Military Ball

Artwork by Etienne

Story by Jeff Kincade

Annapolis, October 29^th

Midshipman Michael (Mike) Singleton, the Academy’s
muscular young quarterback, will be out for the rest of the football season and
possibly, informed sources tell this newspaper, will be dropped from the
military school altogether.  In a
not-for-attribution interview, one of Singleton’s commanding officers has
stated that the reason for the decision is the spectacle the midshipman made of
himself at the height of the pre-game show just prior to the annual Army-Navy
game this past Saturday.  In which the
handsome young star of the Annapolis team appeared naked on the West Point
float, engaged in outrageous homosexual behavior with an equally naked quartet
of hairy chested cadets.

Indignantly contradicting the charges,
Midshipman Singleton has vociferously claimed that, while he undeniably was on
the float in the pre-game show being triple-fucked – that is, taking two huge
cadet cocks up his wide-open asshole and one more thrusting boner down his
cocksucking throat, he had actually been beaten into semi-consciousness in his
academy quarters the night before, drugged and repeatedly raped.  “By the time those fuckin’ plebes got through
with me,” he is quoted as saying, “I did not know which end was up.” And, by
implication, suggesting that the responsibility for this shocking public scene
at the stadium not be considered his.

Further, the chastened and subdued young blond
hero of the gridiron has implicated a fellow midshipman in the “plot” against
him, claiming that Warren Overholt, 19, his roommate at Annapolis, had to have
been intimately involved.  “How else,”
Singleton asked at a packed press conference yesterday afternoon, “did those
West Point guys get past security to my room in the dorm in the first place?”

Only, he speculated, by having a man on the
inside able to supply the conspiring cadets with full-dress Naval Cadet
Uniforms.  “Who would look twice at
another group of upperclassmen coming in?”

When asked why his roommate would do such a
thing to him the broad-chested young football player was quick to point out
that Warren had up until the beginning of the season been Navy’s quarterback,
replaced after a number of embarrassing fumbles and interceptions during the
first game by Singleton…who turned the tide in favor of the midshipmen and was
immediately promoted to First String.
Annapolis scuttlebutt has it that the relationship between Singleton and
Overholt quite understandably began to deteriorate at that point, and that Overholt
had requested new quarters as quickly as possible.

For his part the former quarterback through a
Navy spokesman has denied all of his roommate’s allegations, categorizing them
bluntly as the ravings of a fevered faggot mind.  “It is well known,” he said in a prepared
statement issued but two hours after Midshipman Singleton’s press conference,
“that I was not anywhere near the scene of the so-called crime that night,
having departed early that afternoon to be with my fiancée, Mary Beth Marshall,
in Washington, D.C. While I was naturally disappointed to not continue with the
squad after the season’s first game, I most certainly did not begrudge Mike his
days in the sun, and I surely would not have been a party to anything so low as
a multiple homosexual rape and mind-altering session ever if I was, as whispered,
resentful and vindictive.”

Despite the denial and the testimony of
eye-witnesses to the effect that Overholt was indeed seen in the District of
Columbia with Miss Marshall.  Midshipman
Singleton continues to stick to his guns.
“I am not claiming that Warren was one of the four guys who brutalized
me,” he said later in an exclusive telephone interview with this reporter.  “What I am
saying is that he was the “inside man” who gave them access to me.”

According to the scenario the 200-pound athlete
has evolved, the cadets conspired to keep him from calling the signals in the
Army-Navy game through the means of making him morally ineligible, enlisted the
jealous Overholt’s aid in the diabolical scheme.  “No matter what Warren says,” Mike Insisted.
“I can’t see it happening any other way.
The fucker was furious at me for having “usurped” his place on the squad
and, in fact, told me to my face that he was going to make damned sure I’d be
damned sorry.”

It was therefore Warren Overholt, Midshipman
Singleton believes, who arranged the West Pointers’ unauthorized entry onto the
grounds of the Naval Academy, the four weight-lifting cadets wearing the
uniforms of Academy upperclassmen as they arrived late the night before the
game.  Helping prove his point the
quarterback, who more than one observer has said could easily have posed for a
Chippendale’s calendar, is quick to note that “they knew which room was mine;
they came directly to it.”

