The Last Photograph
by Wrestlr
10.
I came to realize these nights where we weren’t knocked out with sleep mode were intended for such sexual activities in the dark. A relief mechanism, a bonding approach, built in to our schedule.
Justin began giving me small favors, some item of food from a meal sometimes, half his candy bar when we were allowed small luxuries. A commanding officer deserves respect, so I accepted such tributes and acknowledged them as my due with just a solemn nod of thanks. The other men seemed to understand this. Sometimes one of the others would do the same. In the field, though, I gave no special treatment in return, and they respected that.
Most nights when we were allowed to sleep on our own, Justin would come to my cot and offer his body—his hands, his mouth, his ass. I accepted these tributes too, and allowed my body to be used for his pleasure as well as mine. I allowed myself to be fondled, sucked, my thighs to be fucked. I never allowed myself to be kissed, my hands to touch cock, or my ass to be penetrated. Sometimes someone other than Justin came to me: a hand impressed by my muscles or the thickness of my shaft, a mouth unaccustomed to my size.
I came to expect the nighttime comforts, the furtive orgasms. The other men were forming bonds of their own. Justin made his attachment to me clear. Angel and two other Soldiers seemed to connect. The final two, a pair themselves. I could see it in their interactions during our free hour each night. The groupings were primary, but not exclusive—they flowed and recombined, the fluid mechanics of affection, free of jealousy.
We didn’t talk about it. Our handlers must have wanted us to bond in this way. The daily programming in the chair room, as I thought of it, was changing us gradually. I felt the change happening in myself, the way I came to allow my fingertips to graze a nut sack other than my own in the dark, or my hand to slide along the cock indirectly attached to the mouth pleasuring me that night.
Sometimes more than just Justin joined me. I’d be lying on my back. Justin’s familiar hand would be stroking my cock standing proudly in the darkness, or his mouth swallowing it into a different kind of darkness, and another hand would touch me, would find the point where my cock met Justin’s body, perhaps a moment of frozen surprise at finding my cock already engaged. Sometimes that new hand would join Justin’s. Sometimes the new hands would move to my balls or chest, supplementing, complementing, both of them collaborating on my pleasure and maybe taking pleasure between themselves too.
One night, Justin and another touched me. I lay on my side. Justin sucked at my cock, the other massaged the dense muscles of my chest. They swapped. The other was an adequate cocksucker, not as talented as Justin. I felt Justin stumble in the dark, come around my cot. He lifted my leg. I expected him to fit his cock between my thighs, as I usually allowed, but he buried his tongue in the crack of my ass instead. No one had ever done that to me before. The way his tongue swirled and lapped and poked—I hadn’t expected my ass to be so full of nerve endings, so ready to fire sensations that made my body tense and shiver.
Justin pushed at my hips. I got the idea and got up on my hands and knees, so the other man stroking my cock, a firm and enjoyable grip, could still reach me. Justin’s confident hands parted my ass cheeks; his tongue became familiar with my ass again. When Justin pulled away, when I heard him hawk up a ball of spit, I suspected what would happen. I surprised myself by not moving away. He pressed his cockhead to my hole. I allowed it. He pressed his cockhead slowly forward into my hole. I allowed it too. He entered me slowly. My hole was tight. It hurt, but there was a rightness feeling too, in my ass and in my head. I was supposed to allow this; I was supposed to want this. I had taken worst; I could take this. I allowed Justin to enter me and use my ass for his pleasure. Truth is, after a few minutes of pain, it began to be my pleasure too. Underneath me, the other’s hand stroked me slow and firm, and his second hand rubbed my nipple. It didn’t last long—a thing like that never does—and then Justin’s hips behind me pushed forward into my ass and held there. I felt him convulse, his hands squeezing on my hips, as he orgasmed in my ass. My balls chose that moment to catch fire and my cock erupted in that milking hand. I bit my lip to prevent myself from crying out. My body crumpled to my cot. I felt Justin climb off the mattress, heading for the other’s body, followed by the sound of Justin’s familiar cock-sucking slurping and the other’s final groan as he came.
“Damn,” someone nearby whispered, “that sounded hot.”