Date: Thu, 23 Sep 2021 19:23:54 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hunter Green <huntergreenmuscle@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chuck McGraw part 11

The continuing story of Chuck McGraw, a big-dicked, bad ass mother fucker.

Soldier. Father. Fucker.

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For legal reasons all of this is fictional.

Feedback welcome at: huntergreenmuscle@yahoo.com



Chapter 11 - 2004 - HUMVEE HUMMER - Samara, Iraq

	It was late September and SPC Garver was perched in the gunner's
seat of the sand-colored HUMVEE. Over the summer his unit had their trucks
upgraded and the new up-armored HUMVEE's (M1114 UAH) provided better
protection than the much older models they'd originally deployed
with. Thick glass protected everyone inside the trucks but reduced the
window size to small squares on the doors. In the perch, Garver was
surrounded by steel plates, with another partially shielding him and his
weapon, an M240b machine gun. The shield, however, did little to protect
Garver from the hot air as his convoy sped down the road to their
destination.

	They were working in support of the local HUMINT (Human
Intelligence) Team. Two US Soldiers and their interpreter had received a
tip from one of their sources that there was a weapons cache of some sort
buried out near one of the many pipelines near Samara that pumped Iraq's
greatest asset, crude oil, across the landscape. The source was unproven,
so he was brought along as well to lead the team to the cache. Garver and
his team were tasked with providing the team with support and protection to
recover the cache.

	The Source and the Terp were in the back seat of the lead truck
while the two Intel guys were in Garver's in the back seats. The lead truck
had 1st Platoon's SFC Morales as the TC, working as Convoy leader
today. North of the ancient city of Samara, the convoy of five HUMVEEs
crossed the Tigris on a small bridge and continued on a dirt road, before
eventually leaving the road all together. They drove across the arid but
striking landscape, a bumpy, dusty ride for over twenty minutes before the
signal came to stop. The five trucks took up defense positions in a wide
circle, and from his vantage point Garver could see as the Source led
Morales over to a small pile of rocks in the grass. The two Intel guys
humped it over double-time to catch up with them.

	After a few minutes the radio crackled to life. "This is Python
8. We've got Joy. Each truck send a body over with an e-tool. Looks like we
gotta dig this shit up. Over"

	"Sisco! You're up. Haul ass Private!" SFC McGraw ordered. He was
standing a few feet away from the truck, rifle at the ready, looking
out. Sisco, the large but dumb PFC from Iowa was on the other side, who had
been the driver, rushed over to the back hatch and grabbed the E-Tool
before making a half-hearted run at the center of the formation, his gear
weighting him down.

	"Looks like it's just you and me now, Garver. Ain't that the shit."
Said McGraw over his shoulder. Then he spat into the dirt at his feet,
still looking out over the vast, empty landscape.

	It'd been almost a year deployed to Iraq for Garver, McGraw, and
their unit. They'd got there late in 2003, and soon they'd demobilize and
head back CONUS, back 'into the world.' It was about two months into
deployment when Garver had been assigned to share a room in a CHU, a
Containerized Housing Unit, on FOB Dagger with SFC McGraw. It was a highly
unusual arrangement, one dreamed up by McGraw, to help single out those
Soldiers in need of extra training to maximize their abilities. It had
worked too. All of those soldiers who, early on, had lacked disciple or
integration with the unit, were top performing Soldiers now. Of course,
McGraw had other motives. In those long months Garver learned a lot about
being a Soldier, being a man, and being a faggot. From the first moment he
stepped into his assigned CHU with the massive SFC, he learned that his
place wasn't just as McGraw's mentee, but as his personal cocksucker and
cum dump.

	Every day since that day, Garver had taken every load from McGraw's
ten-inch cock, either in his mouth or his ass, and rarely on his face. He'd
been made to service other men that McGraw brought to him as well, although
this was rare. He'd been fucked and fucked hard, in every position
imaginable. McGraw had taught him to worship his ten-inch dick and to take
all of it like a champ. Garver had even been double-penetrated one
memorable day with McGraw and a buddy of his, LTC Robert Goodman, over on
FOB Speicher. Goodman was nearly as big as McGraw and the two men had taken
the young Soldier into a storage Conex to fuck the shit out of him. They
had quite literally torn him a new asshole and he'd been sore for
weeks. The past year he'd been called names, degraded, and treated rougher
than any time in his life up to that point. Inside the CHU he shared with
SFC McGraw he wasn't allowed to wear clothing unless McGraw wanted him too,
and then it was usually a camouflage thong left behind as a gift from MAJ
Tucker, a Marine buddy of McGraw's. When the two worked out Garver wore
silkies like McGraw, a size or more two small to show off his glute and
quad development. McGraw liked putting the younger Soldier on
display. Unlike his fellow junior Soldier's who's living quarters were
decorated with posters, flags, and family photos and in a general state of
disarray, Garver kept the room he shared with McGraw inspection ready, beds
made to exacting standards. Taped over McGraw's bed were a couple of
pictures of his wife and kids, but nothing was over Garver's. He'd had a
picture of his family up, but McGraw used them to fuck with his head, to
talk about how he would fuck each one of his family members. He even made
Garver return from his R&R home midtour with a pair of his mother's
panties, so he'd know what her pussy smelled like. Garver didn't like to
think about that, so he took the pictures down.

