowalski transferred in to Fort Garrison just two months earlier, the brass decided that he wouldn’t know I was an MP–I did mostly office work in the MP headquarters building, only car patrols at night, and the detective work was always in civilian clothes.

Kowalski, a platoon sergeant in an infantry company, would see through me as a “new recruit just assigned to his unit.” I was 38 and too fucking big. The plan was for me to be a trained, professional hand-to-hand combat specialist brought in by Battalion from Fort Bragg to put the edge on his troopers’ fighting skills.

That part would work: I already worked as the MP company’s physical training NCO–I guess because of my physique and the Korean Karate. I’d always been a “big guy,” and as an MP in Korea during the war and in South Korea after the armistice, I became a black belt in a Korean Karate school.

I’d always been able to take care of myself, though. As a kid nobody ever picked on me, I was always a linesman in school football, and since I’ve been an MP, any time we had a confrontation with a soldier caught stealing (or whatever), the perp always backed down when he looked up at me–I’m 6’4″.

And beside having the big genes, my first hobby, something I’ve done since childhood, was body-building. After more than 20 years of pumping iron, I weighed 285 pounds with a 57″ chest, 34″ waist, 22″ arms, 28″ thighs, and 20″ calves (I knew all those stats because I took part in a few body-building competitions).

They attached me to Kowalki’s platoon for two weeks to give his soldiers a karate class every day for two hours–and the rest of the time I was to watch Kowalski. One thing that bugged me about the assignment: keeping an eye on Kowalski 24/7 meant a great crimp in my social life.

I loved pussy. Not only did I have the big genes, many of my girls cooed at how I had the “big jeans.” Since my grade school years, my dick was always wet.

As early as the fifth grade–I was what, 11?–Miss Merston loved “the big kid” in her class so much she kept me after school many times. “Ooh, look at that big thing, Tommy!” By the time summer rolled around, that bitch gargled my jism as she went home at least 50 times. After her came the sixth grade and Miss Thompson. She actually had to drop out of school because I got her pregnant–and I was only 12.

By junior high the teachers were forewarned about me, but for many of them, forewarned was foreskinned. I got teacher-sex anytime I wanted it: the librarian in the library, the girl’s PE coach in the gym, the drama teacher on the stage–I even scored two male teachers, the boy’s PE coach knelt before me in the locker room, and the shop teacher sucked my dick as I leaned back on a workbench, each eager to prove that a man could give a blowjob as good as a woman’s.

And those were just the teachers.

As the only non-virgin in junior high, my reputation drew the bees to my honey. My second hobby became seeing how many virgins I could de-cherry, and as I graduated into high school, I had a harem of at least a dozen.

I hit puberty in high school, and my hormones started churning. By the time I graduated, I’d turned at least 20 girls into women–mostly cheerleaders from our school and a few from opposing teams. I’d secretly fathered five children, gotten three teachers forced to resign “for mental health reasons,” and I constantly got into fights with angry big brothers or fathers pissed off that their girls had come home crying that they weren’t “the only one for me.”

I always won, a good fighter even in those days, and most of my split-tail conquests kept quiet in the hope that I would marry them–or at least fuck them again.

In 1948 the Army drafted me, and I became an MP. I ended up liking the Army because I liked duty as a cop, I got to see the world, and my dick (again) was always wet–every other female I met–soldier or civilian–ended up up-ended and grunting to me to go faster.

So baby-sitting SFC Kowalski meant my unaccustomed balls had to go without the nightly unloading. I couldn’t beat the meat: it was a matter of pride; a man who jacked off was a man who couldn’t score, a hunter who couldn’t find his own venison.

I conducted the karate classes with the platoon in PE uniform–black shorts and the gray ARMY T-shirts. Everybody hit the showers afterward, then changed back into their fatigues. And since my “battalion assignment” was a surprise to Kowalski, my karate classes sakarya escort had to fit into the training schedule he already had. The only available time in his fully scheduled day was after the karate classes–we had the daily coordination briefings in the locker room. I discussed the next day’s training and the men’s progress every day with Kowalski as we stood together stark naked.

I think it began there.

Can’t figure out why, though. For hell’s sake, I had seen naked men before! I still lived in the barracks and saw a whole platoon of naked MPs every morning in the showers.

Kowalski’s platoon had a new barracks. New tiles in the latrine. Chrome pipes. Plenty of light. Different mood.

