Tabasco
10-29-2002, 9:33 PM
Sure this may be my first crack at a story on this forum, but a little encouragement goes a long way. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And yeah, I actually know a girl just like this in real life.
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Resolution 872-b was long overdue. There was way too much touch-feely crap in the military as it was. For the past 10 years it seemed like the whole point of the general staff was to make the army into one androgynous force. Fine! Anyone who met the physical, mental or emotional requirements could re-classify. So we had women in infantry battalions, women in ranger school, women in special forces. Then the whole thing backfired. Once mothers started coming home from the front in bodybags Congress backpedaled and 872-b was hastily drafted and passed. Bascially what this meant to us was, raise physical standards to qualify only men for armed combat classifications.
I was a master sergeant, reclassified to drill instructor to weed out the maggots from the worms. My only condition was that I got sergeant April Withers as an assistant DI. I liked her style. She was a short green-eyed redhead from Georgia with plenty of muscle and a voice like a pitbull. She could hold her liquor almost as well as I and after about the 18th shot would flash a smile I often found both cruel and sexy. One of the reasons she made such a great DI was because I felt she truly liked to watch the recruits suffer. Her female training companies had one of the highest dropout rates in the force. I once saw her drill one of the meatheads, she barked at him for 20 pushups and as he dropped, seeing he had such an easy time of it, she jumped right up on his back, both feet, and kept perfect balance while he grunted and puked forcing the reps. He didn’t make 10 and she started jogging in place on his back stopping only when he would make an effort to do a pushup. After she was done, she wiped her boots on his shirt and stepped off. I couldn’t get that image out of my mind all week.
Week 1 was my favorite week for new recruits. Lots of tears, hopelessness and despair. And lots of PAIN. I loved seeing April in action. She made my job so easy. I even invented an endurance test. Well, more of a competition. I would first demonstrate to the recruits how easily I can take Sgt Withers trampling, jumping and stomping all over my chest and stomach. After a few minutes of this (while I maintained regular breathing and talked as if she wasn’t even there), I would issue a challenge to my recruits. Whoever lasted the longest under Sergeant Withers got to skip the 40 kilometer march the next day and clean the barracks instead. Then I watched April stomp the crap our of my recruits while trying not to cream my pants. She was a cheerleader and a gymnast in high school so stepping on people while keeping balance was second nature to her.
After our second group, Withers and I were getting pretty close, and one night after a couple of bottles of tequila she confided in me that she was still in the closet. I thought it was perfectly normal but she blushed and cut the evening short. Later that week, I met her in my quarters for our regular Friday night drinking binge. She already had a head start with half a bottle of JD, her boots were stacked by the window and her feet were up on my desk. I inched up and took a seat on the edge of my desk and could barely smell the faint aroma of her feet which made it hard to concentrate on chit chat.
After the bottle was up she smiled and said,
“You know I go easy on you during your little show and tell, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“The part where I do the 2-step on your bird chest.”
“That explains why I don’t feel a thing.” I smiled.
“And don’t think I haven’t noticed the muskrat in your pants when I’m up there.” She laughed. “I’ve been wanting to step on that thing since day 1.”
Seeing this as almost too good to be true, I quickly laid down on the floor.
“Allright!” I said, “Go ahead! Break me!”
April almost leapt to her feet and the next thing I knew she was all over me. This time I could tell she wasn’t holding back. She was jumping, kicking, marching, stomping, up on her toes, back on her heels, hitting the floating ribs, beating the crap out of me. If it wasn’t for the pride factor (and the alcohol) I would have cried uncle, but 30 years of discipline wasn’t going to fly out the window to a 24 year old girl. Relief finally came when she noticed my bulging cock, she placed both feet on it and rocked back and forth.
“You really like this shit, don’t you?” She smiled.
“Don’t YOU?” I replied.
Then the punishment resumed, and yes I coughed up some blood. Seeing that didn’t seem to slow her down any. In fact, it encouraged her and next thing I knew, she was jogging on my face. Though she couldn’t have weighed more than 105 lbs, it felt like a locomotive. Her feet were hard, unyielding, calloused and harsh. The only thing that kept me in the game was the occasional whiff of her socks which, much like smelling salt, brought me back to what was going on. She slipped off my face a few times to leave me red with sock-burn and finally I could tell she was breaking a sweat. Stubborn little bitch that she was though, she wouldn’t give up and neither would I.
