Date: Tue, 22 Jul 2014 23:12:25 +0200
From: James Rozo <jrozonavydod@gmx.com>
Subject: Special Weapons
Special Weapons
By Ensign John Rozo, USN
- - - - - - - - - -
Disclaimer: This sea-story, a work of fiction created solely for the
entertainment of inquiring adults, contains content not approved by the
Department of The Navy. The author has no current affiliation within DON
and the views expressed aren't representative of Navy/ Marine Corps
positions or opinions.
Nautical life, often difficult and brutal, is recounted aboard the aircraft
carrier USS Nimitz CVN 68. Naval nomenclature and shipboard technical
details are, whenever possible, factual. Military jargon is employed and
may be confusing to the uninitiated.
During the author's time aboard Nimitz the crew was all male - no sea cows
permitted aboard. The characters are the fictional confluence of countless
shipmates, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
completely coincidental.
It is the official policy of the United States of America to neither
confirm nor deny the presence or absence of nuclear weapons aboard naval
combatants.
Warning: Sexual interactions between DON members, while prohibited by UCMJ
Article 125, were nonetheless prevalent- especially during
deployments. This sea-story contains explicit sexual situations; if graphic
depictions are offensive or illegal, please do not read any further.
- - - - - - - - - -
Introduction: Although sailors and marines develop strong physical and
psychological bonds at sea, with few exceptions, they would violently
object to the insinuation that they are homosexuals. The military ethos
compels them to always assist shipmates in times of need...and the need is
never greater then when underway - a very lonely and depressing enterprise.
It's only natural, therefore, that solace is sought and found in a
shipmate's mouth or in sea-pussy. This is not to suggest that the
preponderance of seadogs don't also have satisfying relationships with
wives, girlfriends, trollops, and small barnyard animals. They do.
At sea, however, there is nothing quite like tender young midshipman
sea-pussy. Unequivocally, the Naval Academy produces the most amazing
product - the result of a highly competitive selection process, intensive
training, and 135 years of tradition. Idealistic and motivated, bursting
with potential, they are a welcomed addition aboard every ship in the
fleet.
- - - - - - - - - -
Special Weapons
22 0300Z Jun79, 35-52-12 N, 74-34-33 W
USS Nimitz, underway for the last two weeks, is steering 175
degrees, making 22 knots with sea state condition 2, visibility 9
miles. Steaming in the Virginia Capes Operating Area, she is conducting
combat readiness training with several guided missile cruisers and
destroyers.
The ship's 1MC general announcing system comes alive and the
boatswain's mate passes the word for taps: 'Taps, taps, lights out, the
smoking lamp is out, all hands turn into their own racks, now taps'.
In his stateroom, 3-126-4-L, Ensign Rozo, Engineering Department
Repair Division Officer, envisions HT3 Troy Walker's enticing enlisted ass
as masturbatory fodder. Fixated, he imagines plowing the painfully cute
farm boy's field and planting seed.
Stroking the thick eight-inch tumid shaft, getting close, there is
an unexpected knock on the stateroom's non-water-tight door. Annoyed at
being disturbed, the Ensign is surprised to find young Midshipman 3/c
Matthew Boyer draped in tattered underpants and the pungent stench of
despair.
"Oh sir, they initiated me," cries the traumatized boy.
"Wait, slow down...who initiated you?"
"The Marines."
Tears from large graphite-gray eyes stream down the distraught boy's
ruddy cheeks. His symmetrical androgynous face, framed by close-cropped
hair, is streaked with black - the remnants of letters written with a
grease pencil. His smooth hairless body, firm pectorals with hard nipples,
exceptional washboard abdominals, narrow waist, and generous ass
momentarily distract the Ensign.
"It's ok Boyer, all 3/c midshipmen get initiated during summer
cruise...it's a right-of-passage."
"But sir, they tricked me...they took advantage of me, used me. It
was so humiliating."
"I understand," he consoles the midshipman.
Embarked aboard Nimitz, the 50-man Marine Detachment (MarDet),
administratively assigned to the Weapons Department, is commanded by
Captain Faulkner, USMC. The marines provide quick- response security,
perform sentry duty for special weapons, operate the ship's brig, raise and
lower the national colors, and execute honors and ceremonies for visiting
dignitaries.
Ferocious predators, the devil dogs also frequently sexually abuse
midshipmen.
Exercising leadership, taking charge of the situation, the Ensign
removes the last scraps of the submissive midshipman's tattered underpants.
"Bend over Boyer."
The recipient of a significant beating, the exquisite ass is a
stunning palette of vibrant tones - striations of crimson, carmine, and
burnt sienna.
