Shot of Whiskey

I loved the idea of pleasing Ryan, I was hooked on giving him any enjoyment he could ask for and I growled like a pissed off badger to the sweet sounds of Ryan moaning above me. Then, without warning, I felt Sam grip my hips and pull me back towards the floor. In doing so, he had repositioned us so that he was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the bed behind him, and I was squatting over him, impaling myself on his cock. Ryan took one step forward and I was again able to service his cock and balls. After a few plunges deep into my gullet, he forgot all about Sam and seemed to relax into the sloppy throat fuck I was providing.

"Shit, I'm gonna blow in this pussy," Sam growled. "This fucking tight cunt shitter is about to get fucking redecorated in white."

Ryan heard this and came to life. In one athletic push, he pulled me up off of Sam, spun me around and was deep inside my hole. The whole swap took a mere second. Sam did not look amused but he grabbed my face, kissed me briefly, and then pushed me onto his cock. It was as tough to deepthroat as it had been to take into my ass. It helped that I had been swallowing Ryan this whole time and I was able to adjust. "Yeah, clean my cock, faggot," Sam whispered. "I want to cum in your throat now that Ryan stole your cunt away. You want that? You want to taste some corn-fed man cream?"

I nodded, my mouth full of cock.

It did not take Sam long, I could feel the changes to his cock as he was edging closer. He was warmer, thicker, his cock head even more swollen with blood and his balls tightened at the base of his shaft. His breathing was faster and his muscles all built up tension just ahead of his explosion. "Fuking cockscuker, you're gonna -- fuck- get a -- fucking -- shit - take my load -- fucking pole licker -- arghhhh - drink it down bitch -- yeah -- lick it clean -- milk that fucking cock. That's right baby, get your baby soldier's cock all nice and ready for bed. Good daddy, I loved fucking you! Shit!" He gave me a quick kiss on top of my head and collapsed onto the bed.

"You ready for some dairy up your ass, Nick?" Ryan asked, his pace also quickening. I shook my head and pulled off of him, I turned around and laid directly on top of Sam who hugged me tight from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I lifted my legs and wiggled my ass.

"Fuck the nut out of me," I said. "If you fuckers can't suck a cock or take one up your shitters, I need you to make me cum before you do."

Ryan smiled. He slid his cock back inside me, it glided in easily, I was wrecked already, on my first day at the base. He began to fuck me in a bouncing rhythm, plunging deep inside me and raising his hips halfway through the insertion. This elliptical motion made it so that all the pressure coming from the fat middle of his cock was directly on my prostate each time he shoved his rod into me. It was heavenly and I immediately began to leak precum. Hearing my squeals, Sam decided he could help. One hand he placed over my mouth, whispering, "Shut the fuck up you fucking slut, your pussy is not going to get gaped every night if you scream like a bitch and get us all court marshalled. Enjoy the cock but shut the fuck up." I was glad he was clamping my mouth, the squeals at this point were hardly a choice. With his other hand, he reached past my dick and directly into my asshole, sliding two fingers and adding them to Ryan's already huge dick. I squealed again.

"Fucking pussy will never be the same after this, will it you fucking cunt? How happy are you?" Sam hissed and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

I moaned and felt Sam's fingers rubbing tiny circles on my prostate while Ryan's cock continued to stretch out my hole. It was so much, too much and I would have screamed bloody murder if Sam had not been keeping me quiet. I shot torrents onto my chest and belly, some even made it onto my face. Ryan saw that he and Sam had successfully fucked and fingered a nut out of me and with a massive grin on his face, he began humping me furiously. Everything was shaking as he unleashed a torrent of hip thrusts and cock plunges deep into my hole, until he too tensed and began to fire volley after endless volley of hot streams of mid-western spooge into my spent rectum and bowels.

"Nick, your ass if fucking amazing. Shit. Ahhhhh, I want fill you with my fucking cum. It's so warm inside you, so fucking soft and gooey. My cock fits perfectly in your fucking hole right now. Ahhhhh, feels so good to fill you up, Nick," he finally opened his eyes and let out a long breath. I looked at him and wanted to kiss him but I had just cleaned off my ass juice from Sam's dick, I was not sure what was allowed with Ryan. He did have a mischievous grin on his face. He lifted both of my legs and signaled for Sam to hold me wide open like that. I could feel some of his load emptying out onto Sam below me and wondered how ok that might be for the handsome mega cock soldier.