I can’t really remember much of what she did. It was all one continuous sensation of pain. I choked and coughed up some more blood since I remember her wiping it off my face with her socked foot. Finally she placed both feet on my cock once again and rocked back and forth.
“I wanna see you come” She smiled.
“For real?”
“Yeah! Can you do it?”
“Make me!”
She stepped up on my chest while I undid my pants and slid them down off my hips along with my shorts. Then I grabbed the tops of her socks and slid them off her feet one by one. Her feet were moist from all the jumping and stomping and she stepped back up on my cock now, barefoot while I put her socks over my face.
“Oh my god!” I heard her gasp, “This is so cool!” “GO!”
She started rocking back and forth on my cock and slowly marching in place, her right foot reaching down to my sack with enough pressure to tease and grind but not enough to hurt. The warm, moist soles of her feet were heaven on my throbbing cock, but then she started working it with her toes as well. I fought to keep from going off as long as I could because it felt so incredibly good, but the smell of her socks tipped the scale unjustly in her favor. She stopped walking on my cock and started kneading it with her toes instead.
“Come on!” She snarled. “Let’s see it.”
I had no resistance left. I hit the point of no return and started the convulsions which would eventually release the inevitable. She kept her balance, and as the first burst welled up inside of me, she shifted most of her weight on her right foot, pressing on my nuts as if trying to squeeze every last ounce out of me while her left foot continued to knead, stroke and massage.
The first shot arched my back and locked it. I think I hit the wall on the other side of my office. I know it was impressive because I heard April chuckle. The next burst cut my breath short and cramped up my calves, but I couldn’t notice. The sensation was so intense. Then for a brief moment, I inhaled her socks, and realized fully what was happening, what I was feeling, what just happened and who it happened with. This started the convulsions all over again and I arched and exploded 12 more times finally blacking out for maybe a minute.
When I came to she was still standing on my chest and the punishment resumed but things felt different now. The pain seemed more intense, the pleasure was gone. I was utterly spent. So swallowing my 30 year old pride, I pulled her delicious socks off my face and whispered… “uncle!”
:rasta:
----------------------
Resolution 872-b was long overdue. There was way too much touch-feely crap in the military as it was. For the past 10 years it seemed like the whole point of the general staff was to make the army into one androgynous force. Fine! Anyone who met the physical, mental or emotional requirements could re-classify. So we had women in infantry battalions, women in ranger school, women in special forces. Then the whole thing backfired. Once mothers started coming home from the front in bodybags Congress backpedaled and 872-b was hastily drafted and passed. Bascially what this meant to us was, raise physical standards to qualify only men for armed combat classifications.
I was a master sergeant, reclassified to drill instructor to weed out the maggots from the worms. My only condition was that I got sergeant April Withers as an assistant DI. I liked her style. She was a short green-eyed redhead from Georgia with plenty of muscle and a voice like a pitbull. She could hold her liquor almost as well as I and after about the 18th shot would flash a smile I often found both cruel and sexy. One of the reasons she made such a great DI was because I felt she truly liked to watch the recruits suffer. Her female training companies had one of the highest dropout rates in the force. I once saw her drill one of the meatheads, she barked at him for 20 pushups and as he dropped, seeing he had such an easy time of it, she jumped right up on his back, both feet, and kept perfect balance while he grunted and puked forcing the reps. He didn’t make 10 and she started jogging in place on his back stopping only when he would make an effort to do a pushup. After she was done, she wiped her boots on his shirt and stepped off. I couldn’t get that image out of my mind all week.
Week 1 was my favorite week for new recruits. Lots of tears, hopelessness and despair. And lots of PAIN. I loved seeing April in action. She made my job so easy. I even invented an endurance test. Well, more of a competition. I would first demonstrate to the recruits how easily I can take Sgt Withers trampling, jumping and stomping all over my chest and stomach. After a few minutes of this (while I maintained regular breathing and talked as if she wasn’t even there), I would issue a challenge to my recruits. Whoever lasted the longest under Sergeant Withers got to skip the 40 kilometer march the next day and clean the barracks instead. Then I watched April stomp the crap our of my recruits while trying not to cream my pants. She was a cheerleader and a gymnast in high school so stepping on people while keeping balance was second nature to her.