Spreading him apart, the bruised and battered asshole, showing signs
of intensive use, coated with grease, is gapped open. Like a little mouth
wearing lipstick, the plum colored pussy lips quiver as white chunks of
enlisted jam slowly ooze out, trickle over the scrotum's seam, and run down
his smooth thighs.
Pushing several thick calloused fingers easily inside, rubbing
around the chute's silky smooth walls, the Ensign ascertains that the
marine's play toy suffered no permanent damage. Taking advantage of the
opportunity, exploring deeper up inside the midshipman, the officer
envisions the many excited marines breeding the amazing ass.
"You're in luck, nothing's ripped. Now tell me what happened."
"Yes, sir."
Bent over, spread open, painfully erect from the Ensign's
manipulations, his ring offering no resistance to the officer's advances,
the ashamed midshipman recounts a woeful tale of circumstances conspiring
against him...of betrayal and lost innocence.
- - - - - - - - - - Earlier That Evening - - - - - - - - -
Walking forward on the 2nd deck starboard passageway, past the
galley and through the forward mess decks, 2-79-0-L and 2-69-0-l, the
midshipman is near the hatch to the third deck MarDet berthing when a
muscular devil-dog calls him over, using an authoritative tone that expects
compliance.
"Hey midshipman...come here. You ever see a special weapon?"
"Special weapon...as in nuclear?" asks the midshipman with wide
eyes.
"Shhh, don't say that word. It's special...that's all I can say,"
said the marine. "It's down in the magazine...I can show you if
interested. You have a security clearance, right?"
"Oh yeah, definitely...secret."
Tattooed on the marine's right forearm, signifying dedication and
loyalty to Corps and country, is 'USMC' in black block letters, a
chained-dog tag, and the motto 'Semper Fidelis' - always faithful. Like
many marines, personal information - name, country, branch of service,
social security number, and religion are tattooed on his torso's left side
- facilitating battlefield body identification if necessary.
"Good. You can't tell anyone about the weapons you're going to see."
"I understand...not a word to anyone," agrees Boyer, impelled by an
adventurous spirit.
Several sailors nearby, overhearing the conversation, exchange wide
grins - knowing the predatory marine's true intentions for the young,
unsuspecting, and trusting midshipman. Struggling to appear stoic, the
marine is elated at having successfully set up the academy kid. While
getting the magazine keys he whispers to the duty sergeant.
"I've got one...another midshipman! Let the platoon know."
"Hell yeah, more sweet midshipman sea-pussy," replies the sergeant
while remotely securing the magazine's motion detectors and silent
intrusion alarm.
"Give me fifteen minutes...then storm the magazine, same scenario as
last time."
Five minutes later the marine and midshipman approach the magazine's
port access trunk and open the high-security lock on the armored ballistic
scuttle. Descending a long vertical ladder, they reach the forward
universal tie down magazine, 5-49-0-M.
The domain of Weapons Department, G-3 Division, the compartment is
where Aviation Ordnancemen (AO) assemble bombs and missiles for the Air
Wing as prescribed in the daily flight load plan. Enjoying a mutually
beneficial arrangement, the AO's let the Marines utilize the compartment
for special training exercises.
Extremely remote and isolated, the weapons magazine is completely
disconnected from all activity three decks above. Other than a slight
vibration, it's impossible to differentiate the war ship making 22 knots 65
miles out at sea from a Naval Munitions Command warehouse in Oklahoma.
The midshipman, unable to contain his enthusiasm, unaware of the
marines' machinations, shivers from the anticipation. The confident marine
smiles and rubs his rapidly expanding erection.
Entering the magazine, Boyer recognizes many conventional weapons:
Harpoon, Maverick, Phoenix, Sea Sparrow, Sidewinder, Standard II, and
Tomahawk.
"Wow this is amazing!" exclaims the awestruck midshipman.
"And below this magazine are the bombs, precision-guided munitions,
and Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAM) guidance kits," explains the
marine.
"Cool. Where are the, you know...the special weapons?"
If observant, the midshipman would have noticed the special weapon
struggling to escape the marine's confining uniform trousers. But he
wasn't...and he didn't.
"Over there, in specially designed MIL-901 shock hardened aluminum
extruded containers," said the marine, leading Boyer around ordnance and
outboard of the 12,000 lb. lower stage weapons elevator.
Suddenly, a cacophony of sound and motion explodes from the
starboard access trunk. A platoon of devil-dogs, donned in olive green
camouflage utility uniforms with ballistic vests and helmets, charge into
the magazine aiming their M-16A2 assault rifles with laser sights at Boyer.
"Freeze! We're authorized to use deadly force."
