NEW CHAPTER, November 18: "Sir Nathan 7"




Want to read more? Click HERE to go to Sean's page, where you can buy his Muscle Books to read on your Kindle!



Based on the story by ManOfSteel which accompanied his renders of the “Army Guys”, on Renderotica (before they were taken down, upon his death). These renders (some of which have been enhanced by SRS) are used throughout this story.

This story is not my own. It has been synthesized from the writings of ManOfSteel, the author John, and Sean Reid Scott. Compiled by Sean Reid Scott. Image Renders by ManOfSteel (enhanced by SrS).


[NOTE: This story contains sex acts between men, and is thus intended for ADULTS ONLY. If you are not an adult who wants to read this kind of smut, please do not continue. The characters in this story are played by professional, fictional actors and are not intended to represent any real people. Any similarities with actual people are unintentional and should be ignored.]






EE, IT ALL STARTED WHEN CAPTAIN McAllister was talking to us about discipline. It was a really hot day and the four of us were running on the long cross-country course just outside the base. The three of us privates—Sam, Kenny, and me—were shirtless.

But Captain McAllister, running alongside us, was wearing a skin-tight, white tank top that did absolutely nothing to hide that killer body of his. If anything, the tank top just made you stare more, and harder. 

Even fully clothed in his uniform, Cap was staggeringly muscular. No amount of cloth could disguise his physique. He was bigger ’n’ buffer than any man I had ever seen. His face—with that thick neck supporting it—was so sexy too. All of those immense muscles, coupled with that movie star face—it was mind boggling, and I for one couldn’t think of anything but him since I’d been assigned to his Company. 

I think Cap liked to taunt us by having us go shirtless while he kept that wife-beater on. We all wanted him to take it off, but he was almost never seen shirtless. Myself, I’d never seen him without a shirt on, and I don’t think Sam or Kenny had either. And it wasn’t just something we could ask him to do: “Captain, can you pleeeeease take off your shirt?” Yeah. That would probably get us laps and pushups.

That shirt was a tease. You could see his abs through the thin cloth, and his gigantic pecs pushed against the fabric, straining it to its limits. His chest was so big that it literally overflowed from under that thing. And thick, sexy, black chest hair was clearly visible where his pecs spilled over, portending just how hairy that massive chest was.

God, he was big. And insanely lean. Just huge, rippling muscles—on top of enormous, rippling muscles. Everywhere. And don’t get me started on the contrast between his insanely wide shoulders and that minuscule waist. It was just nuts. His body just bulged with hyper-defined, crazy-lean muscles.

Anyway, while we ran, Cap started telling us how our minds were the most powerful weapon we had, and that when we were training—in this case running in the hot sun—we could will ourselves to go farther than we thought possible and not give in to fatigue, thirst, etc. 

TallerGood“Discipline, and the mind, can fend of any urge, gentlemen,” he said as we ran.

Kenny said, “Can’t stop you from coming.”

Cap said Kenny was right, up to a point. Then he added, “But with extreme concentration, it’s possible.”

We continued running, moving into a remote wooded area, then Cap said, just out of the blue, “For example, nobody could make me come if I didn’t want to.”

I slowed down and stopped on the path. “Now really, sir,” I said. The captain stopped a few feet in front of me. Sam and Kenny stopped as well. Cap turned back and faced me. “That’s a pretty big claim,” I said. “Sir.”

He stepped toward me. His immense chest was just a few inches from my face. I stared straight ahead, which meant his deep, deep cleavage—barely contained by his tank top, coated with that mat of dark, gorgeous hair—filled my entire field of vision. The man was about as intimidating as a man could get when he wanted. “Are you questioning a superior officer, private?”

I immediately assumed an Attention stance. I could tell he was going to give me a dressing down. “No, sir… I mean… No… sir.” I stiffened my neck. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

He looked down at me, took a big breath—expanding his continent of pectoral muscle—then said, “Granted.”

“Sir, if you’re trying to teach us about the power of the mind, are we supposed to just take your word for it?” I asked. “…that you could keep from coming if you didn’t want to? Sir?”

He stayed right in front of me, and I stayed at attention, staring straight ahead into that barely-covered chest. He took a step back and relaxed. “I’m totally serious, privates,” he said, glancing at each of us. “The mind is a powerful weapon. Most people never utilize even a fraction of its potential.” 