Additionally, they apparently knew that young
Mike would be sound asleep inside, his practice being to get to bed early the
evening before a gridiron encounter, wanting to be more well rested for the
fray.  “Very few people were aware of
that,” he claims.  “But Warren sure was.”

Also curious to Singleton was the fact that the
door was, automatically, locked.  “I do
that as a matter of course,” Mike told this reporter.  “It’s a carry-over from my childhood on the
wrong side of the tracks.”  The Navy’s
football favorite, fans will recall, was born and reared on the periphery of
the South Bronx.

“In any event, I did not hear anyone breaking
that door in.  They had a key, man.  You tell me how they could have gotten a
fucking key to my room if fucking Warren hadn’t given it to them?”

When I checked with Overholt the Midshipman
only smiled, observing that, as a result of the friction between them, “Mike
changed the locks on me…and didn’t bother to make me a new duplicate key.  There was no way I could have gotten anybody
into that room that way.  And,” he
repeated, “I didn’t.”

“Bullshit,” Singleton declares.  “Getting hold of my keys while I was
quarterbacking the last couple of Saturdays would’ve been no problem for Warren
at all.  The dude was benched,
right?  Went from first to third string;
the likelihood of his being called to play was goddamned nil.  He could’ve snuck down to the locker room
anytime and come back with a wax impression before anyone would’ve said boo.”

Officials at the Academy pooh-poohed the entire
scenario.  While they did not come
directly out and call the footballer a liar, the word was that it was “hard for
them to believe” that a group of Army plebes, no matter how bold, would have
gotten to the star quarterback in his room at the Academy, with or without the
assistance of a “turncoat” on the inside.
“It never happened,” the unnamed official promised the newspaper,
unequivocally.  “It couldn’t happen.”

In his virew, more or less the official Navy
line, Midshipman Singleton was a closet queer who was finally unable to
suppress his perverted, discusting sexual impulses.  “For all we know, the “calendar boy” might
have gone out actually seeking a confrontation with the very studs he was
supposed to play against the following afternoon.  I think you’ll find that after a few years of
intense therapy that will be the truth which comes out of the closet.”

“They’re so fucking sure of themselves.” A
bitter Mike Singleton has been heard to say, sticking to his story.  Using a key made from Overholt’s wax
impression, the sadistically snickering cadets gained entrance to his quarters,
surrounding him as he lay sleeping in his bed.
It was only when one of them, grinning manically at his fellow
conspirators from the Point slapped him in the shoulder, that Mike awoke,
startled by their shocking presence.

“Who the fuck are you?” he remembered asking as
he bolted up on the sheets, only to be knocked unconscious by a brutal series
of well-placed blows to his muscular, but helpless, person.   They came at him from all sides.  Singleton remembers, an initial backhand
across the mouth followed by an unnecessarily savage punch, which glanced brusingly
off his smooth shaven cheekbone.  The
force of which sent him careening sideways into yet another set of viciously
forceful blows, several of which thudded explosively into his corrugated belly
along with a hard-boned? Kneecap which careened upward directly into his
unprotected balls.   The handsome young
Midshipman would have screamed, but he was being held fast against two of his gigantically
muscled young West Point attackers now, their strong hands digging deeply into
his budging upper arms.  Rendering his
boulder like biceps useless even as a hot sweaty palm was cupped over his mouth
to muffle any outcry.

The palm was only removed after a powerful solid roundhouse was rammed viciously into the quarterback’s heaving solar
plexus.  Sending the air out of his bellowing
lungs with a single whoosh.  Without air
no sound could emerge from his swollen, blistered lips, and the job was topped
off with one final devastating uppercut, the bone hard knuckles crashing like a
chugging locomotive directly into the  Navy man’s chin.  His eyes rolled up in their sockets until
only the whites showed, glassing over, a participant in the multiple assault
confirmed, off the record “We had the big bastard but good.”