Surrounding Boyer, they throw the shocked boy face down on the deck
and kick his arms and legs wide apart, spreading him out like a frog on a
high school student's dissection tray. A marine plants a combat boot on the
midshipman's ass, applies force, and slowly grinds Boyer's gear onto the
deck.
Several very young and excited marines, with twitching trigger
fingers, point their rifles at the midshipmen's head. Boyer, familiar with
the rifle from small arms training at the academy, notices the weapon's
selector lever is pointing to 'semi'.
Petrified, shaking like a leaf in a gully squall, Boyer
uncontrollably wets himself...the telltale scent suffusing the
compartment. Forgetting to breathe, quickly losing consciousness, his eyes
rollup and everything goes dark as time standstills.
"Fuck the kid pissed himself and blacked out," notes a marine. "Now
what?"
While an unexpected snag in the initiation, the conspirators
improvise and an alternate plan coalesces. Sometime later, the unconscious
midshipman stirs.
The disorientated and now completely naked midshipman is handcuffed
and secured to an unpadded aluminum chair. The Emeco 1006 Navy Chair,
developed in the 1940s for use on submarines and aircraft carriers, is a
bona fide wartime workhorse. With a life expectancy of 150 years, the
timeless classic is corrosion-resistant and virtually indestructible.
"Good, the little pussy is finally awake," as a marine helpfully
smacks the midshipman's face several times to provide focus.
"About time," adds an annoyed marine.
With arms twisted painfully behind him, ankles pulled back...crossed
and tied - spreading his thighs impossibly wide on either side of the
chair, Boyer is exposed and utter vulnerable. Immensely embarrassed at
being naked and exposed - his gear on display like sausage in a butcher's
shop window, he struggles for clarity, gets his bearings, and regains
situational awareness.
The coterie of marines - prolific predators sporting impressive
erections and malicious grins, surround Boyer, their gaze wandering,
feasting on his body while envisioning the tantalizing possibilities.
Tattooed on Boyer's left pectoral is the blue and gold Naval Academy
coat-of-arms. The seal depicts a hand grasping a trident - representing sea
power, a shield bearing an ancient galley ship coming into action, and an
open book - representing education. Below the shield flows a banner with
the motto 'ex scientia tridens' - from knowledge, sea power.
"Why did you break into the magazine?" the platoon leader demands.
"What? I didn't sir, I was escorted here." Confused, Boyer searches
the surrounding faces for his guide, but can't find him. "A marine offered
to show me the special weapons...I swear."
"Bullshit! The silent alarms went off and we found you here alone,
by yourself," the marine spits in the midshipman's face, the truth being
inconsequential. "Lying will only make it worse for you! Besides, there
are no nuclear weapons in this magazine, only conventional ordnance."
Special weapons, if they exist aboard ship, would be located in
5-87-0-M, the ultra-secure nuclear weapons magazine. Guarded by armed
marines authorized to utilize deadly force, magazine access can only be
authorized by the CO, XO, Weapons Officer, or G-3 Division officer
utilizing the two-man rule.
"B...but...but...he said he would show me," stutters the stunned
midshipman.
"You're fucked kid. You're looking at a courts martial, brig time,
and a bad conduct discharge," informs the marine. "Not to mention the
disgrace and shame your family will endure."
"No, no...please," cries the devastated midshipman.
Moving closer, the interrogating marine lifts his right foot and
places a large black-leather combat boot on the edge of the chair, the
steel-toe less than a half inch above Boyer's helpless testicles. Leaning
forward, the boot's thick rubber sole rotates and contacts the kid's pink
bag.
"I could easily ruin you," said the platoon leader. "And claim it
was accidental collateral damage. I've always wanted to pop a midshipman,"
the marine lies, psychologically fucking with Boyer, while applying a
little pressure to the floppy sack.
"Do it! Do it!" a chorus of devil-dog voices chant, fearful of their
own innate vulnerability but deriving tremendous sexual pleasure
envisioning the midshipman's gear being damaged.
"Oh god no, not my balls...please don't hurt me!" Boyer begs
hysterically, his worst nightmare coming true.
As a kid, he remembered being chased through a dense forest by older
boys, being caught, stripped, and secured to a tree with rope. Struggling
ineffectually, interrogated and slowly tortured, his balls received special
attention. Waking up, soaked in sweat, breathing hard, a sticky mess in his
shorts, he's both thankful and disappointed it was only the dream again.
Searching the marines' faces for compassion but finding none, Boyer
is filled with hopelessness. Looming over the midshipman, he recognizes a
hunger in their eyes - like predators staring down at prey.