He stepped real close to me again. “And yes, I can back up my claim, Private Barnes. Using the mind to control your body is one of the most important things you can learn in life. If I wanted to keep from coming, I could do it, no matter how much someone tried to get me off. It’s simply a matter of control.”

“Sir.” I said. “How are we supposed to put any credence into that?” I was nervous as hell. The man’s muscle body was scary—a walking boner-maker, but scary nonetheless. But I continued, “I mean, we don’t know who’s tried to make you come. Or what they did. Or if they were any good at it. Respectfully, what you mean, sir, is that nobody has made you come against your well… yet.”

“Sir,” Kenny said, “You mean… like, even if someone was touching you… anywhere?”

“And everywhere?” Sam chimed in, and I imagined him undressing Cap with his eyes.

Sam and Kenny had been relaxed, standing a few feet behind and to the side of me. Cap suddenly called them to attention as well. They joined me, one on each side of me, staring straight ahead now.

“Do not underestimate me, privates. As your CO, I lead by example. I never make an assertion that I myself cannot accomplish.” With that, he stepped back again, and I swear his entire body rippled with a subtle muscle flex. Even his massive pecs rolled.

I refrained from gasping, but I think I heard Sam utter something under his breath. When Cap flexed his body, he set himself apart from every man on the planet—even the most blessed competitive bodybuilder.

Then he lost the authority aura again: “Exactly what kind of stimulation do you think would make me come, gentlemen?” 

It took a few seconds for any of us to respond. The idea that Cap wanted us to discuss what someone might do to that body of his was outrageous.

Finally, Kenny blurted out, “Sucking.”

Cap looked at him with one raised eyebrow; his face showed curiosity more than anything else.

Kenny continued: “I—I mean, a really effective blowjob, sir. That would be hard to resist. Sir.”

I was shocked at Kenny’s brashness.

“Rimming,” Sam interjected. “I bet you would have a hard time ignoring a hard tongue poking into you… to your… your, um… sphincter. Sir.”

Damn, my buddies were balsy. I would never have talked like that to the captain. But now, spurred on by their words, I found the fortitude to add, “Or touching your erogenous zones, sir.” I couldn’t help but stare at his nipples through that thin, white tank top. “Like… someone… fondling your nipples while… while they kissed you.”

“Or your perineum,” Kenny added. “You know, having someone touch you right behind your balls, while they sucked your… um, cock, sir. I know I’d have a hard time resisting that—if someone did that to me, sir.”

Damn, this conversation was going places I had never dreamed possible.

Cap smirked. “I could last as long as I wanted, privates.” then he added, “Even if all of those things were done to me.” 

I cleared my throat, still standing at attention. “All at once, sir?”

I saw a smile forming on his face, but he immediately pushed it down. “Privates, I could last as long as I needed, even if the three of you did those things to me all at once.”

Was he suggesting…? No, it couldn’t be possible, could it? Yet, he certainly hadn’t objected to our lewd ideas so far. A private does not go around suggesting that a superior officer might enjoy a blow job. Still, I found strength to continue. Yet, this had to be done delicately. The next few words from the three of us would be crucial in how this would pan out. You didn’t want to upset Cap if you could help it.

“Sir, not to impugn your assertion in any way, but… well, you obviously are a man of untold strength and willpower, sir. But I think the three of us—us privates—are interested in… seeing firsthand what you mean. Lead by example, and that kind of thing.”

Sam interrupted me: “Sir, what Private Barnes is trying to ask is… are you willing to prove it?” 

Holy fuck.

Sam continued, “I mean, prove… that you can keep from coming—even while hands are on you? Stroking you—and trying to make you come?” 

Fuck. My heart was racing now, even faster than it had been while we were running.

“A challenge, eh?” His eyes twinkled at the thought. “Privates,” he smirked, “I never hesitate to put my body where my mouth is.” 

Kenny whispered soft enough so only I could hear it: “I certainly wouldn’t mind putting his body where my mouth is.”

Cap met our eyes. His brows furrowed slightly. “I’m not sure you really mean it though. You men imply you’re willing to do those things to me, but I doubt you’ll be so willing once I strip down. I’m pretty big—all over, privates.”

I swallowed hard. “Permission to continue with my frankness, sir.”