"Want to try something new?" Ryan asked, offering no additional explanation.

"How do you know it's new for me?" I asked.

"If you've done this before, you can fuck me," He replied, grinning.

Sam giggled underneath me but I just nodded vigorously.

"Close your eyes. Now, how does this feel?" he asked as he slid something large and round and softer than his cock, into my wasted and widened out hole.

"It feels amazing, like my ass is full of a thick meaty soft cock or I got stuffed with balloons full of puddy. It feels so good, it's perfect after my nut," I replied. It did feel perfect, it was like someone had shoved a giant stress ball into my anal cavity, it was pushing on all my walls and was pressing on millions of nerve endings but it was still subtle, somehow tender. Suddenly, I felt a second object being pushed inside, then a third. I had never felt that full before while at the same time, it was wonderful that the objects were soft, squishy and warm. I knew then that I was being filled up by Ryan's massive, meaty testicles and, his cock, all at once.

"I'm balls in," Ryan said, pushing his hips into me to keep himself lodged inside. "I didn't lose the bet, did I?"

I shook my head and smiled. I wanted to kiss him so badly. I looked at him like a puppy.

"No tongue," he said, as he leaned into give me a long peck on the lips.

He stood up and I felt a pop as his balls and semi-hard cock all slipped out of me, taking a good deal of his own cum with them. I hated feeling empty after all that meat had filled me, I suddenly understood the butt plug crowd. We cleaned up as best we could and settled in for a much-deserved whiskey and coke before heading back to the latrines for a quick shower.

Shot of Whiskey Ch 3: Counting the Cost

The next few weeks were busy, very busy. We always traveled in heavily armored convoys, every movement and every passenger carefully vetted and considered. We visited multiple locations, usually I was just a passenger and had only a minimal role in the itineraries planned by the PRT. My police training piece was one of many efforts and it was certainly far from the most important, at least in terms of actual impact. I wished it were not the case, but the reality of the thing was shit. I went because there were always Afghan National Police providing protection for our events and I wanted to see how prior training had been operationalized and what adjustments we could make to improve our effectiveness. And there were often questions about the training or about the police from tribal leaders and it was important for me to be the face of our efforts in the province. Once a month we planned a visit specifically to the police training center. That was my main job and I was able to do it directly and onsite for about four hours a month.

All the while, civilian leadership in the unit was trying to help the provincial government establish basic government services and push out concepts that to us seemed like givens, necessary elements for a nation to exist. They were trying to convince people to accept the concept of a nation for one; the importance of impartial rules; the right of the state to enforce laws. More complicated ideas also needed to be taught from scratch, like the right to petition local government or the establishment of laws to determine what was legal and what was illegal in social interactions like marriage, divorce, indentured servitude, the sale of child brides and so much more. They were trying to explain the concept of flying an airplane and had to begin by explaining the wind.

At some level, we knew there were traditional systems working behind the scenes and that much of what we Westerners saw was a performance, the appearance of Westernization so as to keep the coalition pumping billions of dollars into programs that people really did not want. Perhaps in the large cities to the north things were different but, in the Pashtun tribal areas, as long as the money was flowing, training classes would be full and we would have enough images and stories to tell one another, enough information to perpetuate the lie, that we were making progress.

And as we went, we were constantly aware of the threat of attacks. One day, about a month into my tour, I was surprised to find a group of about twenty Polish soldiers crowding the showers. They were gorgeous and friendly, a platoon of twenty and thirty-somethings with classic Slavic features, bright blue eyes, hair cut nearly to the skin, and all uncut with zero shame. I would have enjoyed their company and maybe even flirted with them, but I quickly found out that they were there because we had more sophisticated medical treatment facilities than at their base a bit south of us, and one of their colleagues needed to be stabilized before he could be transferred out to Dubai, then Germany where most coalition forces were being treated. He had been hit by a sniper while eating lunch outside a district center. He died at our clinic. We sent him home to be buried. I invited them all into a private meeting room and shared a drink with them in his honor.