	But Garver had also seen changes in himself that he liked. McGraw
forced him to work out daily, training him himself. He decided when Garver
slept, trained, and what he ate. It had done wonders. Garver thought he was
in decent shape before, but in reality, he'd been less than mediocre. Now,
under the close tutelage of a Muscle Master, he was surprised at how
quickly he had grown. His body fat had dropped, and he had visible abs for
the first time in his life. His muscles had swollen and stretch marks were
beginning to appear in places due to their quick growth. He now had a
29-inch waist and arms that were nearly 17 inches, huge for his smaller
frame. He was never very hairy, but McGraw made him shave his entire body
smooth, a task he had to perform in the communal showers where his fellow
Soldiers would see. He even had to shave off his pubes and all the hair
from his ass. He was made to lay out and tan during down times, which
showed off his development nicely. This was allowed to do this in silkies
as well. McGraw himself lay out naked.  Garver was a lot stronger and a lot
faster too. McGraw believed in functional strength training and not just
show-ready muscles. Last month McGraw, deciding that he had progressed
enough, even started Garver on a cycle of steroids, and in the weeks after
he'd packed on another 15 lbs. of muscle with no signs of slowing. He'd
also been hornier than ever. It seemed like his cock never went down. It
helped that he was only allowed to cum when McGraw ordered him to. McGraw
had Garver wear a cock ring and ball stretcher almost 24 hours a day, with
small breaks to massage the blood flow back into the appendage. Garver was
now one of the top soldiers in the entire company. He had the highest PT
score, was an expert marksman, and had gained the admiration and respect of
many of his peers and was recommended for promotion to Sergeant as soon as
they got back Stateside. All this thanks to submitting, and fully
committing, to SFC McGraw's methods.

	Garver was terrified of McGraw. He was also deeply in love with the
married man, and he was already dreading when they wouldn't be together 24
hours a day. McGraw was 34, six foot four inches tall and 230 lbs. of
rock-solid muscle. His arms were 20 inches around when flexed, bulging, and
covered with full sleeves of black and grey tattoos. His hair was cut in a
marine recon style high-and-tight and had a thick dark mustache that pushed
the regulations to the limit. His chin was cartoonishly square with a cleft
in the middle. His 32-inch waist and cobblestone abs were the envy of many
men. Beneath the desert uniform he was hairy, tattooed all over, and
layered in hard-won muscle. And even with his DCU pants, one could see the
meat monster snaking its way down his left inner thigh. He was a walking,
talking GI JOE action figure, the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the
Company and then some. Somedays Garver couldn't take his eyes off of the
man. Today was one of those days, and SFC McGraw caught him staring.

	"Your eyes are supposed to be on guard, Specialist Garver, not
eye-fucking me." McGraw barked, snapping the boy out of his reverie.

	"Sorry, Sergeant. I'll correct it." Garver replied, his gaze going
outward to the horizon. Even his voice was more sure, further influenced by
his superior.

	McGraw strolled slowly over to the truck where all the doors were
left open in case they needed to mount up in a hurry. He hiked up one leg
and sat in the back seat behind the TC position and fished out a cold
bottle of water and took a long drink. Then he reached up to where Garver
stood in the middle of the truck in the gunner position. Most of the men
had torn trousers after a long and rough deployment and most of them had
patched up the worst of it, but McGraw made Garver leave one hole in the
rear of his crotch torn open so that he'd have access to that "soldier
pussy" whenever he wanted it. The SFC reached in that hole and checked to
make sure that Garver still had the metal butt plug firmly lodged in place,
held there by force of will and by the camo thong. He gave the base of the
plug a few taps, and then added some pressure, making it sink a little
further in. Garver moaned in response.

	"Still feel my load up there from this morning, Specialist?"

	"Yes, Sergeant. It feels good." Garver's reply came from above,
slightly muffled.