He folded his big, thick forearms across his chest. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t speak for my two buddies here, sir, but I, for one, am willing to give it a shot—if you were to grant permission, if you were to accept the challenge, sir.” I think I was actually close to having a heart attack. This situation was better than any fantasy I’d ever had about Captain McAllister. Was he really going to take off his clothes and let us… look at all those incredible… all those huge… muscles? And his cock? Holy shit!  And… and even… touch? And… Holy fuck this was unbelievable.

“I’m willing too, sir,” Kenny said.

Cap turned his face to Sam.

Without needing the question, Sam announced, “Yes, sir! Private Sam Witherington ready for assignment, sir!”

McAllister walked up and down in front of us, contemplating. He stopped, then examined us. “So let me get this straight, men. The three of you, collectively and individually, would like for me to strip down, let you touch all of my muscles—including the most private areas on my body—in an effort to make me come? That is what your challenge is. Is that correct, privates? That you could make me come, no matter how hard I resisted?”

“Yes, sir!” we all said in unison.

He resumed pacing in front of us, mulling the ramifications, apparently. Then he stopped, and with a relaxed smile said, “You three really interested?”

The three of us looked at each other, speechless. Sam was licking his lips. Kenny had a hard-on that was visible under his fatigues. The prospect of seeing Cap naked—much less putting our hands on all of those gigantic, bulging muscles—it was mind-boggling. Not to mention being able to touch all of his most erogenous areas in an attempt to get him to ejaculate. Holy fuck! What would it be like to see Cap actually come!

“Yeah!” said Kenny. “Sir.”

“Hell yeah!” said Sam, not adding the form of address.

Cap smiled, showing those brilliant white, perfect teeth. God but he looked like a movie star when he smiled. “You’re sure now. I wouldn’t want you to waste your afternoon.” He brought a finger to his chin. “You think you can make me come,” he stated questioningly.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Yes, sir. I think I can.”

“Me too,” said Kenny. “Sir.”

“I uh, wouldn’t mind trying too, sir,” I said.

We all nodded enthusiastically.

He looked up the pathway, then back from where we came, checking the area. While he surveyed the surroundings he asked, “You want to set a time limit? I wouldn’t want you men to miss evening mess.”

“Two hours,” Kenny blurted out.

Cap chuckled. “I could handle that.”

I thought Kenny was being generous to our side. Two hours seemed like a long time. Certainly we could make him come in that amount of time. But if it took that long—and maybe we should just stretch it out anyway—what a wonderful way to spend the afternoon: Stroking him, feeling all those massive, hard muscles. And maybe that’s what Kenny was thinking anyway. The longer, the better. 

I’d never imagined this could be possible. My cock was engorged and harder than it’d ever been in my life. From the very first day I was assigned to Company C, I had jerked off—many times a day—to fantasies of our muscular Captain McAllister.

Cap shrugged his shoulders and gave us a look that said “fair enough.” Then he turned and walked into a small, grassy clearing. He turned back to us and said, “Come on, guys. I’m not going to take off my clothes in the middle of that pathway.”

Holy fucking Christ! 

We followed him into the little clearing. It was very private. We once again stood at attention; he moved front and center of all three of us. He stepped back, removed the whistle from around his neck and, tossed it on the grass.

We were witnessing the most well-developed muscle man in existence getting ready to strip, naked. Right in front of us. He grabbed the neck of his tank top. With one sudden spread of his massive, rippling forearms the fabric tore loudly from top to bottom, opening the front of his shirt completely. What remained of the tank top hung from his back and shoulders like a limp vest. He shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground.

The three of us audibly gasped. We were seeing his bare upper body for the first time. No matter how much you fantasize about Captain McAllister, nothing could prepare you for the reality that we were now seeing. Devoid of any clothing, his upper body was astonishing: the incredible proportions, the gargantuan arms, the ridiculous shoulders, the brick-like abs, his erotically hairy, thick chest, and that insanely small waist. He was manly perfection.

Holy fuck, that chest! The flow of his massive pectorals, now unconstrained by fabric, formed into living globes of hand-deep moons. Each marvelous, hair-covered pectoral carried the down-pointed protuberance of an excited nipple on its undercarriage of thickly cantilevered meat. His chest had to be sticking out maybe… maybe three inches farther than his abdominals! The wonder of each areola bound into full view, momentarily allowing nothing but those pouting nipple knobs to fill my consciousness.

