estate agent and taken a tour, he knew it was the home he always wanted. Having always lived modestly, driving an almost thirty-year-old truck at the time and always living on base, he was able to pay cash for the house with a little to spare to fix it up. His favorite feature was the basement. Basements were rare in these parts being so close to the coast, but this house was over 100 years old.
Masters pulled up to the house, parked his truck around back, and hopped out. He inspected his garden, then he stretched his arms and let out a roar. Barking orders all day had taken its toll, and at forty-six, he was getting seriously tired of always being in charge. Masters looked down at the garden and noticed some weeds popping up, so he started pulling them out. The sun was baking, so he pulled off his olive-green T-shirt, revealing his hairy, muscular torso. All he had on were his fatigues and boots. At six-feet even and over 225 pounds, Masters was a solid mountain of muscle. Prominent veins, which could be seen over the matt of salt and pepper hair on his arms, popped from his forearms up across his biceps right over his deltoids. His chest was two solid mounds of pectoral muscle covered in the same salt and pepper hair, which didn’t conceal his large protruding nipples – nipples one just wanted to suck and chew on for hours. And, Masters wouldn’t have minded that as they were hot-wired right to his gigantic dick.
He continued pulling the weeds and was working his way across the garden, when he heard a vehicle pull up in front of his house. He then heard a door open and shut, then another.
“What have we here?” came a voice at the foot of the garden.
Masters looked up and saw two men, both wearing fatigues and boots and no shirts standing there in his backyard looking at him. He recognized both of them. The man who had spoken was Private First Class Boneman, who finished boot camp a little over a year ago. Boneman was around five-foot-ten 170 pounds with light blond hair covering his young, muscular body, a handsome face with blue eyes and a blond high-and-tight haircut. Standing next to him was his boot camp buddy, Private First Class Firestone, who was considerably shorter than Boneman, but weighed the same, displaying a thickly muscled frame. The little man had dark features, smooth skin and hauntingly black eyes. One could tell immediately he was not the brightest guy, but sexy nonetheless.
“I think it’s our favorite drill instructor, Master Sergeant Masters,” Firestone answered.
Masters stared at the two boys, expressionless. He didn’t know why they were here, nor did he care. Once the boys were done with boot camp, he was done with them.
“So, growing pretty flowers, Sarge?” Boneman asked as he walked toward Masters with Firestone beside him.
“What do you boys want?” Masters said as he stood up.
Instantly, Boneman lunged toward him while Firestone grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. Boneman held a hand at Masters’ throat while he grabbed the top of his fatigues with the other hand.
“We’re here to have a little fun with our favorite drill instructor,” Boneman said as he spit in the sergeant’s face.
Masters just stared him down.
Firestone removed his military-issue belt and tied Masters’ wrists behind his back, and Boneman grabbed the older man’s dog tags and led him into the house. They entered through the back door into the kitchen, where Boneman opened the first door he saw, which turned out to be a broom closet. He opened a second door, which opened to a staircase leading to the basement. After feeling inside the wall for a light switch and turning it on, he continued to lead Masters by the dog tags while Firestone held onto his bound wrists and pushed him from behind as they descended the stairs into the dimly lit basement.
“Woo hoo, lookey here,” Boneman said as he scanned the room.
There was a sling hanging down in the middle of the room, off to
Masters pulled up to the house, parked his truck around back, and hopped out. He inspected his garden, then he stretched his arms and let out a roar. Barking orders all day had taken its toll, and at forty-six, he was getting seriously tired of always being in charge. Masters looked down at the garden and noticed some weeds popping up, so he started pulling them out. The sun was baking, so he pulled off his olive-green T-shirt, revealing his hairy, muscular torso. All he had on were his fatigues and boots. At six-feet even and over 225 pounds, Masters was a solid mountain of muscle. Prominent veins, which could be seen over the matt of salt and pepper hair on his arms, popped from his forearms up across his biceps right over his deltoids. His chest was two solid mounds of pectoral muscle covered in the same salt and pepper hair, which didn’t conceal his large protruding nipples – nipples one just wanted to suck and chew on for hours. And, Masters wouldn’t have minded that as they were hot-wired right to his gigantic dick.
He continued pulling the weeds and was working his way across the garden, when he heard a vehicle pull up in front of his house. He then heard a door open and shut, then another.
“What have we here?” came a voice at the foot of the garden.
Masters looked up and saw two men, both wearing fatigues and boots and no shirts standing there in his backyard looking at him. He recognized both of them. The man who had spoken was Private First Class Boneman, who finished boot camp a little over a year ago. Boneman was around five-foot-ten 170 pounds with light blond hair covering his young, muscular body, a handsome face with blue eyes and a blond high-and-tight haircut. Standing next to him was his boot camp buddy, Private First Class Firestone, who was considerably shorter than Boneman, but weighed the same, displaying a thickly muscled frame. The little man had dark features, smooth skin and hauntingly black eyes. One could tell immediately he was not the brightest guy, but sexy nonetheless.
“I think it’s our favorite drill instructor, Master Sergeant Masters,” Firestone answered.
Masters stared at the two boys, expressionless. He didn’t know why they were here, nor did he care. Once the boys were done with boot camp, he was done with them.
“So, growing pretty flowers, Sarge?” Boneman asked as he walked toward Masters with Firestone beside him.
“What do you boys want?” Masters said as he stood up.
Instantly, Boneman lunged toward him while Firestone grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. Boneman held a hand at Masters’ throat while he grabbed the top of his fatigues with the other hand.
“We’re here to have a little fun with our favorite drill instructor,” Boneman said as he spit in the sergeant’s face.
Masters just stared him down.
Firestone removed his military-issue belt and tied Masters’ wrists behind his back, and Boneman grabbed the older man’s dog tags and led him into the house. They entered through the back door into the kitchen, where Boneman opened the first door he saw, which turned out to be a broom closet. He opened a second door, which opened to a staircase leading to the basement. After feeling inside the wall for a light switch and turning it on, he continued to lead Masters by the dog tags while Firestone held onto his bound wrists and pushed him from behind as they descended the stairs into the dimly lit basement.
“Woo hoo, lookey here,” Boneman said as he scanned the room.
There was a sling hanging down in the middle of the room, off to
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