SFC Brent Kowalski was 10 years younger, a soft-spoken guy from Alabama with a magnolia accent and the lanky bod of a guy who’d spent a few years hopping from girder to girder as a riveter or welder in a Mobile shipyard. He was a good soldier. Knew the regulations. Paid attention to detail. Fair to his men.

But something else: he was handsome! Damn, he was good looking. Blond hair, blue eyes. Square, honest face and a quick smile–straight, white teeth. Even had that movie-star hole in his chin. A real nice guy, he was very easy to work with. Although firm and no-nonsense with his men, I never saw anybody maneuver his troops as easily as Kowalski did. No screaming, no yelling. He literally praised them into such pride they thought they could do anything! His men loved him and would walk over molten lava for him.

He had a good sense of humor. Made wise decisions. I figured he was trustworthy; couldn’t see him as a druggie. I liked Kowalski, and he liked me–he treated me with respect. In fact, I felt a little sheepish about snooping. I began to look around for whoever tried to fuck him with a note to the MPs.

I was a Master Sergeant–I outranked him–but I enjoyed his company, and I think he enjoyed talking to me. We kidded around, talked about old times, Army gripes.

And in the showers every afternoon after my class, slowly, gradually, almost before I knew it, I was watching him, but I mean watching. I looked forward to seeing him without his uniform. I was taller and bigger, but he had good, solid shoulders; hard, rounded pecs; and a washboard belly. Walking away, he displayed hard, rounded buns, each with that cute dimple.

But the front view was my favorite. Kowalski’s cock was a stunner. Bigger than mine. I out-muscled Kowalski in everything except between the legs. After our daily briefing on the karate class and after we took off our clothes, I wandered into the showers with him, still talking. Once under the sprays of water and washing up, I had to fight to keep my eyes off his crotch.

“Yep, and then the ol’ MP says to me, he says, ‘How come y’all gathered ’round heah? Y’all shootin’ craps?’ And Artelli, he says, ‘No, Sarge, we-all be playin’ Monopoly! Okay, I got Park Place and Boardwalk!’

“Can y’all believe it?”

We were both laughing so hard, we fell into each other’s arms for a moment, and we quickly shrugged back out of that, but for a moment I felt that huge dong bumping up against mine. God, what a thrill! But hey, what in fucking hell is happening to me?

Kowalski’s tawny skin contrasted erotically against the pale green tiled wall behind him, and the lights above cast shadows outlining every bulge and curve on his body. He looked as hot as a male stripper.

But was I so horny that I looked at Kowalski as a sex object, for god’s sake? That worried me. Being nailed as a faggot in the US Army in 1968 even beat out smoking a little dope: the Army would toss me out on my ass even if I didn’t get 20 years in Leavenworth.

So why in hell am I looking at a naked MAN in the Valley of the Shadow of Death when I’m the biggest motherfucker in the Valley?? This does it! I’ve got to get myself laid.

I had to admit it: Kowalski’s body was beautiful. And why not? It’s a creation of nature. Why should I be ashamed to appreciate a man’s body? As a body-builder I can see the art in a man’s physique.

The next afternoon in the showers, I stood there and let the water stream over my hair and down my back, trying to stop thinking about Kowalski and his big cock only two feet away. I opened my eyes and looked down–and there between my legs my own dick was hardening up.

I turned my head slightly and looked over at Kowalski. Luckily he was washing his face–eyes closed against the soap–so I could get a good look. His magnificent cock arched over his balls like a construction derrick.

I could almost feel it in my hand–wet and slippery but warm. Throbbing. Growing hard. Stop thinking this shit!

He grunted as he got a little soap in his eye (almost as if he could feel my hand). He wiped the water off his face, and his head began to turn–

–Zap! My head snapped back to stare straight at the wall in front izmir escort of me. I was rock hard. Oh, shit! I can’t be caught in here with a stiff dick! In desperation, I gave my cockhead a mighty pinch–Yipe! That hurt!–but I felt it going down. Fuck, that was close!

In retreat I turned off the water, took my towel from the peg, and plodded back to my locker, drying myself. What the fuck is happening to me? Why am I so hot to look at Kowalski?

I pulled on my white Army boxers, green fatigue pants, my socks, and boots. As I laced them up, I fought to see some sense in it all: Okay, there is nothing wrong with appreciating a handsome, well-built man. It’s like art.