Unexpectedly, Boyer's traitorous cock starts to elongate, the
foreskin retracts, and a small iridescent pearl oozes out of the little
mouth and drops onto the marine's boot. The marines laugh riotously and
Boyer's face burns with a lifetime's worth of humiliation and shame.
"Look! He's excited by the thought...he wants to be ruined!" shouts
a marine.
"Do it! Do it!" resumes the chorus.
"No, no...I can't control it! Please don't hurt me...I'll do anything
you want. Anything...please!" sobs the broken Midshipman, surrendering
completely.
"Hmmm...well, perhaps there is another way," the platoon leader
considers, backing off the bag, amused at how easy it is to break the
kid. "The punishment will be severe...and you have to do whatever we say,
no questions, no hesitation."
Facing a welter of problems, confused and frightened, unable to
effectively navigate unfamiliar seas, Boyer unconditionally surrenders
without considering the potential consequences.
"Yes...yes...anything!"
"Very well, we'll personally deal with you - but there's no turning
back. Even if you beg, the punishment will continue. Do you understand,
kid?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you...you won't be sorry, I promise!" said the
relieved midshipman.
"Oh I know we won't be sorry. But you might be," snickers a marine
just outside the midshipman's hearing, exchanging secret smiles with his
platoon mates.
"Hell yeah, let's give the kid an experience he'll remember for the
rest of his life!" shouts a marine.
Firmly entrenched in their clutches, the excited predators control the
gloriously naked and vulnerable midshipman. A marine extracts a rapidly
expanding eight-inch enlisted weapon, its blood engorged claret warhead
contrasting starkly against the olive green camouflage trousers.
More zippers open, and soon ten special weapons are on display, armed,
and ready for deployment.
Looking around at all the menacing cocks twitching with anticipation,
swallowing hard, the defeated midshipman is alarmed but also excited. No
stranger to servicing dominate alpha males, Boyer knows he'll be sucking
for hours, consuming vast quantities of enlisted jam.
Momentarily lost in thought, the midshipman is transported back in
time to his plebe year at the Naval Academy. Cock sucking at the Academy is
a well-established tradition where plebes, residing on the bottom of the
food chain, demonstrate respect for upperclassmen.
Possessing exceptional oral ability, the word spreads quickly around
Bancroft Hall and his skills are in great demand. Having no choice,
educating his palate, Boyer is forced to consume a stunning assortment of
rich velvety custards...warm and delicious molten decadence.
Released from the chair, the procession moves forward and the boy is
marched through the magazine. Like a Memorial Day Parade, escorted by
marines with weapons on display, they reach the review stand - an old
discarded dirty mattress on the deck. Positioned near the mattress are
several video cameras, one on a tripod.
Pushed down, Boyer easily descends without protest, surrendering to
fate. Like a pack of hungry wolves, the marines maneuver for position,
surround the baby lamb, and move in for the kill.
Aggressively playing with the midshipman, painfully twisting his
nipples, kneading his supple ass, seeking every crevasse, the marines
conduct reconnaissance and run roughly callused hands over every inch of
his silky smooth skin. Two marines fight over Boyer's fleshy pink ball bag,
roll the tender eggs between their battle-hardened fingers, squeeze, and
pull the hapless orbs in different directions.
"You got pretty big balls for a midshipman."
Pulling and twisting the hapless orbs, crushing them slightly in his
fist, the marine laughs.
"I've got your whole world in the palm of my hand. How much fun would
it be to scramble these eggs and waste your gear?" He pulls something out
of his pocket - an electrical tie, and cinches it tightly, securing Boyer's
balls at the bottom of the bag.
"You want this, cock sucker?" asks a marine.
Holding Boyer's head with one hand, he repeatedly slaps the boy's face
with his hefty weapon. Loud smacks reverberate throughout the magazine as
the midshipman takes a substantial bitch-slapping.
A marine with a black navy grease pencil, writes 'cocksucker' across
the midshipman's forehead. The ubiquitous implement, used for annotating
transparent status boards, is made of hardened opaque colored wax for bold
markings on a variety of surfaces.
"Ok kid, introduce yourself to your fans," orders the marine.
Turning Boyer towards a camera, the midshipman is stunned to realize
everything is being filmed. Unknown to the boy, the filming of his
debasement commenced twenty minutes ago during the interrogation. It's a
USMC film production - starring Boyer.
"Umm...I'm Midshipman 3/c Boyer," he obediently states with fluttering
stomach, quickly looking downward, ashamed.
"No, no...damn it! Full name, place of origin, and institution. Beg
for it...and smile at the camera," demands the marine, smacking Boyer
playfully. "Try again."