After our second group, Withers and I were getting pretty close, and one night after a couple of bottles of tequila she confided in me that she was still in the closet. I thought it was perfectly normal but she blushed and cut the evening short. Later that week, I met her in my quarters for our regular Friday night drinking binge. She already had a head start with half a bottle of JD, her boots were stacked by the window and her feet were up on my desk. I inched up and took a seat on the edge of my desk and could barely smell the faint aroma of her feet which made it hard to concentrate on chit chat.
After the bottle was up she smiled and said,
“You know I go easy on you during your little show and tell, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“The part where I do the 2-step on your bird chest.”
“That explains why I don’t feel a thing.” I smiled.
“And don’t think I haven’t noticed the muskrat in your pants when I’m up there.” She laughed. “I’ve been wanting to step on that thing since day 1.”
Seeing this as almost too good to be true, I quickly laid down on the floor.
“Allright!” I said, “Go ahead! Break me!”
April almost leapt to her feet and the next thing I knew she was all over me. This time I could tell she wasn’t holding back. She was jumping, kicking, marching, stomping, up on her toes, back on her heels, hitting the floating ribs, beating the crap out of me. If it wasn’t for the pride factor (and the alcohol) I would have cried uncle, but 30 years of discipline wasn’t going to fly out the window to a 24 year old girl. Relief finally came when she noticed my bulging cock, she placed both feet on it and rocked back and forth.
“You really like this shit, don’t you?” She smiled.
“Don’t YOU?” I replied.
Then the punishment resumed, and yes I coughed up some blood. Seeing that didn’t seem to slow her down any. In fact, it encouraged her and next thing I knew, she was jogging on my face. Though she couldn’t have weighed more than 105 lbs, it felt like a locomotive. Her feet were hard, unyielding, calloused and harsh. The only thing that kept me in the game was the occasional whiff of her socks which, much like smelling salt, brought me back to what was going on. She slipped off my face a few times to leave me red with sock-burn and finally I could tell she was breaking a sweat. Stubborn little bitch that she was though, she wouldn’t give up and neither would I.
I can’t really remember much of what she did. It was all one continuous sensation of pain. I choked and coughed up some more blood since I remember her wiping it off my face with her socked foot. Finally she placed both feet on my cock once again and rocked back and forth.
“I wanna see you come” She smiled.
“For real?”
“Yeah! Can you do it?”
“Make me!”
She stepped up on my chest while I undid my pants and slid them down off my hips along with my shorts. Then I grabbed the tops of her socks and slid them off her feet one by one. Her feet were moist from all the jumping and stomping and she stepped back up on my cock now, barefoot while I put her socks over my face.
“Oh my god!” I heard her gasp, “This is so cool!” “GO!”
She started rocking back and forth on my cock and slowly marching in place, her right foot reaching down to my sack with enough pressure to tease and grind but not enough to hurt. The warm, moist soles of her feet were heaven on my throbbing cock, but then she started working it with her toes as well. I fought to keep from going off as long as I could because it felt so incredibly good, but the smell of her socks tipped the scale unjustly in her favor. She stopped walking on my cock and started kneading it with her toes instead.
“Come on!” She snarled. “Let’s see it.”
I had no resistance left. I hit the point of no return and started the convulsions which would eventually release the inevitable. She kept her balance, and as the first burst welled up inside of me, she shifted most of her weight on her right foot, pressing on my nuts as if trying to squeeze every last ounce out of me while her left foot continued to knead, stroke and massage.
The first shot arched my back and locked it. I think I hit the wall on the other side of my office. I know it was impressive because I heard April chuckle. The next burst cut my breath short and cramped up my calves, but I couldn’t notice. The sensation was so intense. Then for a brief moment, I inhaled her socks, and realized fully what was happening, what I was feeling, what just happened and who it happened with. This started the convulsions all over again and I arched and exploded 12 more times finally blacking out for maybe a minute.
When I came to she was still standing on my chest and the punishment resumed but things felt different now. The pain seemed more intense, the pleasure was gone. I was utterly spent. So swallowing my 30 year old pride, I pulled her delicious socks off my face and whispered… “uncle!”
:rasta: