Recruited to take part in an intense and highly selective three-week LEO training program, Texas Ranger Dusty thinks he and his fellow trainees are in for a lot of hard work and conditioning. What he doesn’t know is what exactly these elite law-enforcement men are being trained for.
5 parts Added Aug 2021 13k views 4.4 stars (8 votes) 8,850 words
The cab dropped Dusty off at a sprawling, nondescript compound in the middle of nowhere. A fifteen-foot dark-gray steel security fence with overlapping vertical slats loomed before him, stretching half a mile in either direction and blocking the curious from any view of the interior of the complex. He pulled his duffel over his shoulders and stared up at it as the cab pulled away, awed and a little amused. Most people would find the tall, glowering expanse intimidating, he was sure, but all he could think of was the extra-high enclosure his cousin Dave had been forced to build around his property to keep his supremely bouncy and fun-loving German shepherds, a pair of inveterate fence-jumpers named Maxie and Moxie, from getting free and playfully terrorizing the neighborhood.
It wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting. He’d assumed an elite, highly competitive national LEO training program like this would be based out of some kind of prominent local police academy or a well-known federal facility like Quantico or Glynco, but this place was the opposite of prominent, practically hidden away and completely incognito. There was no name displayed on the barrier, no signs anywhere—not even a “Keep Out”. The compound was the epitome of nondescript, like it was designed to attract as little attention as possible.
He’d checked the web and online mapping apps when he’d first gotten his instructions, and it was clear you weren’t supposed to notice the place on the internet, either. Searching for the name of the program turned up literally nothing. Google Maps satellite imagery for these coordinates showed a soybean field. Not an uncommon sight for this part of North Dakota, apparently, judging all by the low, leafy crops waving lazily at him in the steady breeze as he’d passed by them on the way here from the little regional airport; heck, there was one right behind him, its nice, orderly rows of bright-green plants stretching away toward the rising sun like the cover of a soy processor’s annual report. He’d looked closely at that satellite pic, though, and it’d seemed… odd. When he’d shown the enlarged image to his buddy Dale, a fellow Texas Ranger with a background in graphic design, Dale had muttered something about “cloning artifacts” before looking up from Dusty’s phone and casting him a half-worried, half-suspicious look, like he was meddling in some kind of Area 51 shit that Dale wanted no part of. Dusty snorted, still amused by Dale’s reaction.
The satellite view in Apple Maps, meanwhile, showed a small, self-contained suburban-middle-class housing development with cute, curlicued streets, every one of them labeled in Polish. Dusty thought that was even funnier than whatever Dale imagined.
A twenty-foot-wide swath of green, healthy-looking grass, mowed recently enough for the smell of clippings to still be perceptible, separated the full length of the barrier from County Road D, the dirty (but paved) farming road on the edge of which he now stood. Before him, a wide cement sidewalk cut through the compound’s “front lawn” and up to a nondescript beige door set into the dark enclosure. Though it looked like an ordinary steel door it seemed dwarfed by its size relative to the much larger barrier, like it was meant for smaller beings than those who’d constructed the fifteen-foot wall. Even from where he stood it was clear there was no knob or other means of ingress—no keypad, no intercom, not even a doorbell. His lips quirked, wondering how you got in. Should he just… walk up to the door and knock politely? After that he was pretty much down to shouting “open sesame” at it.
He heard the sound of a vehicle and turned to see a pickup truck down the road heading toward him from the north, small clouds of dust wafting behind it into the early-morning breeze. He squinted and thought he could see three largish men in the front of the cab, and intuition told him the truck was headed his way, not just passing through. More recruits like himself, he guessed, getting a ride from a local. Dusty felt oddly relieved at the diversion and decided to wait for them and go in together, all the while chastising himself for gut reactions he should have gotten past by now. Ten years in law enforcement, five of them a Ranger, and he was still spooked by the prospect of entering a new LEO environment and finding himself potentially surrounded by guys who were bigger and tougher-looking than he was.
Dusty was no slouch size-wise: at 5’10” in his stocking feet he was extremely fit from a lifelong habit of constant exercise, with every gap in his day spent running, swimming, weight training, whatever he could manage. But two things had always impaired his perception of his own virility. The first was that his three brothers, two older and one younger, were 6-foot-plus hairy muscle beasts who made him seem like a pipsqueak at every family gathering and in every family photograph. And they looked like tough guys, with blocky, square-jawed faces, constant stubble, and feral, I-eat-runts-like-you-for-breakfast grins—all relics of some distant Turkish strongman ancestry, apparently, or so their equally big and solid rancher Dad liked to boast. Meanwhile Dusty, even at thirty, still rolled out of bed looking like the sweetly-sexy, bright-eyed and pouty-lipped lead in the latest ridiculously steamy teen drama. He’d tried everything—hacking off his floppy dark-brown hair and getting a Marine-style faded buzz-cut, bulking up as best he could at the gym, facial hair—but his muscles seemed to tighten and harden instead of getting swole, his haircut made him look “bad boy cute” instead of “boyish cute”, and the goatee, for the week he’d had it, had actually made him look even more like a teenager. The bottom line was, everything he did only made girls swoon and guys snicker. His first trainer in the Rangers, after he’d transferred in from Dallas PD, had given him a flat look and actually said, “You’re too pretty to be one of us.” Dusty had responded by deftly flipping the tank-sized man onto the mat and he’d shut up. That hadn’t ended the friendly teasing about his matinee looks from his colleagues and friends, of course, and the truth was it didn’t all slide of his back quite as easily as he pretended.