"Hi. I'm Midshipman 3/c Matthew Boyer from Clinton New Jersey,
attending the US Naval Academy. Although I suck upperclassmen, I really
crave Marine Corps cock," as the broken kid smiles at the camera with tear
filled eyes, delivering a credible performance.
"Hmm...that's better," said the grinning Latino marine, rubbing his
plum-sized leaking head across the midshipman's voluptuous lips. "You've
got such a pretty mouth."
Licking his lips, the sweet salty taste of masculinity resonates on
Boyer's tongue. Riveted to the majestic cock and low hangers full of creamy
goodness between the marine's muscular thighs, his eyes are mesmerized by
the seductive and potent gear.
"It's so beautiful," Boyer whispers.
"Kiss it...show it proper respect."
Well trained, instinctively obeying the unlawful order, Boyer deftly
kisses and licks the shaft - rolling his talented tongue around the spongy
cockhead, following the flared contours, caressing the hyper-sensitive
gland, savoring the taste, sensing the inherent power.
"That's it...keep going kid...take it."
Opening his relatively small mouth, parting the pouty pink lips, the
midshipman struggles mightily to accommodate the broad crimson crown.
Rendering unappreciated assistance, the powerful marine helpfully
presses forward...aggressively stuffing himself into Boyer's pretty
mouth. Stretching the boy's jaw impossibly wide, pushing the tongue out of
the way, the weapon demands and establishes residence, effectively
silencing the midshipman.
"Oh yeah...now suck that cock."
Compelled, having absolutely no choice, Boyer sucks. Surprised by the
delicious tang and texture, the intensely flavored leaking juices - creamy
sweet cartelization like dulce de leche infused with cinnamon, vanilla, and
exotic spices - is a definite delight for the palate.
Watching intently, the audience of elated marines smile mischievously
and exchange high-fives as the interim mission objective is achieved...and
another cocksucker joins the Fleet.
"Get ready, I'm taking your academy throat."
Massive and menacing, the marine advance as more thick inches are
quartered inside the overstuffed mouth, occupying all available real
estate. Following the delineated battle plan, reaching the ultimate target,
the crimson warrior is precariously perched on the throat's precipice.
"Nooo...pleasessss," Boyer mumbles incomprehensibly.
Without hesitation, firming holding Boyer's ears, the marine
enthusiastically thrusts forward - tunneling down the constricting throat,
stuffing the opening like a cork in a wine bottle. Despite indigenous
resistance, retreat is not an option, and he finally bottoms out inside
Boyer, impaling him.
"Awk...ugh," the midshipman chokes.
"Oh yeah, choke on it kid," the marine demands.
Utterly stuffed, Boyer's convulsing throat squeezes the
victor. Pressing against tender membranes and blocking his air intake,
throbbing against silky-smooth walls, the marine is clearly protruding in
Boyer's neck. Choking violently, babbling incoherently, producing sweet
music for the audience of laughing marines, the midshipman tries to pull
back but the Marine holds him securely.
Reaching around, stroking Boyer's neck up and down, the marine
jerks-off in the midshipman's throat. A nearby video camera captures the
bulge and clear outline of the marine's cock. Other marines, thoroughly
entertained, cheer the innovative maneuver, ready their weapons, and wait
for a turn to deliver their ordnance on the target.
"Getting close...here it comes."
The marine clutches the midshipman's head in a warrior's death grip as
a torrent of enlisted jam suddenly explodes. Boyer, having no choice,
consumes the detonation. A few minutes later, breathing hard, totally
drained, the marine withdraws his spent weapon, making way for an eager
buddy.
"I'm next," as a marine steps forward, unlocks the safety, takes aim,
and launches his weapon. Broken and domesticated, Boyer accepts the abuse
in characteristic submissive silence.
"Oh yeah...suck that cock."
Degenerating into a feeding frenzy, six marines use Boyer in rapid
succession. Sore from the constant barrage and battering, the midshipman
isn't sure how many more marines he can effectively service.
"Take my load, cocksucker."
A marine degrades Boyer by deliberately pulling out of the kid's mouth
and glazing his face like a cinnamon bun with sticky white icing. Chunky
white globs of jam slowly roll down his cheeks, across his bruised lips,
and fall into his open mouth. Staring at the camera, humiliated, the
glazing quickly dries on his face, forming a white crust.
Moving on, several marines focus their attention on Boyer's
irresistible ass. Voracious breeders of midshipmen, they play with the
plump inviting cheeks, leaving their mark. Tight and moist midshipman
sea-pussy, unequivocally a rare pleasure, is indistinguishable from and
often better than the real thing.
"Kid, you have any experience being sea-pussy?"
"No...no sir, " replies the frightened midshipman.