Midshipman Mike Singleton, the Navy
Quarterback, glaring seriously, fell back helpless onto the bed, massively
muscled arms splayed, chest pumping, fingers and lips twitching
uncontrollably.  You should’ve seen the
big stuck up scum bucket the way we did.”
The newspapers informant added, his voice thickened with an excess of drool
merely being reminded of the libidinous scene.
A real hot body building football star like that and he was at our
fucking mercy.  Anything we wanted to do
with the heavyweight hunk we could – and he wasn’t going to be able to do a
goddam thing to stop us.

To make sure that would be the case the
triumphantly melevelent cadets quickly spread eagled their moaning, gag-mouth
victim to the four corners of his own bedframe.
Sailors aren’t the only ones who know how to tie a knot, we had that
sweaty asshole roped tight in less than a half a minute, tied up and ready to
go.

So quick were they, in fact that Mike was not
yet fully revived by the time the task was completed. “We had to slap the big
fucker awake, holding that good looking, square-jawed face of his between a
thumb and some fingers, warning him not to make any stupid noises.”

Despite the warning, despite the fact that even
semi-conscious Mike knew that it would go worse with him should he resist, he
resisted. He tried to break loose with nothing more than the coiled strength of
his powerful weight lifter’s muscles alone, straining upwards against the thick
hemp which held him down at the wrists, starting to call for help as his enormous
pectorals visibly strained, the brown fifty cent size nipples going oval with
each new exertion.

“Some jerks have to learn the hard way,” he was
told, the noises he was making immediately suppressed, one of his faceless
attackers in the dark straddling his massive shoulders and spearing a thick
juicy length of dick-meat straight down his throat, all in one well aimed
thrust.  To emphasize the helplessness of
his position, the first of Singleton’s mercenary rapists held the cadet’s head
tight in his hands and forced it forward as far as it could go, until Mike’s
face was blanketed with a web of steely pubic hair.  Bound to the frame of the bed as he was, the
spread-eagled young athlete could only gag and choke on what had to be at least
nine fat inches of hard-shafted West Pointer cock, listening to the inflamed
young cadet humping above him.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” the rasping voice intoned,
edged with unnatural lust, “take that fuckin’ dick, Navy bitch, suck that semen
out of that hot stiff stick!”

Spluttered “mmmffffs” was the only reply the
supine young Midshipman could give as another of his hunky attackers hissed
gloatingly in his spit-wet ear.  “Ever
suck and Army jock’s cock before, cunt? Huh? Ever take a dude’s cum slick iron
in your fuckin’ bitch mouth? What does it taste like, huh? Good? Juicy?”

“He fuckin’ loves it.” Another of the cruel
cadets whispered with a denigrating little laugh, discounting Singleton’s
continued struggles and the horror in his bulging eyes. As this correspondent
learned, the football player’s cock was plumping up now, not shriveling into
his golden pubes as a real straight boy’s would.  Maybe he did “fuckin’ love it” in spite of
all his muffled denials.

Whether he did or not didn’t matter to these
butch young brutes, though.  They were
prepared to work the big kid over, all night long.  “Dave just kept on feeding Mike a lot of hot
dick to keep him occupied good while a couple of the other guys went to work on
his hairy crotch, shaving off his fucking pubes.”  Even so, “shee-it, that smug, stuckup
peckerhead sure squirmed!”

Midshipman Singleton privately displayed his
hairless genitals to this amazed reporter in a restroom at this newspaper’s
offices; they had indeed been shaved clean.
The question then had to be asked: would the hot-bodied quarterback have
done such a perverse thing to himself, the inquiry itself making him
indignant.  “What do I have to say,” he
wanted to know, “to get anyone to believe me?”

Forcing him to calm down, Mike went on to
confirm what our plebe informant had said: the shaving of his sacred bush did
act as an additional erotic stimulant.
First the stretched-out Midshipman was being given a hot lesson in
cocksucking and then, “hey—they were touching me like crazy down there and I
just could not help it, those little feathery touches were giving me goddamn
goosebumps.  The next thing you know my
fuckin’ pecker goes flush all over, hardening up solid like I was some chick or
something.  You should have heard them
snicker when they saw it, slapping each other’s palms like ghetto blacks,
giving each other ‘five’ at my fuckin’ expense.”