Lieutenant Aleksander Gorecki, may he rest in peace.

Until we completed our commitments, our tours or our contracts, or until we were placed in a casket, we were all trapped there. The Afghans were trapped by their poverty and traditions, performing the role of the enslaved wishing to be free when they wished no such thing. Their bondage to tradition was wholly and persistently voluntary. And we on the other side of the tightly guarded fences, inside our enclaves with Pizza Hut and Gloria Jean's, we performed the role of liberators, well-meaning foreigners here to offer a helping hand. And everyone knew it was a performance, everyone except perhaps the Colonels and Generals. They seemed to be true believers.

With the threat ever present, and victory impossible -- at least victory as we defined it for years, to stabilize and civilize a place that did not want to be civilized in any way we might recognize -- we found ourselves looking for meaning elsewhere, hoping that we could make the time somehow not seem like a complete waste. We did this by investing in one another. In our jokes, in card games, in sports and video game competitions and in rejoicing when one of us got to visit home. The last thing, the only thing that was left, our victory rendered impossible by the people we were ostensibly there to help, was our devotion and determination to make one another be and feel better, stronger, preserved enough in body and spirit to return home and resume normal life.

Still, in the day to day, we were busy, very busy, then we sat and waited. Then we were busy, incredibly busy, then we sat and waited. I could have hated the waiting, but I was usually waiting with Sam and Ryan and I grew to love those men like my own brothers. It was not hard to love them, far from it, it was practically compulsory. They smiled at everything, laughed at everything, they were so beautiful in their youth. Every hope we might each have had for our own future was still true and possible for them, and it was easy to laugh. Their aggressive, masculine optimism, the firm belief that something could be done, something could be achieved, something could be injected if not with purpose, with joy and fun, this made them both irresistible.

We grew close in those long mornings spent in the shade of an MRAP, a massive vehicle built to help distribute the force of land mines and improvised explosives buried in roads by our most determined enemies, so that passengers could be shook but not killed. We actually hit a couple of buried explosives while I was on convoys, I was never in the target vehicle, but those who were said it felt like being put inside a metal box and then jumbled like a bunch of die inside a Yahtzee cup, and then tossed unceremoniously on the ground. A few suffered concussions but were able to return to duty within days of the attacks.

Given the rhythm and the need to unwind, most nights, we did not have sex. I traveled to Kabul often, about twice a month, and I was well stocked with booze. We would drink one or two shots at most. None of us wanted the boys to get in trouble. But the drinking was never about the drinking. Ryan had said it from the beginning. It turned out we liked one another or perhaps being in a barracks forced us to become friends in ways that would have been difficult to imagine outside. But inside, it was impossible to imagine my time in Afghanistan without these men. We talked about girls, sometimes while we were naked and stroking each other off, sometimes while we were clothed and playing UNO. We talked about family, we talked about pets, we shared our lives in ways that I had not expected would happen. By the time we all went home, they knew my siblings' names, the names of all my pets back ten years, and, most surprisingly, I opened up about my kids, my life before my divorce. And many nights, towards the end their tour, if we stayed together very late, and pushed a third drink, we talked about Robert.

During my third week there, Ryan knocked on my door and walked in with a soldier I had seen before, but not someone I had spoken with until then.

"Hey, Nick," Ryan said, his smile seemingly unflappable. "I wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine from back home. His name is Robert. Sergeant Robert Mullins."

"Hi Robert, please come in," I said, holding the door open wide.

He shook my hand and nodded. A shy smile flashed across his face. He took off his cover and looked nervously about, it was almost painful to watch his shyness and nerves.

"Relax, Robert, please," I said. "I don't know what Ryan has said but nothing is happening here other than friends hanging out, that's it."

Robert smiled sheepishly again and had trouble maintaining eye contact. Ryan grinned and winked at me, "Nick, you know how you want to fuck someone? It turns out Robert is actual gay, like really wants it up his ass and stuff, like you."

