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Shirll spread her legs and reclined on her bed. The music pulsed deeply, going into her very essence, causing her erotic mood to become highly sensorial. Her fingers traced the smooth lines of her body. Using a knife to cut away her panties seemed more erotically stimulating that simply removing them or masturbating through the soaked cloth. She arched her back and tried to rip open her bra by thrusting her enormous breasts forward. Through the material of her bra you could see her enormous tits and the dark subcircle around them. They were very wet from her secretions.

She massages her breasts with her left hand, while her right hand is lying gently and unmoving upon her thigh. Under the smooth caresses and fondling, her elegant breasts dilate as she sighs and smiles, she is beginning to come. Her bosom is so awe inspiring through her bra that one wonders how one could bear it if seen unclad! Suddenly the door opens and her roommate walks in…. and stares. Shirll makes no attempt to cover herself whatsoever. She spread her legs further apart and gently touched her fingers to her genitalia and brought some of the flowing juices up to her tongue.

“Hi Tanis”, she said, and arched her back with a scream of pain and ripped open her bra. Her breasts stood almost straight out, rare for someone who has ’em that enormous. And on the end of those immense nipples there was a clear fluid seeping that somewhat resembled semen. Tanis was gaping in astonishment, partly because she had never seen her stripped before, and the other reason being that of the alien fire she felt racing through her body. Unconsciously she touched herself through her jeans, as she always did whenever she felt like it — she had done so in front of Shirll many times, and had even got off when Shirll was in the room watching, however nothing ever developed beyond watching each other masturbate through their clothing. Now, however it was looking like that might change. (click to read entire story…)

After the Gulf War the Corps had no place to put me. I made the error of accepting a promotion to Major in July, I figured this war was going to happen, I might as well be in charge. I should have stayed at the comfortable rank of Captain, but I guess I wanted to be a big shot. The war was over, I was sitting around waiting for the next thing to do. Col. McBride called me in and told me that I had been RIF’d (Reduction In Force) I was out of a job. 18 1/2 years in the U.S. Marine Corps down the fucking drain.

After some soul searching I decided it was time to go back to school and work on my Doctorate. I fucking hate school, but I hate hanging around looking for something to do, even more. So, I ended up in Texas. Big fucking deal. Uncle Sam has to pay the freight so who cares. I end up living in an apartment complex full of snot-nosed mama’s boy types. I had never seen such a bunch of weird fuckers in my life. 12 weeks on the Island and I could make men out of these little homo bastards…or I’d end up killing them. After all, that’s what Marines do, they kill, and they die. It’s a great job. But this Marine is going to be smart now, he’s gonna be a P H fucking D.

I buckled down and went to work. I had a mission, I had a goal, I had no choice but to finish, and finish I will, in true Marine Corps fashion. Things got better, I was not so repulsed by the assholes who walked around wearing sweatshits that say B.U.M. Equipment and wearing their fucking hats backwards. What the fuck exactly is B.U.M. equipment? Is that some shit that the fudge-packers use? And if you can’t wear your cover squared away, get rid of the fucker, and get a fucking haircut too!

Let me tell you a little more about Major Warren Mansfield. I was born to be a Marine. I spent my lifetime getting to where I am today. I worked hard, I played every sport there was, and I fought every asshole in my school just so I could learn to live with pain. I went to college and got my degree, then off to the University of Science Music and Culture (U.S.M.C.) 12 weeks at Parris Island, the best, most memorable days of my life. I was hit, I was kicked, I was slapped, punched and pissed on. I ate constantino wire and pissed napalm. I learned to do what I was bred to do. I learned how to be a killing machine. One year later I lead my troops into a small village in Viet Nam, and I got to see first hand what a blown-up skull looks like. Sure I was a young Lieutenant, but I felt like a seasoned war dog by the time we secured that little piece of commie heaven.

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Anderson asked the logical question: “Now what?”

“We’ll handle this just like a standard set of permanent orders.” He pulled the desk drawer open and handed Anderson a piece of paper, it was another set of BuPers message orders. When the standard wording was translated, it read that Lt Anderson was to be detached from his current duty station, take 30 days’ leave (known as “delrep” for “delay in reporting”) and report to the military air terminal at McGuire Air Force Base in civilian clothes; he was not to use his own vehicle to get there. His personal effects (known as “household goods” or “HHG”) were to be put in storage at government expense for the duration of the orders. “You won’t be stationed at McGuire,” Col. Hampton explained, “That’s where we’ll be picking you up. Bring three days’ worth of clothes. The Commodore of DesRon 2 has already written a detaching fitness report, you’ll sign it when you get to where you’re going after your leave.

“So go home and get your personal life in order. Make sure you’re parents know that you’re going to be out of touch for a long time, it may be a few years before they get to see you.” He handed Anderson a card. “They can call this number in case of an emergency, but make damn sure they understand that doesn’t include anything less than imminent death. And make sure they know that you may not be able to come back for any kind of emergency. You can use the address on the card as a forwarding address for your mail.”

“Where am I going?”

“You’ll know when you get there, Sherry. The same lady who drove you here will take you back to your transportation. See you in a month.”

Anderson left the room. Hampton watched him go and sighed. He was getting to have too much time in this assignment, he told himself. At first, he thought of the program as a way to gain some use from worthless deviates. But now, he knew that the men he recruited were fine people, they simply had a different orientation. Hampton now knew that tossing them out was a waste; now at least he could do something with some of them. (click to read entire story…)