"Sweet baby Jesus, we have ourselves a virgin!" shouts an excited
marine.
Everyone cheers, emitting hoots like randy peacocks, and exchange
high-fives, grateful for fate's generous gift delivered at the peak of
perfection. The tender pink hole, the metaphorical nautical holy grail, is
tonight's receptacle for their sacred enlisted seed.
"Don't worry kid, tonight we'll rectify all the deficiencies in your
education."
"This is going to be awesome...well, at least for us. For you, not so
much."
Targeting the evening's primary objective, addressing the matter of
lubrication and dilation, two thick fingers apply a thin coating of
mil-standard grease on the pristine ring, poking, prodding, forcing the
slot open. Employing force, prying the protesting lips open, the marines
delight in Boyer's discomfort.
"Ouch...that hurts," the midshipman winces as he is aggressively
stretched.
The large and intimidating platoon leader, exercising his inherent
right as the senior marine at the scene, strokes his tumid cock,
anticipating the pleasure of the first fuck. Stripping he shows off his
many tattoos and battle scares - vivid evidence of his devotion to
America's defense.
The official emblem of the Marine Corps is tattooed across his
back. With wings displayed, an eagle is standing upon a globe intersected
by a fouled anchor. Clasped in the eagle's beak is a ribbon bearing the
motto 'Semper Fidelis'. Iconic, the eagle represents the US, the globe
signifies the Corps' readiness to service worldwide, and the anchor
acknowledges service within the Navy.
"Get on your stomach, ass up in the air...I'm going to fuck you like a
dog."
Gaining position between Boyer's spread legs, grabbing and rotating
the midshipman's generous hips, the marine intuitively calculates the
ballistics - bearing and range to target.
Lying submissively, the midshipman is spread open like an obedient
bitch awaiting a good fucking. Strategically positioning cameras near the
boy's pussy and face, the marines will capture the exact moment of Boyer's
destruction for posterity and the USMC archives.
With the enlisted weapon positioned against the midshipman's last line
of defense, the excited spectators initiate a countdown. Boyer knows all
systems are green to go, that he'll be brutally mounted in moments...and
he's powerless to prevent it.
"Here it comes...open that pussy," demands the marine.
Commencing the assault, the marine aggressively thrusts forward. A
skilled predator, experienced in fucking midshipmen, he understands the boy
doesn't stand a chance of repelling the invasion.
Under attack, Boyer's brave pussy lips, like ramparts protecting a
medieval town from hordes of marauders, fight valiantly to defend the
midshipman's masculinity. Hopelessly over matched, however, the boy's
entrance is soon violently breached. Defeated, the devastated sphincter
struggles to stretch around the wrist-thick angry shaft.
"Ugh...oh god, oh god. It's too big, take it out, take it out!"
Boyer screams in agony, nearly passing out from the intense pain as
the cock take residence up inside him. Stretched unmercifully, he's
convinced the marine is ripping him a new one.
"Awesome pussy...so tight!"
The marine, enjoying the pilfered treasure, ignores Boyer's
panic-stricken pleas, as cameras capture the thrilling moments of
conquest. Strong involuntary muscle contractions try desperately but
unsuccessfully to expel the massive invader. Undeterred, the Marine focuses
on the mission, presses forward with the invasion, and takes another few
inches of territory.
"Please...please, take it out!" Boyer begs, writhing with obvious
pain.
"Stop your whining...it doesn't come out until it's all the way in."
The incursion continues unabated as the marine penetrates deeper,
brutalizing the hyperventilating midshipman. Focused only on his own
pleasure, the hapless midshipman's defenseless pussy is ravaged.
"Oh god...please no more," sniveling like a little girl.
Gnashing his teeth, Boyer pleads for mercy as the cock snakes deeper,
reaches the bend in his intestines, punches his stomach, and is wedged into
impossibly tight and isolated quarters. Painfully split open, he can feel
the monster rearranging his internal organs.
"Shut up and take it like a sailor," orders the marine.
"You're government property...and the Marine Corps owns this ass,"
said another marine.
Displaying commendable determination, the intrepid marine continues to
explore unmercifully up inside the overwhelmed midshipman. Temporarily
stymied by constrictions, running out of habitable real estate, it takes a
fearsome lunge to fully entrench the weapon...successfully disappearing
completely between the quivering mounds of battered flesh.
"You got it all," the marine needlessly advertises.
"Ugh," Boyer grunts incoherently, lost in excruciating pain, his
innermost recesses penetrated.
The triumphant marine, buried balls deep, enjoys the exquisitely tight
sensation of being fully sheathed inside the midshipman's clutching
receptacle. Establishing a forward presence, Boyer's inner sanctum is
secured for the follow-on wave of marines.
"Fuck...that's got to hurt," a marine laughs, taking pictures of
Boyer's contorted face.
"How's that feel...deep up inside you, kid?"
The platoon, watching in awe, goes wild with excitement, and a loud
Ooh-rah! cheer erupts. Mission accomplished! And Boyer's virginity is the
only casualty. Congratulating themselves on another successful midshipman
takedown, there's now one more sea-pussy to service the Fleet.
"Fuck him, fuck him," the devil's choir chants.
"Brace yourself boy...the real fucking's about to start."
Providing no time for acclimation, inspired by his platoon mates'
cheers, the Marine pulls back and plows brutally forward with a vengeance,
slicing through the territory like General Sherman's march through
Georgia. Increasing speed, the collision of his hips slamming against the
midshipman's ass reverberates throughout the magazine as the ass is fucked
with reckless abandon.
"Uggh!" Boyer cries, the pain washing over him like a tsunami.
"Yeah, awesome pussy!"
The marine pumps with perfect precision, like the well-oiled pistons
in the ship's emergency diesel generators. Feeling an overwhelming sense of
power, he slams into the boy, throwing his whole body weight into his
thrusts, pounding the entire length without mercy, taking possession of the
kid's masculinity...completing the psychological transformation into
sea-pussy.
Helpless and without thought, Boyer spreads his legs, facilitating the
penetration like a cheap two- dollar Filipino whore. Penetrated to
unfathomable depths, pain and pleasure indistinguishable, Boyer grunts as
the marine's cock expands - growing thicker, longer.
Changing angles, thrusting side to side, the marine searches for
maximum pleasure, stretching the chute's protesting walls. The unhappy
pussy lips alternately cave in and suck out, dragged around the massive
shaft as the marine brutally hammers him.
"I'm breeding you," as the marine pummels the boy's glorious ass.
Boyer, whimpering with each brutal thrust, reluctantly entertains the
amused platoon. Breathing faster, lurching forward, holding the boy's hips,
the marine violently inseminates the midshipman, spilling his seed up
inside the devastated chute.
"That was amazing. You're a perfect piece of ass."
The marine dislodges his spent weapon and a camera zooms in, focuses
on the battered and bruised hole, and provides splendid views of puffy red
folds leaking chunky white jam. Startled, feeling empty, open, and
incomplete, the midshipman looks around at the laughing marines and blushes
furiously.
"Wow that's one well fucked hole," the marine smirks.
Admiring his handiwork, running a finger around the gapped and
distorted ring, the marine grins with the satisfaction of having
successfully accomplished the mission. A few feet away other marines roll
dice to establish the order of embarkation. Once sorted out, the marines
start lining up like cars in a freight train, each eager to deliver their
precious cargo.
A heavily muscled young marine lance corporal with a massively thick
cock, quickly takes up position, and rubs against Boyer's quivering
hole. Insistent and demanding, the monstrously thick gland breeches the
sphincter, and forcefully enters the twitching pussy, impaling the
midshipman in one powerful stroke.
"Ugh," Boyer gasps in pain, passively surrendering to the marine.
"Give it to him," encourages a marine, "fuck him harder."
The marine, inexperienced at tapping sea-pussy, oblivious to the pain
he is causing Boyer, rocks the midshipman's ass, persistently punching
through the puffy lips. Breeding the kid, he's inspired by his buddies who
cheer and applaud each furious thrust.
"I've never fucked a midshipman before. This is pretty good."
Besides the video cameras, many photographs of the midshipman's face
and ass, stuffed with enlisted cock, are taken.
"Some of these pictures are going to the Naval Academy Superintendent
with a thank you note for thoughtfully providing the Fleet with fresh,
virgin sea-pussy!" exclaims a marine well trained in proper naval
etiquette.
"Oh god no," Boyer mumbles, but a new cock down his throat makes it
unintelligible.
Reality blurs as Boyer, totally possessed, surrenders completely to
fate. During the process, pain transforms into pleasure as Boyer ejaculates
just from being used by the strong dominate marines.
The breeding continues for several hours until the midshipman's hole
is no longer serviceable. Fortunately, before the festivities conclude,
everyone gets at least two turns sodomizing the midshipman, ritualistically
bonding through the shared experience. Earning a special place in the
annals of Marine Corps lore, never has a midshipman been so thoroughly
fucked or ingested so much enlisted jam.
Upon conclusion of the festivities, Boyer is told the unvarnished
truth.