"No one kisses me as well as you do, Ryan, I am not sure what the fuck you mean by actually gay," I joked, hoping to put Robert at ease.

Ryan took matters into his own hands, or perhaps he took the wrong cue from what I said, but he suddenly leaned into Robert and planted a long, slow kiss on his full, delectable lips. I could almost see the tension flowing out of his shoulders and all the air he had trapped in his lungs was allowed to flow out freely.

He was a handsome, tall, black man. Maybe 25 years old at most. He had a likeable demeanor from the get-go and easily settled into our foursome. He had joined fresh out of high school and re-enlisted to stay with the guys in his unit to whom he was unquestionably loyal, as they were to him. He was one of seven siblings from a tightknit, conservative family.

Physically, he was breathtaking. You could have set him down on an Olympic track and asked him to run the thousand meters, he would have fit in perfectly. Lean enough to be nimble and lithe, he had more stamina than all of us combined, but he was strong enough and muscular enough that you longed to see his clothes fall off his body, especially his ass. His ass was the original ass after which all others must have been molded. It was tight, high, perfectly round, muscular to the touch and, opening it to dive in with cock, tongue or fingers, always felt like a privilege. He had wonderful hazel eyes, a roundish face that made him look more youthful than he was, and a nearly completely hairless body, from the neck down, all he had was a tiny patch above his gorgeous, circumcised cock. He was not hung by the standards in the room, I think I lucked out with Sam and Ryan, but he held his own with a hard six inches.

As he relaxed that first day, I was surprised to learn he did not drink, my whiskey was useless on him. "It's a religious thing," he said, shrugging.

"What about the fucking?" I asked.

"That's wrong too, I decided to just do the one sin, maybe God will understand," he laughed, though I think part of him was probably serious.

"Can I kiss you?" I asked him, placing my hand on his thigh.

"I've been wanting you to kiss me since I walked in Mr. Strayer. You're really handsome!" he said.

"Ok, but if I'm going to fuck you, you really need to keep calling me Mr. Strayer," I said as I leaned in to taste the lips Ryan had just sampled. The kiss was electric. It was the kiss that starts the final credits rolling during a romantic comedy, it was the thing people remember when someone asks old couples when they fell in love. It was long and moist and soft. More than an introduction, it felt like a merger. I cannot explain it all, but that day, in my barracks, I felt time and space rest and relax around us while I kissed Robert. When we were done kissing, our tongues pulled back from their slow, melodic dance in the shared space we created with our open mouths, when we opened our eyes and looked at each other again, we wanted more of the other, nothing we gave one another satiated that early thirst. The first kiss unlocked an unyielding want to give and to take more: more affection, more caresses, more knowledge about one another, simply more.

At one point Ryan sensed this happening and stood to leave. I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back, I pulled him close and the three of us kissed. I wanted him to feel, to share what was happening between Robert and me. The sex that day was unforgettable. Sam was away, on an overnight mission to a base about 100km away. It was just the three of us.

There were no instructions given, no commands. Just affirmations.

"That feels amazing, your mouth is so fucking warm," I told Robert, relieved to finally have my cock sucked after servicing Sam and Ryan for weeks.

"You like that Mr. Strayer?" Robert asked, grinning with the tip of my cock on his lower lip.

"I love it, Seargent Mullins, as you were," I replied.

Ryan was our cheerleader, our caretaker, our comforter. He kissed me tenderly while Robert sucked on my balls and took my dick deep into his body. "You feel good, Nick? Isn't my friend awesome? I never knew he liked cock sucking or up his ass, he is so cool, I would have invited him forever ago..."

When I was deep inside Robert, his legs high in the air, spread far apart, his hole begging for me to fuck him harder, the heat of his rectal walls practically boiling the blood inside my cock, Ryan would whisper, "You're doing so good, Robert. I told you he was awesome! He is the best. He really wanted a friend like you, a friend who'd open up for him, does that feel good?"

And when Ryan climbed in behind me and pushed his fat pole into my ass while I was still inside Robert, who was completely prone on my bed, he whispered, "Relax, Nick. Let me in and let me fuck both of you, ok? Let me help you fuck your boyfriend."