But I gulped. I knew that wasn’t all. I was fucking horny from not getting any sex for over a week, and–I had to admit it–I was turned on by the closest possible hole. I wanted to fuck Kowalski. I’d been blown by male teachers, but fucking a man was a sexual frontier I hadn’t conquered. Maybe I ought to do it.

But I bit my lip. Man-sex in the Sixties, particularly in the military, was maximum taboo. This “liking a man’s body” is out of control. Imagine me, the big guy, the stud–wanting to fuck a man. And something else–if he finds out that I’m a spook in his unit, writing up reports about him, we’re likely to get into a fight; at any rate, I’ll lose him as a friend.

I stared straight into the dark green locker. God, what am I going to do? As I sat dazed, pulling on the rest of my uniform, a string of naked men walked by to and from the showers. I glanced quickly at each one.

Suddenly from the corner of my eye, I spotted a huge cock, and I turned my head. A short young man slowly sauntered by, doing the usual naked strut with towel slung over his shoulder, consumed in his own thoughts, counting on his fingers–worrying about his income tax, maybe, or how many days leave he had coming.

But he was hung like a horse.

Forcing myself to control my thoughts, I realized his cock was actually only about as big as Kowalski’s cannon, but it looked so gigantic because of his smaller body. Then I glanced up. He was looking down at me, and we made eye contact. Oh shit.

I swear to God, that man looked into my eyes and past them into my brain, and I froze. After what felt like a goddamned minute staring into my eyes, he smiled.

He looked from side to side–we were alone. He looked back into my face, and his hand dropped to stroke his cock. Right there in front of me. Damn!

Naturally I watched. The young guy was a new recruit, no more than 19 or so. The sight of his hand stroking along the big cockshaft, the big thing arcing up from his crotch like a swan’s neck, and that huge, black, single eye hypnotized me into a statue.

Still grinning, he pulled back the foreskin, and I saw his cockhead glowing hot and radioactive. He moved so close I smelled it, that heavy, male scent, and my heart pounded!

He sat on the bench beside me. “Likin’ whatcha see, Sarge?”

I should’ve punched the impudent bastard’s lights out. Show him what disrespect to a noncommissioned officer meant. In any case I should’ve screamed his ear off and took his name to go on report.

But what came out was a nervous grunt. “Maybe.”

He looked from side to side again then grabbed my crotch and fondled the iron stake inside my fatigue pants. I didn’t stop him. Too astonished. “Yeah, Sarge, yer glad ta see me, ain’tcha?”

Before I could reply to that, he grabbed my hand and pulled it to his cock. Ohmigod! Another man’s cock. A first! Gripping it, feeling it, thrills shot up my arm like I grabbed an electric eel, and I trembled.

He moved his head close to mine, his voice low and deep: “I know whatcha need, Sarge. Wait fer me over at the Quartermaster warehouse. I got the keys. We kin be alone in there.” Then he got up, slung his towel around his hips, and sauntered off to his locker.

Ohmigod! He wants to be my next conquest! Am I going to make that little shrimp my first venture into fucking men?

I sat there, my mind buzzing. Okay, here it is, the perfect solution to get my rocks off! I stood up and walked out of the gymnasium, so confused and full of doubt, I almost staggered like a drunk. What do do, what to do? Do I really want to take this step? Add a male to my collection of bitches?

I tried to think coldly: Okay, the safest thing to do is just say fuck it, walk back to Kowalski’s platoon, and go about my job. Fucking around with males in the Army is like trying to smoke a dynamite stick.

Yeah, that’s it. This didn’t happen. None of this happened!

But the palm of my hand and my fingers still smoldered. I couldn’t shake the memory–and I had not been walking back to Kowalski’s platoon. I found myself in front of the Quartermaster warehouse.

The building was nothing to brag about, an old, derelict Quonset left over from construction many decades mersin escort ago. Its corrugated tin roof was punctured and torn back, and many of the tin panels around the windows had been torn back by windstorms. All the glass was cloudy with smears of dirt, and I knew the atmosphere in the dump would be stuffy, dusty, everything coated with a layer of grit.

Oh, shit, oh, shit, do I really want to do this?? My heart pounded.