Cap’s pecs had always tormented me. I was obsessed with those gorgeous spheres of chest muscle. Those giant, heavy, thick, hairy… hairy… pecs, crowned by those big, always-hard nipples that poked from beneath any fabric… always commanding your attention… always filling your mind… driving you insane… Cap’s chest was just nuts. You could set a plate and eat dinner off that thing.

He looked down and started undoing the drawstring of his running shorts. While his long, muscular fingers did their work, he glanced up at us briefly, then resumed his task. Finally he pushed his shorts down, and after forcing them over his galaxy-sized upper legs, let them fall to the ground. He wore no underwear. Cap went commando. He looked up at us while he carefully stepped out of his shorts.

All he wore now were his hat, boots, socks, and dog tags.

His cock. Oh my god his cock. I couldn’t believe a man could be so… big. And so perfectly shaped! So thick, and looooooong! I mean, really long!

All three of us stood there slack-jawed and wide-eyed. The entire, obscene display of perfect male humanity, with all his perfected muscles—just standing there, naked. I was beside myself in lust. I couldn’t believe Cap was actually letting us look at him naked.

The cock hanging between his legs made all three of us blink, trying to wrap our eyes around its magnificence. The thing was beyond gigantic. Cap’s cock soft, was bigger than a regular guy’s cock, hard. I caught myself closing my hands into fists, and then re-opening them as I stared at the enormous shaft, and those low hanging testicles. His shaft had to be more than eight inches, soft, hanging almost halfway down his enormous thighs. And it was thick—like a rolling pin.

I’d showered with pretty-much every man in Company C. And scores of men before enslisting in the army, and I’d never, ever, seen anything like what was hanging between the Cap’s legs. I doubted I, or anyone could get it in their mouth, even in its present, limp state. Much less when it was standing at attention. Who knew how a man or woman would be able to accept that thing into their body…. It almost made me shudder, thinking about the internal damage that thing would do.

“You men okay?”

None of us answered. Our jaws were hanging loose. One thing that wasn’t loose, was the fabric at our crotches. My cock started getting hard back before Cap even took off his tank top, back when we were just talking about getting him to come.

He rolled his pecs slowly, then did that whole-body tightening and rippling thing again. I nearly came.

Sam tried to squeak out a question, but none of us privates had full use of his speaking skills at this point. Finally, he uttered, “S-sir, do you ever…  like, maybe when you’re off duty even… do you ever flex for people? You know… show them how big your muscles… muscles are… like… maybe your arms?”

I have no idea how Sam found the words to ask the question, but it was a really good question. Like, a really good question.

TallerArmyYesss“You mean—like this?” Cap raised both arms and flexed into a double-biceps. 

Holy, holy, holy! 

His arms morphed into two planet-sized orbs. They grew, and grew, and well, fuck… they kept growing!

Kenny mumbled, “Shiiiiiit…”

Sammy and I just gasped.

His arms grew bigger and higher, separating into split heads of biceps muscle; they threatened to dethrone the Matterhorn as the most majestic peak in the world. He held the pose for a long moment, watching our dumbfounded expressions of awe, lust, and worship.

He said, “Well since you men obviously like looking at my muscles, before we begin this little willpower test, maybe you’d like me to show you some more.”

I tried to nod, but I don’t think I moved at all.

Kenny squeaked out, “Yes, sir.”

He took off his camo hat and tossed it on the grass.

Captain McAllister must’ve done some showing off before, because when he crossed his arms at his wrists, and then slowly pulled them out to his sides while he prepared to move into another double-biceps pose, he looked like a professional bodybuilder on stage—only better. He was able to move those massive muscles with the grace of a gazelle and the artistry of a ballet dancer. I couldn’t believe how his powerful muscles so beautifully responded to his wishes, showing themselves off by growing, hardening, undulating and making all three of us harder than we thought possible. 

God my cock hurt.

When he stretched his arms outward, his awesome, wide shoulders rose into helmets of sliced, rounded muscle, capping out higher than the highest part of his traps. Veins streaked across the curved surfaces of each deltoid, and meandered like great captured rivers onto the heaving upper pecs. He slowly permitted his fingers to unknot themselves as his arms drifted outward toward each side of his swelled beauty.