So, yeah. He could toss people around, his chest (as if in compensation for his cologne-model face) was even hairier than his brothers’, and he’d actually managed to use his looks a few times to deescalate scenes and calm suspects (cue the jokes about Dusty’s “disarming smile”, etc.). He was proud of himself and what he could do, but he was always a little self-conscious about not being the toughest-looking guy in the room, especially in new situations involving other LEOs. He didn’t want to be pretty, he just wanted to be a damned good cop. And he was. He was in a tough-guy profession for a reason; he just didn’t always come across that way to others and, sometimes, in his own mind—a shortcoming he was as rueful about as he was his looks. This elite training program he’d been recruited for was exactly what he needed to reshape his life and maybe straighten his head out, too.
Soon enough the pickup was pulling up near where Dusty stood. Two men with duffels like Dusty’s piled out of the passenger side almost before it had stopped, leaving a smiling, silver-haired man in overalls in the front-seat. The shorter of the two men bent to grin at the driver through the open passenger window, thanking him for the ride. The old man waved and pulled away again, turning down a side road some ways to the south and disappearing into the soybean fields.
The newcomers slung their duffels over their shoulders and approached, the three men sizing each other up. One was his height or maybe just a bit shorter, African-American, strikingly handsome, with close-cropped hair, a sunny, easy-going smile, and a lean-looking body from what he could tell given his loose, sky-blue tee shirt and baggy khakis over army boots. He immediately moved in to offer Dusty a hand, and Dusty shook it automatically. “You here for the training?” the other man asked.
“Yep,” he said, leaning on his accent a little. Down home talk tended to put some folk at ease, he knew from experience. “Name’s Dusty,” he added. He never went by his first name, Cristoper. Explaining that there was no “h” in it every time he told someone his name had gotten old back in kindergarten.
The other man smiled wider, like he appreciated the concept of meeting a Texan named Dusty. “I’m Jesse,” he said.
They both turned to the third man, who seemed to be eyeing Dusty warily. He was Latino, Dusty thought, considerably taller than both of them, maybe 6’6”, and generously packed with thick, lean muscle. His snug brick-red compression tank showed off not only his powerful, corded biceps and forearms but the elaborate tattoo sleeve on his right arm. Dusty looked it over admiringly, impressed by the intricate, flowing lines. Most of the design was stylized brambles in blacks and blues, the thick and thin branches all fluidly interweaving, curling, and crisscrossing each other in a very effective pattern; but Dusty also could spot lots of tiny flower-bloom imagery mixed into the artwork, adding some vibrant color to the prickly bramble motif.
The taller man glanced first at Jesse, then back at Dusty before reluctantly sticking out a hand. “César,” he said as they shook briefly. His disapproving expression as he appraised Dusty was one he was all too familiar with. Pretty ironic, Dusty thought, considering César was at least as good looking as he was.
César’s eyes had narrowed slightly. “You really LEO?” he said after a moment, his tone challenging.
“Texas Ranger,” Dusty drawled impassively, suppressing a smile.
César lifted his dark eyebrows in surprise. “For real? Because I’d say you look more like Chuck Bass than Chuck Norris,” Jesse joked amiably.
Dusty grinned back at him. “Chuck Bass can’t put you on your ass,” he said.
Jesse nodded, still grinning. “I’ll remember that.” At Dusty’s inquiring look he added, “Homeland security. Can’t tell you more than that,” he added with a wink.
They looked up at César again. “Miami SWAT,” he said proudly.
“Cool,” Dusty said. “Sweet ink, man.”
“Thanks. We doing this or what?”
They all looked over at the nondescript beige door that separated them from the next phase of their lives.
“We’re doing this,” Dusty said, excitement fluttering in his belly as he stepped forward onto the wide little sidewalk, his new friends at his side.
The door opened for them as they approached, with any sign of human involvement, and closed for them just as eerily after they were inside the compound.
“Better expect 24/7 surveillance,” César muttered as they stood just inside the wall. Dusty had had been thinking something similar, though he wasn’t as troubled by it as César seemed to be. They were there for a three-week program. If the folks in charge wanted to watch him on CCTV stroking himself in his bunk, who was he to deprive them?
The three of them looked around the interior of the complex for a moment, more than a little bemused. The interior landscape inside the walls looked like a vast city park-cum-botanical garden. Gently rolling knolls blanketed with the same kind of lush grass-swards they’d observed outside sprawled invitingly under beautiful, shady old oaks and maples with high crowns and sprawling canopies, intercut with swaths of well-tended flowering plants, crawling ivies, fragrant shrubs, and all sorts of other outdoor greenscaping, with each section tastefully skirted by wandering cement paths. Various wide, two-story buildings in various colors nestled here and there amidst the greenery, most of the nearer ones looking like simple, friendly-looking structures with lots of windows; Dusty guessed these were barracks, gyms, and other drill facilities, though they didn’t look quite like the buildings in any academy or military base he’d ever seen. Further away stood grander-looking structures, the furthest being one a large, futuristic edifice with mirrored surfaces that dominated the rest. This glittering, central building, Dusty saw, was tall and cylindrical with a rounded dome, and he couldn’t help smiling—no way was that particular architectural choice a coincidence.
The landscaping and building design weren’t the only oddities. For one thing, while the grounds were extensive, with acres of land visible to them from where they stood, it sure seemed like he, Jesse, and César were the only souls in the whole place.
“What kind of training camp is this?” Jesse wondered aloud.
“Look,” César said, pointing to one of the nearby buildings, this one a canary yellow. Dusty looked where he was pointing and saw that the door in the narrow end of the long building had popped open, much as the entrance door behind them had a moment ago. Dusty strode toward it. Jesse followed close behind.
“Wait!” César hissed, before trotting reluctantly after them.
“What, you think it’s a trap?” Dusty said as he walked, without looking back at him. “It’s a training facility.”
“Yeah, but—training for what?” César said urgently. “I’m really starting to wonder.”
The others didn’t answer. Dusty guessed from Jesse’s silence that his recruitment letter had been just as vague as Dusty’s had been, promising personal growth and improved skills in exchange for three weeks of hard work and obedience. He would have ditched it out of hand had his chief not been visibly impressed by his selection and urged him to go, nearly to the point of ordering him to do so. He should have asked the chief what he knew about this place, but… oh well, they were here now.
The entered the building, and the door closed behind them as before. Inside was a cool, sunlit, high-ceilinged space that took up half the length of the first floor, with another, interior door at the far end (an ordinary door with a knob, this time). Dusty was unsurprised to see that, beyond an empty space by the entrance that took up a third of the room, the rest of the space was a barracks, though all but one of the ten extra-wide beds were pristine and unoccupied. The exception was the furthest bed in the right where a large, extremely muscular, lightly hairy man wearing bulging khaki boxer briefs and nothing else was laying. He’d raised himself up on his elbows to regard them with interest, his abs tightening impressively as he did so. His short, dark hair looked damp, like he had showered not too long ago, and a heavy-looking silver hoop hung from his left ear. Dusty got the distinct impression he was someone who was used to calmly getting his way. Great, another alpha male like my brothers, he thought with a sigh.
“You’re here,” the stranger remarked, in a voice a good octave below any man’s voice Dusty had ever heard. “Probably means we will start soon.” He nodded toward the other beds. “Bunks have names on ‘em.”
Dusty turned to look. Sure enough, the three nearest of the double-wide bunks had homey-looking wooden nameplates hung on little hooks at the foot of each bed: JESSE, CÉSAR, and, across from them on the one next to the big muscle-guy, his own moniker, DUSTY. He was glad to see they’d put preferred middle name and not his dumb first name. Curiously, each of the three bunks had a carefully folded pair of khaki boxer-briefs positioned exactly in the middle of the taut, perfectly situated blanket. Dusty glanced at the fourth man in their group and wondered if the little gift of underwear meant what he thought it did.
He also noted that none of the other bunks in the room had the briefs. Did that mean it was just the four of them in their training cohort? Probably for now, anyway. As he pulled his duffel off his shoulders and tossed it down beside his bunk, he checked the other man’s nameplate. “Malik, I presume?” he asked cordially.
Malik gave him a half smile and shrugged his ox-like shoulders. “Got here a couple hours ago.” To the others he added, “You won’t be needing those.” He was nodding this time toward the duffels Jesse and César were unloading by their beds, following Dusty’s example. When they looked at him questioningly he indicated his own briefs and explained, “This is the only uniform.”
César frowned. “Fuck that!” he said, bridling instantly.
Jesse cocked his head at Malik. “How do you know?” he asked.
Before Malik could answer, they were interrupted by a voice from the other end of the room. “Because I said it was,” said the voice calmly. They looked up in surprise to see a truly gigantic man was now standing in the cleared, empty part of the room like it belonged to him. Dusty goggled at how huge the man was. Easily eight or nine feet tall with skin a slate gray that was ever so slightly blue, the figure was bald, severely handsome, and so freighted with massive, heavy muscle that he made their strapping new friend Malik look like Caspar Milquetoast. He wore only huge black boots and dark green fatigue trousers that did nothing to hide his powerful thighs, thick calves, and what looked like a mammoth bulge that even Dusty, who’d only ever dated girls thus far in his life, was finding it difficult to look away from—in fact he felt instinctively drawn to that bulge and what lay beneath it, but he forced himself to wrench his eyes away with some effort.
The rest of him was just as impressive and imposing. The stranger’s inches-thick, pillowy-looking pecs loomed dramatically over his torso, somehow calling attention the poky nipples on the underside of each densely ponderous mass; below were eight-pack abs so tight the skin seemed shrink-wrapped over deep-carved bricks of muscle. The shoulders looked too thick for doors, the traps gave the impression they were surreptitiously planning a bid to take over the giant’s thick, oddly lickable-looking neck, the lats seemed to be moving in on the arms in a similar fashion, and the arms themselves looked like someone had come into a huge job-lot of extra-yummy, macho-flavored muscle and decided to use it up all in one go.
The strange man stared down at them with shockingly blue-violet eyes that seemed almost unnaturally bright. His expression, meanwhile, suggested he was deeply amused and even charmed by their reactions, which… no, Dusty thought he must be misreading that. Amusement? From a training instructor? Hard-bitten scorn was more likely.
Dusty tore his eyes away from the masculine vision to check the others and see what the newcomer was seeing. César looked defiant—no surprise there; Jesse was happily awed, like this place had already exceeded his expectations; and Malik was looking at the man with a hint of lust, though he seemed blissfully unaware of the boner developing rapidly in his briefs, which was just as burly as the rest of him.
Huh, Dusty thought. As he looked back up at the half-naked giant observing them with fond appreciation, Dusty could only think that he really should have asked his chief a few probing questions about this program before he’d signed up.
“Welcome, César, Jesse, and Dusty,” the oversized man greeted them in a smooth, resonant baritone. “I’m so glad to see you. Train hard and do as you’re told, and I promise you’re going to be very, very happy here.”
César snorted, which only seemed to amuse the giant further, but he continued as if César hadn’t reacted. “I will be your Trainer for the three weeks you are enrolled in the program,” he said. “You may call me… Trainer.”
This time it was Dusty who couldn’t hold back an amused huff. The giant, Trainer, seemed to enjoy Dusty’s suppressed laughter as much he did as César’s derision. Their eyes met, and Dusty shivered, his nerves jangling pleasantly like they’d momentarily overloaded.
Trainer addressed the group again. “Malik is correct,” he went on. “Every morning, today included, you will take a shower, and when you return you will each have a fresh pair of uniform boxer-briefs. At night—”
“Fuck that,” César said again.
Trainer smiled widely at him, as if César were a student in his first-grade class and had successfully explained what photosynthesis was. “At night,” he continued, again as if César hadn’t spoken, “you will shower again after meals, and of course there will be no need for briefs overnight.”
“Fuck that!!” César said louder, shouting defiantly up at Trainer.
But the grinning giant wasn’t there anymore. Dusty blinked. He must have just gone out the door. That’s right, Trainer had simply turned and left out the door, in a perfectly normal way.
It was just the four of them again. Dusty registered half-unconsciously that Trainer was the first bigger, manlier man he’d encountered who didn’t make him feel even a little self-conscious about his pretty-boy curse. Then more or less forgot about it—César looked to be on the verge of an internal meltdown.
Dusty found himself in mediator mod. “C’mon, César, we better take that shower,” he said, reaching up to grab the Latino’s bulging, ink-decorated triceps.
He met Jesse’s eyes and he agreeably took the taller man’s other arm, and together they started moving him toward the interior door, beyond which had to be the showers and other lavatorial amenities. “Yeah, César, we could all use that shower,” Jesse agreed pointedly.
“I’m not walking around in a pair of fucking underpants,” he groused, even as he let the others steer him toward the back.
“Yeah? Whatcha got to hide under there, bud?” Jesse teased.
“I think you’ll look pretty sweet in just a pair of briefs, C,” Dusty said, surprising himself. César frowned down at him but said nothing.
They passed through the room, Dusty sparing a second glance for Malik’s very solid-looking erection, and got to the interior door. Dusty had to open it manually, which now already felt a novelty. Beyond was, as expected, a tiled expanse of toilets, sinks, and shower facilities, plus what looked like saunas and other, more opaque rooms beyond. He and Jesse carried on propelling César forward into the room. Dusty wondered if Trainer was watching on surveillance, and if so how amused he was by their little parade.
“I’m not doing it. I’m not,” César repeated obstinately to himself, as they headed for the open shower area to the right.
“Uh huh,” said Jesse and Dusty together.
That afternoon they were playing an energetic game of soccer in one of the grassy fields under the avid gaze of their very excitable trainer. It wasn’t exactly what Dusty had thought he’d be doing today, but he couldn’t complain. So far, he was having a blast.
After the three of them had showered together, they’d returned to find that their duffels had disappeared, along with the clothes they’d been wearing. That of course left César, and the rest of them, no choice but to pull on the fresh, clean, and very comfy khaki boxer-briefs that had been left for them on their beds. César had grumbled… but Dusty had been too distracted by César’s fat, veined softie, which looked bigger flaccid than Dusty’s cock—always popular with the ladies—did hard. And why was he staring at cocks now, and raking his eyes up César’s lithe, gymnast-plus body? Why was he glancing at Malik’s still-hard erection in his briefs, or feeling hot and bothered from the way the man was avidly watching them from his bunk and taking special notice of Dusty’s fuzzy crop of chest hair? Why was Dusty noticing Jesse’s well-developed legs and round ass, or the half-plumping of Jesse’s wide, uncut cock as they retrieved their shorts and slowly pulled them on, the three of them checking each other out the whole time?
He could tell himself things like he was envious of Jesse’s butt—he’d always had a pretty “meh” ass compared to round, firm glutes like Jesse’s—but the truth was that ever since Trainer had appeared and showed them what manliness was, all four of them were acting a little turned on and kinda stuck on all the little physical things that made men sexy.
Why, though? Had it been Trainer himself? Maybe, but there was something about that shower as well. He was definitely randier after the shower, and that hadn’t gone away. The hot, steamy water coming out of those shower heads had definitely felt weird somehow. Stimulating, almost. And—he could swear the soap smelled not so subtly of cum…
Trainer had reappeared once they were dressed and led them out to a little grove of trees to run for a while together. It was fun doing his morning run weaving through trees on soft grass instead of on neighborhood sidewalks or some boring track somewhere; but Dusty hadn’t been able to shake his newly upped horniness, and he was dimly aware he wasn’t even thinking about slaking his simmering passion with a woman. He barely remembered any of the women he knew. His world had shrunk to the four of them, all of them with hot blood and semis stretching their boxer-briefs as they watched the massive, exquisitely agile bulk of Trainer running ahead of them.
He’d tried monitoring his fellow trainees, feeling innately responsible for them—César was scowling as he ran, Malik watchful, Jesse exuberant—but he wanted to stay focused on his own end goal of improving himself. Thinking the phrase “end goal,” though, make him look ahead to Trainer’s god-like ass, filling out his green fatigue trousers like a provocation. He wanted to see Trainer naked, and he was starting not to even wonder why he wanted that.
There was sporadic conversation as they jogged, whenever two of them came abreast. Dusty found out that Malik was a K-9 officer from Denver, and that his work gave him a kind of appreciation for a program like this from both perspectives—he helped train his pups the way the handsome giant was training them, and he was willing to see what it was like to be the pup this time, he said gamely with a slight smile. Jesse talked about backpacking across Australia and sampling a different beer in every town, trying every form of kebap in Istanbul, making and eating every kind of ice cream he could think of from scratch—he seemed to be all about collecting new experiences (especially oral ones!) and having as much fun with them as he could. César didn’t say much, apart from telling Dusty he was sorry for doubting him just for being pretty. Dusty laughed and told him the story about his first day with the Rangers, and was rewarded with a genuine smile from the surly and exceptionally good-looking Latino.
After the run was weight training—one of the other outbuildings near their canary-yellow barracks contained a pro-level dream gym, and the four of them tried to outdo each other pushing as much iron as they could. Malik, it turned out, was insanely strong, even more than his impressive muscles would suggest, but César, almost as muscled and with greater leverage from his longer limbs, was close behind him. As he drove himself through another set of preacher curls, his arms looking red and pumped as fuck, Dusty found himself thinking for the first time ever that there might just be nothing hotter and sexier than four hunky guys working out together and getting all sweaty in their clingy boxer-briefs. Why had he ever thought going to the gym was boring? Trainer seemed to agree: he watched the four of them working out like it was a spectator sport, leaning against one wall and beaming at them with that piercing gaze. Every now and again he’d say “Good boy” if one of them finished a particularly challenging set, and if he was the one being complimented Dusty felt a jolt of pleasure all through his body like a stroke to a hard cock. He liked it when Trainer was proud of him. It was the simplest kind of pleasure.
Then came the soccer, which Malik, Jesse, and César were apparently all ringers at. Dusty felt loopy and loose-limbed after their exertions in the gym, which gave a certain delirious fluidity to his play that at least kept the others off guard. He could use a snack, though, or, better yet, a hearty repast or three. They’d had plenty of cool water throughout the day—Trainer seemed able to produce chilled bottles of incredibly delicious water for them whenever they asked for one, which he handed over with a ruffling of their hair that Dusty found oddly pleasing—but no food, and he was starting to feel famished.
Before we could ask about it, though, César broke from their play and stomped over to Trainer. “Aren’t you going to feed us at all?” he demanded testily.
Trainer grinned at him and did the head-ruffling thing. As they were all rather sweaty, Trainer’s big hand riffling through César’s dark hair resulted in little showers of sweat droplets spraying out from his head, but Trainer didn’t seem to mind getting his hand wet. Dusty half expected César to flinch away from Trainer’s affection just to be contrary, but he withstood it, focused on his question.
“At this stage of the training,” the giant explained, “mealtimes are limited to once per day, after team exercise.”
“One meal a day,” César repeated flatly.
Trainer beamed down at him, his extra-large hand still resting on César’s head. “Don’t worry,” he said indulgently. “It will be more than enough.”
César freed himself and stalked back to the others. He moved close to Dusty. “This is bullshit,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am this close to walking.”
Without thinking, Dusty wordlessly wrapped his arms around César in a close hug, their hard, sweaty bodies sliding wetly against each other. Because César was so much taller, Dusty’s cheek ended up against César’s thick, sculpted chest, and it felt good to rub his bristly jaw along the damp, sparsely-haired curve of the other man’s firm lower pectorals.
César sagged. At the same time, Dusty unexpectedly became aware of César’s anaconda cock thickening and uncurling in his shorts against Dusty’s lower abs, and that, plus Malik and Jesse joining the hug—Jesse behind César and Malik behind him, his boner pushing against Dusty’s lackluster butt—drove Dusty almost to complete, raging erection. Jesse was tasting the sweat on César’s neck with his pliable tongue, and Dusty thought that was kind of hot, too.
Then he looked over at Trainer, who was watching him proudly, and somehow that pushed Dusty all the way to fully and achingly hard.
Finally, when the sun was low in the sky and casting a reddish light over the grassy, park-like landscape, Trainer called off their increasingly ramshackle efforts at outdoing each other’s footie footwork (it’s tough to play well when you’re tired and horny, Dusty told himself after he failed to stop another of Malik’s freight-train drives toward the goal) and, beckoning them to follow, led them away for their daily meal. Dusty expected Trainer to lead them to some kind of mess hall in one of the buildings in the center of the complex, maybe even introduce them to some of the other, more advanced trainees and staff that must live in this sprawling place; but it seemed the time for those kinds of meetings had not yet come.
Instead, Trainer led them back to the grove where they’d spent the morning and found a wide, intimate clearing in the trees. Anticipation seemed to build around them. Maybe it was because he was swimming in hormones, his blood still hot and his cock still mostly hard from the sweaty group muscle hug on top of being ridiculously horny all day, but Dusty thought he had a bit of an inkling where this was going, and for some reason he did not object. Well, they had to eat, he found himself thinking.
Trainer, towering over them as they instinctively gathered close in around him, gazed at them each in turn. Then he lifted his boot and looked at Dusty. Dusty bent automatically and pulled the boot off, exposing an intriguingly huge slate-blue foot the size of Dusty’s torso. Malik did the same with the other boot, and was just as impressed. As the two of them rose to their feet, Trainer slowly started undoing his trousers, still looking between the four of them. “Are you ready?” he asked them with a little smile as he stood there poised to lower his pants for them, his smooth, deep voice seeming to slide into Dusty’s veins and curl through the sperm-factories of his balls. Trainer sounded excited, Dusty noted, like he couldn’t wait to give them this gift and watch them enjoy it.
Malik was nodding, slowly and thoughtfully, but more to himself more than to Trainer, as if he were seeing his dynamic with Trainer in a new way. Jesse was wide-eyed and intrigued, staring hard at the huge bulge in Trainer’s pants. César, however, was talking a step back. “No,” he growled. “We want a real meal, not this.”
Trainer smiled down at him indulgently. “This is all the food you need,” he explained, as if this were an obvious truth that César was denying just to be stubborn. “All the food you’ll ever need.”
Dusty’s ears perked up at that. He’d been thinking about Trainer’s body and sweat and muscles and cock all day. If he could have that forever… would that be a good thing?
“No!” César barked. Dusty looked over at him in confusion, before realizing that the tall Latino hottie hadn’t been answering Dusty’s own internal question.
At César’s outburst Trainer shook his head, and Dusty was sure he was disappointed rather than angry. “Then you can watch,” he said, an unfamiliar sternness in his voice, “and maybe later you’ll learn your lesson.”
Trainer let his trousers fall to the ground at last. Dusty gasped, and he thought some of the others did too. This—this giant cock. It was the epicenter of everything he’d been needing all day. The horniness, the need to cum, to desire to feel his fellow trainees’ sweaty, muscular bodies against his, the yearning to be near Trainer and watch his muscles move and experience his warmth—all of that came from here.
Barely aware of what he was doing, Dusty reached out a hand toward the thick, soft hose of a cock, and he saw Malik’s hair-knuckled, dusky hand and Jesse’s brown, smooth one join his own. Together they tried stroking the massive wang. It was so thick even soft that Dusty’s fingers could not meet, and as they caressed it gently to swift, iron-hard erection it only got thicker and impossibly long. Finally it was all the way hard and stood out directly from Trainer’s body at a 90-degree angle from his chiseled abs. It was flat on top and utterly massive, even compared to Trainer’s immense stature, the slate-blue tinge of Trainer’s skin mixing with the red his blood to produce a royal purple cast to the enormous, rigidly hard erection.
“It’s like an aircraft carrier,” Jesse said in an awed, hushed voice. The three of them were still stroking it adoringly, and their palms started getting slick as Trainer was already producing a steady supply of precum.
Trainer growled in pleasure. “You can start tasting,” he told them. “Taste now, my humans, and very soon I’ll be producing your meal for tonight, more sustenance than you can possibly enjoy.”
Jesse took the lead, wrapping his mouth around his side of the shaft near the hand he was stroking it with. Dusty watched as his eyes rolled up pleasure and grinned before mirroring his position. Dusty barely had to bend forward to start licking the giant’s slick shaft, making long strokes with his tongue in the wake of his increasingly slippery manual caresses. He made his way down to the root, Jesse on the other side putting his own wide, eager tongue to use, while Malik worked his mouth around the massive head. Dusty was aware of his own erection and his need to cum, but he barely paid it any mind. The more of Trainer’s precum he licked and swallowed, the surer he was that this was what he needed to attend to to feel pleasure. Trainer’s erection was their erection, and Trainer’s orgasm was their orgasm.
Dusty lapped back up along the hot, rigid flesh of Trainer’s cock toward the head, more of the spurting precum slicking up the flaring shaft, while reaching below with his other hand to massage Trainer’s massive nuts, immediately eliciting a moan from the horny giant. When he got to the head he kept going onto Malik’s lips, because he wanted to taste Trainer’s delicious precum in Malik’s mouth. Malik was happy to let him, and they kissed for a few moments on their own before Jesse joined them, their lips mashing slickly against each other. Dusty felt like his whole mouth was buzzing, like Trainer was producing really potent stuff now, and his whole body felt inflamed with fizzy ecstatic waves, making his muscles swell with happiness and his cock feel like it was getting even harder—something he would have sworn was impossible.
“Oh yes,” groaned Trainer. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful humans, you are doing so well. You are such good humans.” He gasped and cried out, “Yes! I’m going to feed you now! Drink it! Swallow all you can! Yes!” All at once Trainer jerked and his mammoth cock started gushing torrents of hot, white cum, and the three of then gathered greedily around the head and gulped down as much cum as they could get in their mouths while Trainer sprayed them all over with his unstoppable release. Dusty felt himself cumming too, though it was as much from Trainer’s powerful, wriggling spunk being in him as anything else. He was absolutely certain that this shared pleasure, this shared climax, and this shared cum was all he needed or wanted. He felt rubbery and changeable from the inhuman levels of pleasure he was experiencing, like his senses were more real than his physical form in that endless, twisting moment.
He and the others kept stroking Trainer’s massive, bucking purple-tinged erection, hoping to induce the maximum possible pleasure for the big guy as well as themselves, and Trainer kept cumming, drenching them with more and more sustenance. Dusty swallowed the hot, gloppy spunk down, as much as he could. It seemed to be getting thicker now as it reached deeper into him, pushing through membranes and cell walls and gray matter into the most remote and intimate reaches of his physical existence. After an exhilarating, tiring day of training and bonding he felt strength suddenly pouring through him as if from some alternate-universe reserve, aggressively revitalizing every part of him and filling him with limitless life.
As he swallowed and was covered with more and more cum Dusty felt Trainer’s raw, instinctive praise flood inside him, too, congratulating him for creating so much pleasure, for being so good and helping his trainee buddies be good too. The praise gushed into him through the geyser of cum like a reward, down his throat and through his skin, more and more of it, swelling and shaping his muscles, growing his hair, strengthening his cock, making him more and better, more beautiful for Trainer. And he wanted to be more beautiful for Trainer. Now that the exhilarating taste and presence Trainer’s cum was in him he only wanted Trainer to be pleased with him—not because he craved approval for his own, selfish reasons, but because he wanted to feel Trainer’s smile in him when he helped Trainer cum again.
The powerful eruption ebbed and then fell off at last, and with a final, sated smile at his four adorable, adored humans, Trainer was gone too.
Dusty had to admit he felt a pang of loss at no longer feeling and sharing Trainer’s enormous, quivering, heated erection between them. He longed to still be experiencing the bracing, steady smack of Trainer’s high-pressure cum hitting his throat and battering his face and body as they joyfully competed to lap up as much as they could. But seeing his buddies covered in warm, running globules of Trainer-spunk and grinning back at him, all while he felt all that sperm working its way into every corner of him, filling his stomach to the point of sloshing, coating his throat and tongue and smeared over his lips, Dusty knew he was one of the three luckiest and happiest men alive. Even the calm, stoic Malik was beaming at him. He was looking rejuvenated and appropriately bulked out by his Trainer-gift, with his arms looking particularly hairy and disproportionately long and massive. Jesse, of course, was over the moon, his extra-limber body slathered in cum even down to the long, flat, extra-lickable cock pushing up several inches out of his sodden boxer-briefs—easily within sucking distance, Dusty guessed, whenever the bendy, orally-fixated federal agent needed something in his mouth… though at the moment the mouth in question was too busy aggressively transitioning Jesse’s licking of Malik’s cum-covered face into a full-on and very messy snog. Dusty felt stronger and more sculpted, and he didn’t need a mirror—or the fact that Malik couldn’t take his eyes off him even as he was sucking face with Jesse—to know he was more hypnotically gorgeous than ever. Another Dusty would have objected to that, though it was tough to even remember thinking that way. Trainer liked him strong and pretty, and all that mattered was seeing Trainer happy and helping him make the delicious, powerful cum that they were so privileged to eat, and—
He heard a strange whimpering from behind him, and he turned in surprise to realize that in the delirious euphoria of sharing Trainer’s cum they had completely forgotten about César.
He was kneeling only a couple of feet away from them. He, too, was slathered in cum, as much as the three of them or more as he’d been directly in front of the constant blast spraying from Trainer’s enormous cock. But Dusty’s heart clenched in sympathy as he saw that César hadn’t been able to eat any of Trainer’s cum, seeing as his mouth was gone and covered over with skin, the bramble tattoo having also woven up his neck and onto his face so that it was flowing over the space where his mouth used to be. Trainer’s cum had come with gifts and praise for the three of them; for César, it seemed, it had come with punishment.
César’s eyes were imploring, but not because he wanted sympathy. He was looking at Dusty’s body and all the Trainer-cum that covered it. César clearly craved it just as much as they did—and now he couldn’t possibly taste it, even if he could feel it on his own skin.
Dusty could have been cold and smug. He could have told César he got what he deserved for refusing his meal, just because he wanted to be defiant for the sake of it. But it didn’t even occur to him. Trainer loved all four of them, and he’d taught César a lesson because that was what he was to them—their Trainer.
César needed to know he was still one of them. That’s what Trainer would want them to do. It was what he would want Dusty to do, in particular. There was a permanent sliver of joy in his soul from how proud Trainer was of the way Dusty tried to keep them all together, and he never wanted that feeling to go away. He was the heart of the group, and Trainer was glad.
Anyway, Malik and Jesse were deep into a hungry kiss, arms wrapped tight around each other as they ground their cummy torsos together, and Dusty grinned inwardly. Looked like it was up to him anyway, even without the heart-of-the-group thing.
César—handsome, thick-muscled, independent César—stared up at him with those wide, round eyes and whimpered quietly again, just once. Dusty gave him a soft smile. Closing the little distance between them Dusty knelt right in front of César. Though a lot of César’s height was in his legs he was still taller than Dusty even with both of them on their knees, so he had to lean up to kiss the tiny little yellow daffodil peeking between the blue and black brambles right where the middle of his mouth used to be. César closed his eyes gratefully and bent down to start rubbing his face through the thick, smeared layers of cooling Trainer-cum covering Dusty’s neck and hairy chest. Maybe some of it absorbed through the skin over his mouth, so he got to eat at least a little on top of what absorbed into the rest of his skin, but mostly César just needed to feel like he could share the Trainer-cum with them; and Dusty, now stroking his long, tapered back soothingly as César mashed his face across his jizzy upper torso, knew he was happy to let him.
Actually it felt pretty good, holding César like this. His still-hard, if extra-sensitive, cock seemed to agree, bucking in his sopping-wet shorts. Maybe he’d let César rub himself against him like this even after he got his mouth back.
Two weeks had passed. Dusty was sure of that, because Trainer had said as much, though Dusty wasn’t quite sure since what. He had a vague sense that his life was different before. Something about a badge? But Trainer mentioned something about a “transfer” going through and said Dusty didn’t worry about the Rangers anymore, and Dusty was happy not to think about it.
Maybe two weeks since he’d met Trainer was what he’d met. That certainly mattered. The bond between him and Trainer had strengthened over that time, he was sure of it. Some days he and Trainer worked out and swam and played alone, just the two of them, and last night he’d even had Trainer’s meal all to himself. He’d never dared imagine he could be this happy.
There were more like Trainer, it turned out. That was what made the one-on-one time possible, because the others—César, Jesse, Malik, and a sweet, slim but buff South Asian DEA agent named Samir who’d joined them late on the second day—were all trying out potential masters of their own from all over the country. Dusty hadn’t been with any of the giants but Trainer, though, and he dared to hold out hope that when the program was done—seven more days!—he would get to belong to Trainer all the time.
He and the other humans were constantly hard and insatiably horny day and night now, and while their main release was cumming explosively with Trainer (or, in his fellow trainees’ case, one of the others) at mealtimes—now upped to twice a day, and soon it would be three or even four cum-explosion meals every day!—they messed around incessantly with each other whenever they weren’t training. They hardly even slept, actually, they were so busy lovingly sucking and giddily drilling each other in twosomes and threesomes (or more)… and it didn’t matter how much they exerted themselves with sex or how little they slept, because their cum-meals left them vibrant and thoroughly invigorated all over again.
They’d finally met other trainees—some who were in later stages of the program, some who’d graduated and stayed with the giants who ran the complex—and sometimes they played with them; but mostly it was just the five of them, happily rubbing their hard bodies and harder cocks all over each other and cumming on each other almost constantly like they were pretend-giants, too. The idea was hilarious, and Trainer thought it was funny too whenever he stopped by to watch. He even joked that Samir, whose gifts seems to tend toward really long and productive climaxes, came almost as much as he did, and of course they all laughed. No one could ever cum as much as Trainer did!
After the big first-night rewards, their later treats were more subtle, but there was a definite change every day. Dusty was man-prettier than ever, of course. His muscles were now exquisitely sculpted and impossibly hard, and his head hair grown out into longer cascades that tickled his round, firm traps. He had a permanent goatee, too, and he tried to pretend that made him look manlier. At least he still had his prized chest hair. But really, Dusty was thrilled. He was starting to want Trainer to shape him more, so he could be as much as possible the human Trainer wanted to keep for himself and pet and feed and snuggle and cum with forever and ever.
The others were changing slowly as well. Malik’s arms had continued to expand out of proportion to the rest of him, and he was getting subtly more and more hairy—though it still looked gratifyingly sparse compared to Dusty’s chest. His legs might be a little shorter too, and clones of the thick silvery hoop he had in his ear now weighed down both of his nipples. He walked on his feet and knuckles most of the time now, which he seemed to like a lot. And Dusty might be stronger lately, but Malik was crazy strong, enough to push walls over and crush cars with his fists. The whole thing seemed to be a special request from one of the other giants, a darker gray-blue Adonis even taller than Trainer who’d taken a strong liking to Malik.
Jesse, for his part, had gotten so limber he could fold himself up like human origami, and of course his chest-high, super-flat cock was in his mouth pretty much whenever it wasn’t in someone else’s.
Speaking of which, César had indeed gotten his confiscated orifice back. It had happened that same night, while Dusty was holding him tight in Dusty’s bunk, trying to soothe him to sleep. César had suddenly gasped quietly, then looked up at him in the faint, silvery light with a wide, chastened smile parting the brambles that still slithered across the lower third of his face. They’d kissed and sucked each other the whole rest of the night. And from then on César, who now always smiled sheepishly at Trainer and ate his meals gratefully with the rest of them, got his rewards just like the others. He was taller now, and the tattoo was spreading slowly but relentlessly over his chest and shoulders. That big permaboner of his seemed to be getting wider, too. In fact Dusty was sure César’s torpedo-thick dick was broader than his wrist now—and Dusty had a decently wide wrist.
That night, the night of his two-week anniversary, Dusty couldn’t stop grinning as he fucked Jesse insatiably in the shower after dinner while César pounded him deep and hard from behind with his big, fat tool and Malik held Samir tirelessly up by the ankles so they could suck each other. He’d seen the love and lust in Trainer’s eyes, when they’d had their solo meal together the night before and Dusty had gotten all of Trainer’s cum to swallow and be covered with and felt his praise spreading inside him. Soon he would one of the select group of happy, horny humans who utterly belonged to Trainer every day and every night forever, and he absolutely could not wait.
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