Night Assault

I whimpered as he spread my legs, bent them, and pressed the soles of my feet to the ground. I shuddered as his calloused hands ran up my inner thighs.

"Shit. Fuck," I managed before one of his hands went to my throat, holding my head to the ground in a breath-control chokehold, while, kneeling between my spread thighs, he put his cock in position with the other hand. Then he was pushing in again, stretching me, raw again. I took him more easily this time and he went deeper. My channel walls undulated over the invading shaft as it moved in and out, slowly at first, then more vigorously, more challenging, more possessing. Gasping for breath, feeling him working me deep in my core, I began to rock against him, putting my pelvis in motion, going with the rhythm of the thrusts. I was moaning and gasping. Buzz was groaning and grunting.

We were fucking. It was no longer just him imposing himself on me; we were moving together like a well-oiled machine. I wasn't the only faggot in the tent. He was big, filling, stretching, relentlessly commanding, inside me. I struggled to rise again, to make the coupling more equal. He slapped me down again, growling, "Up your hole, faggot boy."

I was fucked... but, again, Buzz was getting his rocks off. I wasn't the only faggot in the tent.

* * * *

The relationship between Buzz and me had become like night and day. By day, I was Lieutenant Randy Wilson, in charge, with PFC Buzz being quietly attentive and subservient most of the time, although there was always an edge on Buzz of arrogance and superiority. By night, it was the master, Buzz, and the submissive slave, "the faggot." When he'd see me conferring with Colonel Yim, though, he'd scowl and spit in the dust, muttering later that I was a faggot for going under a Korean--although that wasn't the term he used for Korean. He'd say he wouldn't touch a guy who gave it to a Korean. But, by night, he didn't hold back from taking it from me himself.

He wasn't in the tent when I woke the next morning. My wrists weren't bound, but they stung and the rest of me felt like I'd been in a saloon brawl. Buzz was outside, in his fatigue pants, no shirt, fixing our breakfast over a fire. He was humming, but he stopped that when I emerged from the tent. I expected him to say something--maybe to apologize or ask for mercy from a superior officer, but he didn't. He knew he had mastered me sexually and I knew it too. I said nothing, either. When we had had breakfast, he did all of the cleanup and pack out. It was daytime. I was the officer, in charge.

"That's the way you want it, isn't it? Rough," he abruptly said.

"Yes," I answered.

"You gonna let that Korean Yim fuck you when we get back?" he asked.

"What was that you said to me, soldier?" I asked in a sharp tone.

"I asked if you were going to let that Korean colonel fuck you when we get back to camp--now that I'm your man," he said, the challenge for control in his voice.

"Yes, if that's what he wants," I answered. He said nothing else then. He just scowled, turned his head, and spit into the dust.

He didn't put on his shirt, knowing, probably, how arousing I found him, going that far to maintain his hold over me. I was fully dressed, but I didn't tell him to suit up. We stopped at the same lake, the Baekhak-myeon reservoir, on our way back to Yeoncheon, to bathe again. Again, we split up to bathe but I, at least--and I felt that Buzz too--would have preferred to go in together. I watched his every naked move, but this time, I observed that he watched mine too.

We could have made it back to the Yeoncheon base that night, before dark, but Buzz dawdled in the drive, and I didn't tell him to speed up. We put our tent out--or, rather, Buzz put our tent out an hour's drive short of the regimental camp. The regiment had sentries out this close to base, but Buzz growled to the ones near our encampment in Korean, a language I hadn't come anywhere close to mastering yet, and they moved away, leaving us alone.

Buzz cleaned up the supper utensils after dinner--after it was dark. I went into the tent, stripped, and laid on my back, my mind filled with questions on what, if anything, would happen there. I had a duffel bag under the small of my back, raising my tail. Buzz appeared at the tent opening, back lit by the sunset to the west. He was naked and in erection.

He came down on his knees and his hands went to my inner thighs, coaxing them open. I spread my legs and placed my ankles on his shoulders, while he nuzzled his face into my crack and enclosed a hand on my cock. When he'd had his fill of me and I was trembling and rocking against his face and had loosed my seed, he came up, hovering over me. I started to rise up to meet his face with mine, but, like the night before, growling, "Hold steady; let me in, faggot," he slapped me down, grabbed my throat, and held my head to the ground while he thrust up inside me and took me hard and fast. Periodically, he'd take one hand from my throat and slap me across the face, call me a faggot again, and thump a fist against my chest--all to let me know that the game we were playing here was "punish the faggot" and that Buzz was the king of the night.

Later in the darkness, Buzz lay on his back and I rode his cock, facing him. Even here, though, he had his beefy, calloused hands around my throat, using breath control in the rhythm of my rise and fall on the cock to master me.

After we had arrived back at Yeoncheon regimental headquarters the next morning, I found a Korean soldier standing at attention outside my tent entrance. I knew what that meant. Colonel Yim came out of the tent and watched me climb out of the jeep. He and Buzz eyed each other like two bantam roosters, but they held themselves in check. At the tent entrance, Yim put one hand on my forearm, palmed one of my butt cheeks with the other, and guided me into my tent, closing and securing the flaps behind us. Before I disappeared into the tent, I looked back at Buzz, who turned his head and spit into the sand.

Buzz then drove off in the Jeep without so much as a "good-bye," the motor pool officer came to me and asked me if I was satisfied with the new driver I had been provided or if I'd like to have Buzz relieved of the duty and try another driver. This, of course, was my chance to send Buzz to the stockade for insubordination, with or without details given. As an officer, voicing my general dissatisfaction with his conduct would be enough to put him away.

"He was fine," I said. "I'm planning to assess the line to the east for a few days now. I would like the same driver to accompany me, please."

That night, as I was sitting at my camp desk in my tent, going over my notes from the inspection trip we'd just made, I sensed a towering figure at the tent entrance. Standing there was Buzz, scowling at me. "Strip and go down on your back on your cot and open your legs, Faggot," he growled.

I did it, raising my pelvis to him and grasping his biceps as he settled between my spread thighs and did me, Buzz style, rough and angry.