The thickness of the expanding lats fought hard against the massive triceps. These triceps now hung on the bottom of his extended, straight arms, advertising their size to be much, much bigger and fuller than NFL footballs.

He paused, with his arms straight out, then, slowly, carefully, he examined his left arm, then his right one—with obvious admiration—anticipating what he was about to do. Ever so slowly, each forearm came alive with an ecosystem of snakelike veins, and lumps of moving, thickening muscle. Fingers closed into fists once more, and the biceps began to show their unimaginable might again as his forearms transitioned from horizontal to raised vertical pillars of muscle.

He flexed his biceps. God In Heaven. He shifted his weight to one side, delicately positioning his torso just slightly off-center, over his right hip, pushing his right latissimus muscles outward. This asymmetrical positioning dripped with grace. Cap moved sensually, like an Adonis. 

He put one hand behind his head and flexed the other biceps muscle. His “V” shaped upper torso, and the powerful breadth of his massive legs below, all combined into an hour glass silhouette of masculine, muscular beauty. 

He held the asymmetrical pose for a few moments, then reverted into this full-on double biceps pose—a pose that should be named for him. Mound after mound of fibrous meat defined itself on the surface of each bulging biceps. The rippling balls of muscle flexed and reshaped into spheres of heaving rock. It was as if they had a life of their own. Mountainous flesh protruded upward until two globes the size of volleyballs had announced their dizzying presence. These shapes then reformed themselves again, splitting to permit an outgrowth of magma-muscle that began to grow out of the top of those balls to form even higher peaks of baseball-sized pinnacles. His arms trembled as this second rounding of chiseled meat escaped from within the larger spheres, growing like hardening lava domes on top of the erupting volcanic masses.

I shuddered to contemplate the measured circumference of those guns. Surely he wouldn’t allow us to wrap a tape measure around them, would he? I couldn’t imagine them coming in at less than the 25 inch mark. It was a reckless amount of muscle.

At the same time his biceps came to full attention, Cap spread his back. The effect was breathtaking: His back flared out with such magnificence that it was difficult to comprehend what we were seeing. Two rounds of gigantic muscle wedges hung at his sides, bulging outward, under his flexing arms. At their connections to his narrow lower torso, the latissimus dorsi dove into his core, pulled downward and inward by his unreal serratus and obliques.

As he flared his back for his ogling privates, he studied each of us, gauging our reaction. He had to know how hard he was making us.

Standing before the three of us was a man bigger and more muscular than any of us had ever seen—or imagined—ripped and lean beyond what seemed possible, and more massive and perfectly-proportioned than any bodybuilder, anywhere. My two compatriots were as slack-jawed as I was, and as hard as I was. It was unfair: No one human being should be allowed to possess all that glorious muscle.

Cap smiled and said, “I need to lose my boots.” He locked eyes with me, communicating exactly what needed to be done. “Private Barnes?” He cocked his head in a “Come ’ere,” motion.

I knelt in front of him and began unlacing his left boot. This close, his hot muscles radiated heat. I could feel his eyes boring through me while my trembling fingers fumbled with the strings. And right in front of me was the biggest, most rippling, oval, upper leg ever. Just inches from my face. His calf was like one of those really big snow globes, hanging off the back of his lower leg. And right between his legs: the biggest cock you could imagine. I got one boot off, then the sock. Then the other boot and sock.

“Thank you. Return to formation, at attention, private,” he said. A certain part of all three of us was definitely at full attention. I returned to formation next to my buddies, and we waited for Cap to continue.

The Captain put his hands on his hips, then permitted his lats to become even more distended, if that were possible, forcing them to stark, dense brilliance—almost as wide across as an average man was tall. The curvature of immense muscle on each side cascaded down in a sweeping flow of vein-painted meat until they crashed behind the tightly etched oblique muscles. These reached out and pulled the upper mass down into a girdled waist of what couldn’t have been more than 30 inches. How could a man this big have a waist smaller than my own?

Fully inflated, Cap’s immense upper torso chiseled itself into what must’ve been over 80 inches of lava-hot muscle. His hairy, extended pecs never surrendered any of their thickness as they swept across the vast distance between his central breastplate and their connection between the upper arm and shoulder. Each abdominal was an individual mound of muscle, outlined in knife-sharp, chiseled definition, with a deep chasm separating each and every one.