I walked up the steps onto the wooden loading dock. This is all going too fast! That little fucker was like a used car salesman throwing numbers at me until I couldn’t think straight! My cock was thinking for me, but I forced myself to do some cop-thought:

Okay, I’m going to go for it. If this little guy wants to suck my dick, if he wants me to fuck him, yeah, I’m going to do him. No witnesses, his word against mine, no possibility of a paternity quarrel. I knocked on the door.

“C’mon in, Sarge.”

I took another deep breath, gripped the door handle, and opened the door.

What I didn’t know was that on the other side, a step down to the floor of the warehouse was a good foot high, and jittery as I was, I lost my balance, stumbled, and fell forward. I caught myself with my outstretched hands, but on my hands and knees, I looked up at the young guy standing above me. His uniform had Corporal’s stripes and the nametag “PARKER.”

Parker’s pants and skivvies were already shucked down to his knees, and there it was, that cock, that giant cock. He stepped closer, bringing it so near my face, I felt the heat, and once again I smelled it. It drooled precum. My mouth went dry, and I licked my lips.

“G’wan, Sarge, we both know whatcha want.”

Yeah, I thought, so just give me a second here to get up so you can blow me–but Parker’s big cock was throbbing, the foreskin retracted just enough that I saw the hot, purple cockhead inside. He reached down and s l o w l y pulled back the skin.

Like a gooey, wet butterfly being born out of its chrysalis, his cockhead slowly appeared until Pop!–in a sudden burst it filled my vision, and my sight tunneled down until it was all I could see! That steaming, shiny-wet cockhead had me mesmerized, frozen to the spot. Oh, my God, Jesus, this is all going too fast!

Parker put one hand behind my head and pulled my face closer, and–to my dying day I will never know how I lost control so completely–almost against my will, my jaws opened, and with one last look up into his eyes, I took Corporal Parker’s cock into my mouth.

A man’s cock was in my mouth. I was a cocksucker!

No! No, I’m not! This is just an experiment, an accident! I’m here because I want to fuck his ass! But since I’m already here on my knees–

Automatically my tongue diddled around his cockhead, and my fingers gripped around the base. He let out a moan. “I knew it! Yer a natural-born cocksucker, aintcha, Sarge?”

Suddenly, weirdly, I felt proud. Glad I pleased the little guy. My heart pounded, and I heard a roar in my ears. Parker’s big cock didn’t taste bad. I rather liked it. Then he pushed it harder into my mouth, shoving it back toward my throat. I didn’t resist, but when it actually started down my throat, I gagged.

“Fight it, Sarge, fight the gag! You kin do it!”

I don’t know what the fuck made me obey him–I could’ve picked the little bastard up with one hand and thrown him across the room–but I threw all my concentration into fighting the gag reflex, and Parker’s big rod slid all the way down my throat! I arched my back, straightening out my esophagus to let him in deeper. Somehow I knew I was supposed to. “Uhh, yeah, ya big, fuckin’ cocksucker! Take my meat down to yer fuckin’ balls!”

Eerie. Fucking eerie! Somehow I liked sucking his cock–and suddenly I was a person I didn’t know. What is happening to me?? I’ve never felt like this before!

Tears streaming out of my eyes, my nose ground into his crotch hair, and again I felt that eerie pride–I took every inch of that big cock. I pleased him; I did my duty.

Then I learned something about a real blowjob. Women–and even the male teachers from my school days–sucked my cockhead while jacking my cockshaft with a free hand. Not Parker. He pulled his cock back out of my throat until the head cradled on my tongue again, then wham, he thrust it back down my throat! And again and again! Fucking my throat.

“Take it, take my cock, ya big queer! Feel the power of a real man!” I closed my eyes in shame. No man on earth could’ve said that to me. Except Parker. The short little runt had me, a medal-winning body-builder, on my knees, sucking his cock like a wimp.

Desperate to breathe, I managed through my nose, gasping during his outstrokes–Look at me, I’m learning to be a cocksucker–but the sounds of his pleasure, his moans and grunts coming faster and faster made me so hot and horny, the unbelievable happened. The corporal’s growing excitement–and knowing I did it–turned me on so bad, I shot into an orgasm myself!

Kneeling before him, my own hips lurching, I shot what felt like a quart of jism into my underwear. As the pleasure burned through me, I nodded my head up and down to make it easier for him and vary the angles on the little corporal’s wonderful cock.

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