Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2001 03:44:23 -0500
From: usmcbb@hotmail.com
Subject: Semper Fi Son 7-8

Semper Fi, Son
Chapter VII

Don's shift was unusually hard.  All day in Covina where the temperatures
that day shot up to over 90 degrees made his CHP uniform tighter than
usual.  He was unusually irritable and several speeders caught his polite,
but stern wrath that day.  Of course, he was thinking about getting to
Riverside on time for Mark's Championship wrestling tournament and he'd be
damned if he was going to be late.  Through his sweated brow, he kept
checking his watch, pulling down the cuff of his leather gloves to make
sure he was keeping good time.  When 4:30 hit, he snapped on the siren and
sped back to the station, not even bothering to drop some of his heavier
gear in the locker and made it to Riverside in record time.  "Damned if I'm
gonna missed my son's win," he thought as he evaded traffic jams and
generally disregarded traffic regulations that he busted a few for that
very day.

Folding himself out of his car, he could smell the days sweat on himself,
his arm pits still wet and his breeches unusually tight.  Don thought it
was either sweat or his leg workouts were definitely coming to fruition, he
absentmindedly adjusted his cock in his breeches which were cutting him a
bit as he entered the gym where the wrestling match was to be held.

At the far end of the gym, against the bleachers was Mark's coach, who Don
had never met but heard Mark speak of often.  Lou, Don thought he
remembered his name.  He was standing there almost alone as the wrestling
team was running in high determined fashion towards a set of locker rooms
hollering to themselves and generally pumped.  Don just looked for a sec,
his hand still lingering on his crotch as Lou was shouting at the boys "60
minutes and then be ready to WIN WIN WIN MEN!"  Lou started to look down at
his clipboard, having dismissed the boys until he realized that he couldn't
ignore the huge muscled CHP officer standing at the entry to the gym.

"Can I help I help you officer?"

Don strode determinedly towards the coach, his Dehners clicking hard on the
gym floor.  Don took in the coach as he approached and sized him up like he
did most everyone -- standard cop procedure.  About 5'10, definitely well
built even from this distance, white polo bunched up on the pecs and tight
biceps which seemed around 18.  Massive quads exposed and real well hung
package from what Don could see, a nice tight jock probably around 35.
Dark flattop.  Don extended his hand, enjoying keeping this guy in
suspense.  The coach just extended his hand without saying anything, a
slightly terrified expression on his face.

"Don Garsten, pleased to meet ya, here for my boy's match."

"Oh, um, oh..." Lou stuttered, "uhm, which one of these boys are yours?"
Lou asked, glancing quickly between the roster on his clipboard and Don.

"Mark, your star wrestler," Don said commandingly then let a slow smile
spread across his mustache.

This seemed to let Lou off who was obviously intimidated and was looking to
please this muscle cop who just entered and commanded more respect than
anyone in the gym ever had. "OH, RIGHT, you're MARK'S DAD!" Lou said,
outstretching his hand and pumping it... "FINE, fine fucking ... oh, scuse
me, I mean GREAT kid!"  Lou spat out, trying to be polite the police
officer as he was told.  Don smiled broadly, hitting Lou on the back and
nearly sending off his feet.  "No prob."


Lou explained that the match was delayed by an hour and that he had just
sent the wrestling team to the JV weight room to keep their focus and pump.
He suggested that they could wait in his office together as he had some
paperwork to go over and would enjoy talking with Don.  Don entered the
back entrance of the lockers, and could hear the weight plates banging and
the horsing around going on in the weight room where Mark was and decided
to leave him be with his buddies, no sense in distracting in this most
critical moment.  Lou had a regular gym coach office in the back, his own
private office, nothing special and Lou made a big deal of making sure Don
was comfortable, offering him water and telling him to relax while he just
went and got some papers copied and that he'd be back in a few minutes.
Don stretched out on a standard industrial couch, smelling the hundreds of
young jocks' testosterone that had passed through this office and generally
relaxing after a long day's work and most of all, pleased, that he didn't
miss a match that was so important to his son.  His breeches were still
tight on him and he adjusted himself a few times, raising the blood to his
cock just a bit so his bulge was a little more noticeable.  He unbuttoned a
few buttons on his cop uniform shirt to let the heat escape.  With his hand
still on his crotch, slowly cupping it, Lou re-entered and closed the door
behind him, smiling at Don.