His pecs quivered as they tensed to displace the volume of each upper arm at his sides. His gorgeous chest undulated with imposing raw power as it blossomed in an array of lined, deliciously hairy wonder, stretching from the unstoppable arm meat to the dark channel carved in a finger-deep vertical canyon between the two delicious, quivering pectorals. The swelling meat permitted a wider view of the excited brown nipples pointing invitingly downward from the lower extremities of the shredded, quivering mass. The thick mat of black hair coating the bundled pectorals surrounded the areola, opening just enough to show off their sensual presence.

It was all we could do to just keep our cocks in our pants.

“Fuuuck,” one of us mumbled.

TallerWidePoseI nearly started creaming my camouflage uniform pants, watching Cap flex and roll those hairy man breasts, over and over again for what seemed like forever. He knew my weakness. He grinned and smirked right at me  while he taunted me with his chest—as if he were saying, I know how much you look at my pecs, private, all the time. You can’t stop yourself from looking at them, can you. I see you looking every day. My big chest turns you on, doesn’t it.

The proportional difference between Cap's enormously dense upper torso and harshly tight waist bordered on the impossible. The supreme cock notwithstanding, his girdled waist exploded downward: Two pillars of veiny marble had somehow been sculpted into gigantic quadriceps—massive, rounded ovals that gave meaning to the leg nickname of “wheels.” The quads flared and divided into sweeping mounds, each one more split and defined than its neighbor. Coiling, fleshy bundles of meat wrapped outward, downward and back in, as every fiber of Cap’s inhumanly enormous legs announced itself to his riveted, drooling audience.

Cap moved one leg forward and, meeting each of our eyes, began to flex the presented column of beef. He pressed his now shoeless toes into the grass, tightening his calf, and undulating his quad. Cords of muscle danced  up the inside of the quadriceps then down the outside, as his upper leg exploded into the carved formations of the numerous, writhing muscles, pushing its girth past 40 inches, easy.

The Captain alternated flexing—and loosening—his leg. He locked his knee. The leg’s mammoth mass rocked back and forth as he shook it, and then… Bam! It hardened into a rock formation of boulders and mountains, all beautifully congealed into one monstrous unit, yet each one individually steeled into solid, massive, ripped, insanely-defined muscle. Veins appeared from out of nowhere; deep, defined ridges formed between muscles that had only seconds before been relaxed and smooth.

I heard Kenny gasp.

We nearly fell over ourselves as we witnessed his leg solidify and morph into an amazing display of hardened, individual groupings of mounding muscle mass. Then he did it again. And then the other leg.

Between the mounding and throbbing muscles of Cap’s legs, his giant cock languidly moved from side to side, depending on the leg muscles being flexed at any particular moment. He paid it no mind, allowing it to move where it wanted while he concentrated on flexing for us.

A dark, well-trimmed forest of pubic hair nestled at the base of this elephantine trunk. At each side of the slowly lengthening pole that was Cap’s cock, a pair of apple-sized, damp nut sacs stood guard, flanking the colossal organ like two sentries. At first, the low-hangers dangled downward nearly as far as the cock that they book-ended. But now, Cap was starting to get hard. Apparently, he appreciated the lusting private’s eyes that were running all over his physique. The shaft was getting longer—and thicker. The entire assemblage of genital perfection was forced forward by the veiny wall of muscle formed by the twin columns of inimitable quadriceps beef.

His shaft, laced up and down its length with distended veining, was definitely getting fuller and longer. It snaked down the chasm between his upper legs. As it grew, the plump, hard helmet moved farther away from the dangling nut sacs that stood watch on its sides.

All this genital growth seemed to be happening with its owner totally oblivious. Mind-boggling muscle completely filled our eyes as Cap shifted and pushed every muscle fiber to achieve maximum displayed potential.

He gracefully lifted his arms again and placed them behind his head. He put one foot out front, smiled at his men, then exhaled the air from his lungs with a whoosh. And all hell broke out over Cap's body. Muscles that had previously been shrouded in a thin membrane of skin suddenly burst into view, blasting our consciousness with unimaginable, rippling ridges and fissures of insanely-defined meat.