Their sardonic laughter became even more
derisive when they started to ask Singleton if he’d ever “taken anything hot up
his back door,” or whether he was still “cherry.” His splutterings of angry and
fearful denial came out muffled around the probing peter in his battered mouth,
only serving to inspire his brutal assailants to greater atrocities, the husky
young cadets snarling as they showed their captive several molded plastic
dildos of increasing size.  The tied-up
young athlete was “really gonna be opened up, but good, yeah.”

“Nooommmmfffkkk…” he gagged, pleading for mercy
with his eyes, but the cold blooded barbarians surrounding him weren’t about to
withdraw now that they were really underway.
And one at a time from the smallest to the largest, the succession of
five unbending dildoes were greased up and teasingly inserted into Singleton’s
helpless anus, twisted corkscrew fashion past the hair-hallooed sphincter.  It is reliably reported that the brawny young
collegic superstar really bucked and thrashed like crazy at the sensation of
being ass-fucked, even if not yet by living tissue.  The broad, trapezoidal pecs writhed and
heaved beneath the naked cadet sitting atop the Navy man’s ribs, the long knots
of thick biceps going stony as he sucked in the corrugated ridges of his belly
and howled, hurting. Humiliated.

“Take it, sailor,” they said, spitting in his
eyes. “Get used to the feel of hot hard dick up your butt twat – because by the
time we get through with you you’re going to feel empty without something thick
and long and leaking inside that cherry quim.”

The idea , of course, was now diabolically
clear; to put the star of the Navy’s unbeatable football team out of commission
for the big game, the ruthless method being to ass-fuck him with increasing
girth and ferocity until he couldn’t even walk, much less throw a football.
Having too many under-the-counter dollars “invested” in a West Point win on the
playing field, the plebes just could not afford to trust to talent and the luck
of the gridiron.

“Besides,” one source informed this reporter, “it
happens that we were all into the rough stuff when it came to dishing it out
with our cocks; it was going to be fuckin’ good duty and maybe more.  Who knows, there might come a time some day
in some war when we have to get some secret information out of some prisoner.  The techniques we learned with Mike could
come in handy, right?”

Right.

They were up to the last of the five dildos now,
a humongous monster said to be as enormous as an elephant’s schlong.  It was left in the midshipman’s tormented gut
for almost a full 40 minutes, torqued every now and then by hand within the
gaping ‘O’ of Singleton’s twat-lips, irising them outward like a plumber’s
snake.  During this time the cock in
their prisoner’s stuffed mouth increased in size itself, the flexibly thick
ball sack tightening, tightening, tightening until at last a double volley of
thick white soldier-cum was pumped violently through the pounding prick,
spurting jet-like out of the widened pee-hole directly down the open
throat.  Annapolis’s most celebrated
quarterback in a century tried to gag and expectorate but the mouth-raping
cadet’s fellow West Pointers came quickly to his aid, making damn sure that
every last slimy drop of that copious load was swallowed down into that virgin
stomach, coating the spasming esophagus on the way to the goal.

“We didn’t give the big blond fucker any room
to recover, either,” one of the future generals was later reported to have
claimed.  “Another fat hard-on was jabbed
back into that hunky asshole’s mouth before he could even catch his fuckin’
breath.”  By which time “we were horny
enough to fuck a faucet.”

That final parody of a real cock was then
yanked forcibly from the Midshipman’s bruised backside.  The gang-bang began.

One after another, repeatedly, the plebes laid
pipe inside that gaping, stretched tunnel, huffing and sweating on top of the
groaning athlete, discharging load after steamy load of man-juice into his
battered hole.  As they did this they
carefully, according to the well-rehearsed set of plans, reached down to skin
the captive’s dick into renewed hardness and, accompanying this activity, while
other attackers grabbed themselves handfuls of Mike’s big tits, cupping as much
of this high-arching pecs as they could fit in their palms, pinching and
tweaking, sensitizing the swelling love buds, playing with the nubs, making
them stand up on their own.