	McGraw shifted his grip to Garver's cock. The younger man was rock
hard and had both the neoprene cock ring and ball stretcher on. McGraw knew
that if he could see them Garver's sack would be going from red to
purple. He hadn't allowed the boy to get off for a couple of days. McGraw
squeezed them in his fist until he heard the boy gasp and moan.

	"I think it's time for another dose of your Dianabol." McGraw
said. "Climb down here. I'll take the overwatch position." Garver never
hesitated anymore to follow an order from his NCO. The men quickly changed
positions, Garver swallowing down the small blue pill with a sip of water.

	"Specialist Garver." SFC McGraw called from above in the turret as
the solder was about to step out of the truck to assume guard a few feet
away as McGraw had been doing before.

	"Yes, Sergeant?"

	"Suck my cock, Specialist."

	A testament to his conditioning, Garver never even considered if
they'd been seen by anyone else. Given their position it was unlikely that
anyone would be able to see what was happening inside the truck. Garver
took off his Kevlar helmet and positioned himself on his knees on the rear
seat so he could unbutton SFC McGraw's trousers and fish out his monster
cock from inside. McGraw never wore underwear. Half hard already, he
quickly grew rock solid as Garver swallowed his meat. The boy could now
deep throat the entire thing with some effort and he knew exactly how the
SFC liked to be serviced. The boy ran his tongue under Chuck's foreskin,
savoring the accumulated sweat and musk.

	"Fuck boy! You are doing a fine fucking job. Work my cock. Worship
it." Garver used both his hands stroke the long shaft and to tug on the
low-hanging nut sack. McGraw reached into one of his vest pockets to
retrieve an illegal Cuban cigar and a lighter and settled in to receive an
expert blowjob from a well-trained faggot who finally knew his place. There
was no rush as he knew they'd be there a while the HUMINT Team retrieved
the weapons cache. Occasionally some chatter would come over the radio, and
McGraw, using his mike would respond when appropriate. Mostly it was just
the team cracking a few jokes out of boredom. Occasionally he would offer
encouragement or instruction to Garver.

	After nearly thirty minutes of perfect subservient cock-sucking,
McGraw reached orgasm. With his cigar stub in the corner of his mouth and
one hand resting on the M240 mount, he used his free hand to hold Garver's
head as he dumped a second load into Garver that day. His cock was jammed
as far down the boy's throat as it would go, his balls convulsing on the
Soldier's chin. Snot ran from Garver's nose and tears from his eyes as he
choked on the man's dick and struggled to breath. But he never tried to
pull away.

	"Fuck yeah, boy. Take my fuckin' load. That's a good boy. Take care
of big sarge's cock." He grunted and moaned with each powerful spurt of his
seed went directly down Garver's throat. "Swallow it. It'll help you grow."
Garver gagged and tried to pull back but was held firmly in place. More cum
pumped into him as he struggled. Finally, McGraw let up for Garver to pull
back and take in a big gulp of air.

	"You can catch your breath while cleaning my motherfuckin' cock."
McGraw growled. Quickly Garver complied, using his tongue to clean the
slobber and slime from the older man's spent dick. He'd done this hundreds
of times now in the past year. He was meticulous and took his time. "Now,"
McGraw said, "You need to hydrate. Open up, faggot." Another standard
practice, Garver inserts McGraw's cock head just inside his mouth and
swallowed as the man unleashed a pungent flow of urine. SFC McGraw let out
a big sigh as he pissed into the Soldier's mouth. "That's fuckin'
perfect. Exactly what I needed."

	"What's that you needed, Sergeant?" Said a different voice. Shocked
and scared, Garver knew better than to stop. He knew McGraw wasn't even
halfway done and he wouldn't stop.

	The voice was from one of the Intel Soldiers standing on the ground
outside the truck. Garver hadn't heard him approach. Campbell wasn't
wearing any rank, none of the HUMINT guys ever did. They were all military,
a mix of enlisted, warrant officer, and commissioned officer, but no one
was supposed to know their rank to allow them to operate without hindrance
of traditional military hierarchy.  He stood now outside the passenger/TC
side of the truck with his thumbs tucked into the armholes of his vest
looking up at McGraw.

	"None of your business, Sir." It was safe to address all the Intel
guys as if they were officers, even when most of the people knew they
weren't.

	"Oh," replied Campbell, quieter now. "I was wondering if it was
about the cocksucker you've got on the end of your dick there." He smiled,
then reached down with one hand and adjusted his own dick in his
trousers. "Seems like that's the sort of thing I need myself, round about
this point." McGraw chuckled, and the two men started talking. It looked
like Garver's day was far from over.



More to come.

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