"Hey, kid, thanks for a great evening. We all enjoyed initiating you,"
said the platoon leader. "It was very entertaining...especially when you
saw the M-16s and pissed yourself. And the look of total despair on your
face was priceless when you thought your balls were in jeopardy."
"Wait...what? You mean it was an initiation?" asked the slowly
comprehending boy.
"Yeah...pretty cool, right?"
Historically, initiations play an essential role validating membership
worthiness in male centric organizations - the boy scouts, high school/
college sports teams, college fraternities, military units, fraternal
orders, etc.
"You tricked me, set me up, and turned me into sea-pussy..."
"...it was destiny, kid. No midshipman walks away a virgin after being
at sea."
It's nothing personal, just marines welcoming a new midshipman to the
Fleet. Although a slightly unorthodox initiation, there's no denying its
effectiveness at establishing platoon cohesion. Years in the future, at
Marine Corps reunions, the men will reminisce '...remember that midshipman,
the one in the magazine? Boyer. Man, we really fucked that kid! Ooh-rah!'
"Oh, by the way...when your gaping hole closes next week, come see us
in MarDet berthing and we can have more fun...otherwise some of tonight's
pictures might find their way to your parents."
Shocked and dismayed, clad only in ruined underpants, Boyer is led out
of the magazine and dumped unceremoniously on the forward mess
decks. Freshly fucked for hours, unable to close fully, the sea-pussy oozes
jam down his unsteady legs.
Surrounded by laughing and applauding sailors, he's completely
humiliated.
- - - - - - - - - - Return to The Present - - - - - - - - - -
Completing his tale, Boyer looks at Ensign Rozo with sad submissive
eyes.
"I thought I was in serious trouble, sir...my naval career
threatened, my balls on the verge of ruin. The marines tricked me into
accepting their initiation," Boyer explains.
"What were you feeling during the initiation?"
Confronted by aggressive marines, not fully understanding the
tactical situation, it's only natural that Boyer's instinctual impulse for
self-preservation would result in the reckless consummation of the Faustian
Bargain. Now however, with the fog of confusion lifted, realizing he was
filmed and servicing a platoon of marines, the midshipman experiences
soul-crushing hopelessness and despair.
"It was frightening, humiliating...degrading"
"Understandable, considering the circumstances..."
Listening sympathetically, the officer appreciates Boyer's fragile
emotional condition. Having significant experience counseling many abused
sailors, the Ensign recognizes the revealing signs of physiological trauma
and conflicted inner feelings.
"But it was also exciting, right? Deep down inside did you enjoy
being controlled?"
"Umm...well...perhaps...perhaps I did. How did you know, sir?"
"It's obvious you desire a strong masculine influence in your
life...you're a natural submissive."
Gaining unexpected insight, the torturous day's journey results in
a sudden epiphany. The fundamental truth, undeniable and powerful, bursts
forward as Boyer finally admits to himself what he's repressed for years -
that he's gay. Although forced to the revelation under less than ideal
circumstances, its inevitability was assured...only a matter of time.
"Maybe I was meant to provide service...I don't know, I'm confused."
"Perhaps you learned something important about yourself tonight,"
suggests the Ensign.
Irrefutably, being control by the marines was tremendously
exhilarating. With comforting clarity, Boyer understands that dominant
alpha males have an inalienable right to aggressively utilize faggot
shipmates - consumers and consumed, embarked upon a symbiotic journey.
"Let's get you cleaned up," said Rozo.
Placing a hand on Boyer's shoulder, Rozo marches the docile
midshipman out of the stateroom, down the passageway, to the officer's
head, and into a shower stall. Holding him firmly from behind, aggressively
twisting his nipples, biting his neck, exercising his inherent right to
dominate the boy, the officer forcefully thrusts balls-deep inside the
midshipman, fucking him like a dog.
Boyer sighs contently, his convulsing chute transformed into
sea-pussy as destiny intended.
The Ensign, enjoying the midshipman's gaped but enthusiastic hole,
pounds the sea-pussy and mixes his seed with the Marine Corps'
deposit. Afterwards, before drifting off to a deep and contented sleep, he
adds Midshipman 3/c Boyer's name to the list of Navy approved fully
qualified sea-pussies.
Boyer's fate is sealed - officially designated as sea-pussy.
Word quickly spreads around the ship, and within hours most of the
crew knows he's available for their use - another cock crazed submissive
academy midshipman. Finally understanding his true purpose in life, Boyer
is happy, dedicating himself to providing service to the Fleet.
Make no doubt about it, there is nothing like it, being a
well-fucked midshipman on the high seas.
- - - - - - - - - -
Comments and readers' experiences with sailors, afloat or ashore, are
always of interest.
The author may be reached at JRozoNavyDoD@gmx.com