All of this was to determine the outcome of a
private bet, to see which of the big-bodied West Pointers could be the first to
crack the quarterback’s gigantic nuts.
The initial anticipation was that several hours of hard rape might have
to pass before that bet would be settled but, to their surprise, the hunky
cadets found that their hard-driving cocks were doing to the defeated
Midshipman’s joy-spot from the inside was too much for his virility to
take.  “After a while it got to be a
fuckin’ joke,” one of the gang bangers confided afterwards, groping himself as
he recalled the steamy scene.  “ I mean,
that big cunt just couldn’t stop himself from shooting ball-juice, once every
ten minutes or so.  It got to the point
where all anyone had to do was climb aboard and diddle his cunt a bit and wham:
there’d go another giant load, splash.”

With Singleton’s man-twat slick and wide, the
cadets decided to move on up to the next stage of their remorseless plan, to
break the Midshipman’s delicate asshole even more.  Giggling insanely, one of the naked plebes
slid his hard muscled body under the tied-down hunk, inserting his rampant
rammer up the cavernous chute with no trouble at all.  In fact, he revealed “that bung of Mike’s was
already so wide I think we could’ve driven and Alfa-Romeo two-seater up inside,
if not and 18-wheeler.”  It certainly was
wide enough to permit a second of the football star’s ravagers to get atop the
sweating body, drilling his own monumentally extended organ into that very same
opening, at precisely the same time.

Whatever screaming the double impalement would
have elicited from the young bucking prisoner was needless to say, stifled by
yet another big West Point joint, this one stuffing itself to the hilt down the
protesting throat.  For the next several
hours a continuous triple fuck went on behind that locked door while, across
the dormitory hall, Singleton’s fellow Middies slept on, oblivious.

Even after this gross outrage to the straight
young dude’s tanned and hulky body was finished the athlete’s insatiable attackers
did not depart.  Reports indicate that
the leader of the pack, the cadet sergeant previously identified as “Dave”
observing that Mike’s bunghole was now really wide enough for that aforementioned
18-wheeler, decided to “go the last mile” with the “shithead.”

What he meant by that was made immediately evident
as he lowered his thickly muscled hand between the captive’s downy,
smooth-skinned thighs, screwing one, two, three four… five crawling fingers into the rectal sheath, grinding them up to
the knuckles.

And Beyond.

“Wwwwwwooossssshhhhkkkkknnnn,” young Singleton
wailed, his mind cracking wide open. “Mmmmnnnnaaahhhhggg!”

“It blew our friggin’ minds,” my cadet informer
said.  “Sure, we’d all talked about
fist-fucking the asshole – but to actually do it?” Man, that was something
else, you know what I mean?”

“Something else” it may have been, all right,
but “Dave” was utterly determined to “glove” his entire hair-flecked forearm
right up to the elbow, slowly but surely he forced his worming hand past the
anal rings and let the wrist disappear up into Singleton’s sailor-pussy, all
the way.  The Midshipman went bonkers,
rolling his crew cut head on thickly corded neck, mouth slack, eyes
glazed.  “He’s fucking me with his arm,
man,” reliable sources have him babbling in an erotic frenzy, completely out of
it in that naked, spread-eagled bondage, listening to the slick slurping sounds
Dave’s arm was making as the cadet sergeant increased the pace of the
hand-fuck, giving the big seaman the best in-and-out of his entire life.  “I’ve got a whole fuckin’ arm up my goddamn
Navy twat!”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dave snapped, glancing up at
his back-slapping Army buddies.  “One’a
you wanna take care of that, huh?”  All
the “screaming” was giving the sergeant “a headache.”

“Yes, sir, sarge,” came the reply, two of the
rape team eager to take care of the business.
Mike suddenly found his mouth stuffed with not one but two gigantic West
point phalluses, cut and un, gleaming, veing map-like, the way they stood out
just under the elastic flesh.  “Chow
down, cocksucker, a mouth like yours’s got plenty of room for extra prickmeat.”

