The drill sergeants' shrill voice rang out across the desolate cement halls of fort Jackson at 5 in the morning.
Private James sprung from his top bunk, with his usual aching erection that accompanied his nightly sex dreams. He had been deprived of sex now for two months, and his body and mind yearned for the embrace of a woman.
He tumbled down off his rack, rummaging to slip on his boots and keep his hard-on tucked into his waistband (which hardly mattered as there were only men in the dark barracks).
James grabbed his rifle from the shelves and rushed to the meeting area downstairs to form up his platoon, which he had been assigned to lead during basic training.
Too stressed by the rigors of boot camp, James had not been able to jerk off in months. his dreams were filled with acts of sexual savagery; of exploring the warm caverns of the feminine form, of having his member engulfed and satisfied in a torrent of fuck. He had even awoken once to find he had creamed his boxers, something he had not done since his teenage years.
As the soldiers began to form up in the cold Carolina air, James met eyes with another private — Steele, was all he knew her by.
She shot a quick smile and wink at him. Steele and James had had a blossoming daily flirtation from across the bay where all formations were held. Their romantic exchanges had always been limited to brief grins, but Steele's delight at seeing him made for a welcome beam of summer amidst the grimness of a wintry basic training.
She was a pretty midwestern tartette, with a pert derrière and nice set of breasts he had spied from seeing her in PT's (military running uniform). She had blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, and was a small little thing. He imagined picking her up and bouncing her all around the bedroom.
As the drill sergeants crested the hill to the formation area, all four platoons that made up Bravo Company, 1-47 Infantry Regiment, quickly quieted their groggy morning chattering and stood ramrod straight for inspection.
Private James stood in front of his platoon, rifle at port arms, praying to himself that the drill sergeant would find nothing out of place in his platoon. He could tolerate no more harassment and punishment from the sergeants, as he was at his wits end in keeping unruly recruits from acting out.
The sergeant, making his way through the platoon, eventually identified an error in the ranks.
'Private James! What in the fuck hell is wrong with your soldier here?!'. James ran quickly over to see what latest infraction the platoon would be smoked for. Sure enough, Private Robinette had left his weapon on fire, a big-time no-go in Army speak.
James began to accept responsibility but it was already too late, the drill roared for them to "HALF RIGHT, FACE" and the whole platoon shifted and got down on the cold cement - ready to endure the punishment for Robinette's mistake.
As the platoon did a seemingly endless number of pushups and flutter kicks in the brisk Fort Jackson air, James caught eyes once more with Steele and she mouthed 'sorry' with a sheepish and heartfelt look.
Finally, the drill determined the platoon had been sufficiently chastened for this mistake, and all four platoons boarded buses for one of their last major training events.
After arriving at the brief for a machine gun and platoon tactics class, James saw a rare opportunity to sit close to Steele (male to female interactions were generally strictly forbidden during basic training).
(Female recruits were kept exclusively in their own barracks, with only female drill sergeants allowed inside.)
As the soldiers to-be filed into the bleachers, James moved to sit one row in front of Steele, and she eagerly moved to sit right behind him.
The briefing started, and Steele asked quietly in his ear if she could warm her hands behind his Camelbak. James nodded, feeling blood pulse quickly to his cock as her hands wound their way discreetly to his back, in between the warmth of his body and his army-issued water bladder.
The iciness of the February air could not quell the rushing excitement of Private James's first female contact in months. Steele's hands and touch thrilled him, fueled with the excitement that came in disobeying the male/female restrictions -- right in the face of the drill sergeants!
He could feel the coolness of her hands give way to heat, all the while his balls groaned in protest at the blockade of cum that had built, unreleased; a Niagrous flood begging and heaving to be unleashed; a cascade that sought refuge in the warm channels of a woman's sex and mouth and tits and hands and spit.