He lowered his arms. Now he tightened his body into a Most Muscular pose; his wrists—bending each hand downward—met in front of his waist. His body quaked with his effort to tighten every fiber of muscle.

I was leaking into my fatigues. The pre-cum wetness that seeped out of my slit was making it uncomfortable. A cold, dark spot had formed on my pants; I have no idea how long it had been visible.

Eventually Cap stopped posing. He stood relaxed in front of us; a slight sheen of sweat coated his massive body—a result of his flexing session. Even relaxed like this, his body was gut-wrenching in its proportional beauty.

“Wow,” Sam muttered. “Just… holy fuck.”

Cap raised an eyebrow, then frowned at Sam.

“Holy fuck, sir,” Sam said, correcting his error of not using proper form of address.

“Captain… you…” Kenny was trying to form some kind of sentence. “You’re unbelieve…” He just looked down and shook his head, then added a soft, “Sir.”

Cap smiled politely, standing there totally nude, relaxed. His entire body dripped with unimaginable muscle.

Continuing to stiffen, his cock shaft throbbed with his heartbeats. He looked at each of the growing crotches under our fatigue pants. His little muscle show had all three of us hard. And the volumes of clear pre-cum dribbling out of our hardening cocks had made my buddies wet too. To a man, we each had made big, dark wet spots on our fatigues. Just from watching Cap flex.

Just then, through the trees, on a roadway about 50 yards away, an Army Jeep drove by. Cap didn’t seem startled; he looked at his three lusting men, then down at his growing organ. Then back up at us. 

He was thinking of something. Then he seemed to come to some kind of decision: “Gentlemen, in order to give you ample opportunity to achieve your objective, I’m reassigning the time and venue of this little challenge.”

The three of us sank in disappointment. How could he get us all revved up like this—taunting us with all his muscles like that—and then call it off?

“Sir, are you… are you sure? Sir?” Kenny said like a whining baby. He looked down and scuffed the ground with his boot.

“Private?” Cap’s tone and demeanor exuded his authority once again.

Kenny immediately snapped back to attention.

“After mess, at 1800 hours, the three of you will report to my quarters, where we will continue with this little contest of wills. Understood?”

Now all three of us stood at attention. “Sir, yes sir!”

Cap bent down and gathered his clothing. He stepped into his shorts, then looked up at us—still standing at attention but watching intently his glorious physique. “Dismissed, privates,” he said.



WHEN THE THREE OF US GOT BACK to our barracks, we were understandably beside ourselves with sexual tension—tension that desperately needed to be released.

Fortunately, it was a Saturday, and many soldiers had been granted weekend leave. The barracks were deserted. Those who stayed on base for the weekend were undoubtedly at some other barracks playing poker or something. 

Kenny, Sam, and I knew—having just witnessed what we’d just witnessed—there was no way in hell we could go to mess with these boners raging under our camos, not to mention the shameful wet spots each of us sported.

The three of us had definitely taken advantage of the Army’s “Don’t ask, don’t flaunt it,” policy—yet we were basically closeted. The occasional circle jerk was all we’d ever enjoyed together (usually right after Captain McAllister gave us a dressing-down for some imaginary infraction or another; we all came to the conclusion that he really enjoyed being able to thrust that chest in our faces, and keep it there till we were visibly turned on). You couldn’t have a close encounter with Cap—even when he was in full uniform—without getting into a physical state that required release. This was definitely one of those occasions. 

We didn’t even need to discuss what we were going to do. Without even stopping to think about it, the three of us were out of our running clothes faster than a masturbating jackrabbit, heading for the showers at the back of our hut. Boners waving high in the air, we stood under the warm jets and lathered up our painfully hard cocks. By the time we were done, the tiles were stained with our white cream.

Mess was quiet. There were only ten other men in the mess hut. At our table, the three of us didn’t talk much. I don’t know about Kenny and Sam, but I, for one, had achieved an erection quickly, and nursed it surreptitiously under the table while we ate, just anticipating what the evening ahead held for us.





Image renders by the late, great, inimitable ManOfSteel (enhanced by SrS)

This story is free. Your appreciation is priceless.






Please contact me if you experience

orgasm during the reading of this work:

This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.





Thank you for visiting
This site is much better than yours. If you even have one.