The new assault made one of the two onlooking
cadets whistles in admiration, sending him scrambling for the Yashica he’d had
the foresight to bring along.  “We gotta
get some shots of this.  “The
sweat-drenched plebe was already snapping away, close-up and a long shot. “Somebody
get his helmet on – I want everybody who sees these pictures to know it’s a
fuckin’ big-time football hero we tied up and ass-raped in here.”

“Yeah, great.” Singelton’s helmet was snatched
up from it’s place alongside the trophies atop the Midshipman’s dresser; it was
placed over his head as he slurped on a double helping of hot dripping dick
crowbarring his mouth, making him look even more defeated, even more
humiliated, even more naked and cum-soaked than before.

“UNNNNGGGGHHHH–”

A fresh wad of viscous ball-crème spurted
across the room, the cumming cadet unable to help himself.  But not really giving a shit.  Wasn’t this what it was all about, really?
Wasn’t it?

“Unnnnhhaaaahhh…”

…Because, even while Sergeant Dave’s forearm
went on massaging the Middie’s super ripe prostate from within and behind, a
tattooing kit was brought out, the other plebes preparing to deflower the velvet
flesh of the Navy star’s lusciously muscled body.  The word “go” was permanently emblazoned over
the wide brown aureola on the right side of Mike’s succulently pectoraled
chest, matched on the left with the word “Army”—

Go Army—

Adding insult to injury, the rambunctious cadets
then decorated the boulder-sized bicep of Singleton’s 19-inch upper arm with a
raunchy version of an Army emblem, decidedly making beaches and short-sleeve
shirts a no-no for the rest of the sagging sailor’s life.

“Let’s see the big tough asshole talk his way
out of this one in the goddamn Navy locker room while he’s getting into uniform
for the game tomorrow,” Dave smirked, insouciantly reaching up for the nearest
of the football trophies which had framed the helmet on the dresser, a gleaming
piece of golden sculpture almost a foot long, “Oscar’s” counterpart holding a miniature
“game-ball” between his upraised arms, blunt-ended and of only decorative use.

Unless…unless…

“Keerist, Dave.
Keerist.”  Even his fellow cadets
were stunned at the sergeant’s outrageously bawdy mind, goggling to see him
withdraw his grease slicked arm from Singleton’s ravished rectum, replacing it
with the figurine.

“Why not?” he wanted to know as the shamed
young captive began to cry out loud. “Between my arm and this next thing he’ll “take”
up there isn’t that 18-wheeler we talked about, boys, it’ll be a real fucking
football!”

A gasp escaped him even as he said it, as
though a brilliant lightbulb went on over his devilishly handsome sergeants
head.  Perhaps the Navy team’s star
quarterback wouldn’t just be turned loose in the goddamn Navy locker room,
bleeding from his wide open asshole just as the game was beginning.  Perhaps his initial appearance as a tattoo’d,
piss drenched piece of cocksucking man-cunt would be much more public—!

And so it was, right in the middle of that
nationally televised pre-game show out on the sun drenched gridiron, the
humiliatingly naked Middie showing up on that Army float, sucking, getting
fucked by cock and by football, looking as though he was having the time of his
muscular young life.  How could he deny
it?  Millions of viewers from coast to
coast were spraying their beer right out of their mouths, shocked out of their brains
to witness the phenomenal wads of hot creamy cum jetting madly out of their hero’s
wavingly rigid dong, live.  In living
color.

Uncensored.

The case will of course be going before a
military board of inquiry but the results do seem as of this writing to be
foreordained.  Poor fucked-over Mike
Singleton has reached the end of his gallant Naval career.

As for the well built young cadets who perpetrated
the brutal gang-rape of the hunky and demoralized young sailor, they
disappeared into a crowd of fellow cadets, uniformed, who deliberately thronged
around the float in order to delay the arriving authorities.  There is, it would seem, no real way to
identify them sufficiently enough for charges to be pressed in front of a court
martial: with shavetail-type haircuts faces tend to blend together when seen on
TV tape.

They got away with it.

And, incidentally, Army won.  Twenty-two to ten.