At close range, Lou was impressive.  Broad shoulders packed on a tight
frame.  Don estimated him at about 190# but packed heavily and those biceps
filling out the cuffs of his polo were impressive.  His tight poly coach
shorts were definitely holding a serious jock package and his quads were
assuredly those of a wrestlers.  Not cut, but massive.  Their eyes locked
and Don smiled.

Don knew exactly what to do to make sure his boy received excellent
training.  He slowly rose up, making sure to match Lou's eyegaze exactly as
he did so, to prevent him from speaking.  He assumed a solid stance in
front of Lou and just stared, who, at this point, was open mouthed and just
staring.  Stammering he pulled himself together and uttered, "damn, I can
see where Mark gets it."

Don instructed him to shut the blinds and lock the door which Lou did with
no hesitation.  Don walked closer to smell this wrestling coach, to sense
what type of testosterone he had, what he thrived on and made sure his
leather gloves brushed up against his legs and chest.  Standing face to
face, Don placed his hands on Lou's shoulders and grabbed down tight.  Just
inches away from Lou's face, his stache almost brushing this young coach's
face he whispered "we're gonna help my boy today, aren't we, Coach?"

"Um," Lou responded

Don stepped back a few inches and took off his shirt and tank top,
revealing his massive chest and arms, now at about 52" and 21" covered in
blond hair and flexed both in succession.  The smell of his long work day
in the 90 degree heat filled the room. Lou's eyes widened.  Don reached
down and, undid his belt and slid his tight breeches down.  From years of
practice he stood, and removed his Dehners one by one, then his socks.
Then his boxers.  Standing nude confidently before the coach, half his
mass, he wryly smiled and walked towards him.  The room swam in CHP sweat
and pure muscle sweat like Lou had never smelled.  Slack jawed, Lou stood
there and Don could see he was having exactly the right effect on the
coach, his shorts tenting hard even through a jock.

Don walked up to him slowly, like he did to every suspect, confidently,
never breaking eye contact like prey.  He slowly extended his arms, both
massive biceps unfolding and grabbed the sides of Coach Lou's polo shirt
and started to tug them out of his tight shorts.  "Huh... heh, wha..."  Lou
protested and Don shot him a glare that shut him up.  "Coach, I want my boy
to see a real coach, you got that?"  Lou didn't know what to say and the
prospect of this monster getting angry with him was enough for him to raise
his hands as Don took the Coach's polo off his heavily muscled chest.  Don
next reached out and with military precision undid the brass snaps of the
coach's shorts and pulled em down as well as his jock, effectively
stripping him naked.  Don stood back and admired a short little fireplug of
an Italian wrestler, reached down and started to jack his cock nice and
slow.

"Fucking like a real man's hand on that cock, don't ya coach?"  Don asked
to Lou's non-response as he just rolled his eyes to the back of his head.
"Wife ain't doing it for ya?  Huh?"  Don teased as he increased his rhythm
and gripped tighter bringing the straight coach to near climax and then
backing off.  "I ever you hear about you touching my son, Lou, I'll break
your neck."  Don whispered into the coach's ear as he gave a final, precise
jack that sent Lou's cum into Don's hand.

Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, Lou, the stud straight coach
and surrogate dad to all his wrestler boys fell to the ground, spent from
the power of an orgasm he had never felt.  Don stood above him, straddling
him with is massive thighs and began to furiously and expertly crank his
own cock.  Don had discarded the coach's cum, draining the coach of his
testosterone so he could replace it with his own.  Violently holding Lou's
mouth open by the jaw he rammed his hard cock into the coach, raping his
mouth and planting his precum seed in his mouth, now only minutes before
the game.  Raising up on his haunches he jerked his cock hard and sprayed a
mammoth spray of cum onto the Coach, coating him.  After his brief ecstasy,
he made sure to rub it into the coach, sinking into his skin.  "Smell like
a man, Lou."  Don said as he dismounted.  Lou was breathing heavily,
exhausted. Not knowing what hit him, sweating, covered in cum.

Don worked quickly and took the coach's gear off him and pulled it onto
himself.  The shorts were obscenely tight, his cock creating a huge bulge
and the polo was almost as skin tight as his police uniform.  Figuring the
coach would get his act together, he took his pair of wrestling shoes and
opening his locker, took a gym bag and a pair of sweats and shoved those
and his CHP gear into the bag.  For good measure he took the coach's
singlet and stood there and watched as the coach came to, clearing out of
his orgasmic haze.

"C'mon buddy, we got a wrestling match to coach."  Don said as he watched
the spent body of a defeated musclejock coach trying to figure out what
just happened and why is this muscle cop wearing my clothes?


Semper Fi, Son

Chapter VIII


Don just assumed the role of coach and even though the clothes were tight
on him, he snapped in USMC DI mode and coached his boy to victory.  He
ripped "his" polo shirt when, at the end of Mark's match, he pinned him in
under :30 by punching his arm up and shouting OOORAH that the sleeve came
undone.  Don just tossed it off and ripped the other one off as well and
stomped around the ring flexing and grunting he was that proud of his son.
Mark had gotten it, "damn!" Don kept repeating, "he got it!"

Mark strode off the mat, drenched in sweat and breathing deep and Don
calmly just wrapped his huge biceps around him and held him and kept
repeating, "I'm proud of you son" so deeply that mark could hear it
reverberate through Don's chest and through his earpieces.  Both their
sweat mixing.  Don pushed him back to shoulder's length and said "Son, just
get yer gear and that bag," pointing to Don's appropriated bag from the
coach's locker "and meet me at the car."

Mark showed up a few minutes later, his warm up suit pulled up around his
singlet and two bags that he tossed into the back seat.  Slamming himself
into the front seat he fastened his seat belt across his chest and for the
ride back to Don's, worked off his post-championship high but repeating
every detail of the match.  Don drove, fists tight around the driving
wheel, so proud he was going to explode and occasionally looking over
during the ride to just gaze... gaze at himself.

 As soon as the arrived home, Mark still howling about his victory and
pumped tight, Don closed the door and held him tight and uttered again how
proud he was of him, taking in the odor of his son's testosterone, his
sweat and stood back just admiring him, his answer was Mark's beautiful
blue eyes just looking at his.

Don reached up to the shredded polo's v-neck and in one, swift move tore it
open, discarding the fragments.  Standing in front of his son, bare chested
in his son's coach's shorts and sneakers, Don felt authoritative.  "Son,
I'm your coach now, your coach doesn't know what he's got in you, kid."
Don said with a smile.  Don reached up and unzipped Mark's sweat jacket and
pulled it away looking at a magnificent torso, drenched in sweat and
covered in his singlet. "Son, I fucking love you," Don said as he pushed
his hand against the tightly encased muscle and slid his hand under the
sweatpants' waist and just held onto his son's burgeoning cock, smiling.
"You must be hungry, son," Don stated.  "Go shower and clean yourself up
and I'll cook dinner."


Don cooked a heavy meal to feed both of them: steak, salad, potatoes and
even opened a nice bottle of red wine to celebrate the victory.  Don
explained to Mark about being a Marine meant being honorable to everyone
and that the general stereotype wasn't true.  You could be knowledgeable
and smart and brawny.  Both of them got a laugh when Mark just flexed his
arm and said "Yeah, knowledgeable about this."  Don told him to not worry
about cleaning up, he's do it, but to go start a fire in the fireplace and
pour them some scotches and get two of his Maduros ready.  "I'm gonna show
you how Marines celebrate a victory, son," Don said, smiling, as Mark
literally ran off to accomplish his goals.  Don finished to easy clean up
and decided to take a quick shower to wash off the coach's gear smell and
his own, smiling at himself at how he felt that he was preparing for a
date... trimming his stache and even touching up what was now an unruly
flattop.  He even splashed some lime water on himself and pulled on his
white tank and boxers, ready to relax with his musclestud son in front of a
fire with a good cigar and some scotch.

Don came downstairs to see two large snifters of scotch on the table, lit
by a roaring fire, the amber warmth all the more amplified by the
firelight.  Next to each was a perfectly bias cut Maduro cigar, sitting
upon a slab of marble.  Next to each, was a Zippo lighter with a USMC logo
on it, perfectly aligned.  As Don gazed at this, he realized there was a
presence in the room which was lit only by the roaring fire.  As he gazed
up, there was Mark, at attention as strict as any White House Guard.
Completely aware, but without any indication that he had seen Don.  In
Don's full Dress Blues, spit polished to the last button, he was perfect.
Don drew nearer, realizing that his son was presenting himself for
inspection for the first time.  Don stood at the table and just gazed,
trying to regain some of his composure and feeling his cock getting tauter
in his boxers and feeling rather undressed for this, but his tank top and
boxers fuller out of pride.  Don reached down and lit his cigar, took a
swig of Scotch and never took his eyes off this new Marine.

"Sheet, son."

"SIR, READY FOR INSPE-SHUN, SIR!" Mark yelled.  Eyes straight ahead,
commitment in his voice.

Don walked around his son, eyeing every eyelet, every tack, every button.

Don blew his cigar smoke into his face to see if he flinched.  "Damn," Don
thought, "I'm fucking looking at myself."

"AT EASE" Don yelled back, watching the hands fall to his side and how he
was no less proud or that how less at ease Mark was.  Don knew this was
important to Mark, especially today.

"SON, I'm proud of you for your Championship tonight, son, but if you're
going to wear your dad's dress blues, I want to see how you can make them
your own, is that CLEAR SON?"  Don raised his voice in his familiar DI
voice seeing if Mark would flinch.

"SIR, YES SIR!" Mark answered, eyes still ahead, not noticing the huge grin
on the face of his musclecop dad's face.  With the cigar in his mouth and
his scotch in hand he simply stated, in a calm voice "Drop and give me 100,
son."

Mark took off his white lid (or the lid that would soon be his) and
proceeded.


Don strode directly over to the library wall and opened a chestnut box with
the USMC seal on it and took out his brass USMC signet ring.  He then
watched the backside of Mark's efficient push ups as he took the calipers
from the stand beside the fireplace and clamped them around the ring and
set it into the coals.  Standing back he stuck the cigar back into his
mouth and placed his bare foot onto Mark's uniformed back and commanded him
to push it out harder.

As the ring started to glow the color of the embers, Don strode Mark's
back.  "C'mon Son, get your sweat into that uniform!"  He commanded.  Mark
was sweating profusely, and although at a good pace in his push ups, was
faltering, Don could tell.  HE reached underneath his son's flapping tails
of his dress blues and just slowly rubbed his cock.  Leaning down and
licking Mark's sweat off his neck, he whispered into his grunting son's
ear, "C'mon son, dad's got a special surprise for you."

Don could feel Mark's rock hard cock straining against the dress blues and
he knew he was ready.  Don pushed him down forcefully, enough to abort
another push up, although Mark did try.  Knowing his task was accomplished
after a few more attempts, Mark finally gave up, collapsing face down on
the floor, breathing heavily, his sweat and muscle now a presence in the
room.

Don slowly reaches under his chin and calmly, lovingly states. "Good son,
I'm proud of you and I want to make sure you know that.  Are you ready for
this son?" Don asked.

A muffled grunt a head nod were Mark's approval.

"Son, I'm not gonna lie to you," Don said as he straddled the prostate
Dress Blue Marine.  "This is gonna hurt, but it's only gonna be for a short
second and then you'll be OK.  Stay focused on your goal son, and take this
like a man and like the Marine that you are."  Don reaches over and fumbles
a bit with the calipers as they pull the now red hot brass ring out of the
coals.  He holds the calipers high to check to see that whole ring is
glowing.  Slowly, he calculates the angle and with his left hand places
Mark's face-down skull into a head lock.  "Be calm son, stay still," he
says with authority, and plunges the raised signet face of the ring into
the back of his son's head -- the exact spot where his hand has rested so
many times while Mark has taken his cock -- with patience, holding it in
exact place to make a deep impression.