Where's Your Weapon
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Reluctant, Heterosexual, MaleDom, Rough, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Cream Pie, Slow, Military,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - James is a US Soldier In Iraq. When he runs into a little trouble, he gets help from many in his chain of command. Little do they know, he has a secret.
Peter woke up to a loud pounding. He looked at the dark ceiling. It stared back at him, silent and unfeeling. He was freezing, but he had no clue why. Where in the world was he? This wasn't his comfy little house in Colorado. He rolled over and sat up on the edge of his bed. Jesus, why was it so cold? The pounding came again. He looked around his tiny room. The walls matched the ceiling. Darkness enveloped the room. He looked at his little, sad excuse for an alarm clock. It was only 1:05. What in the hell was going on? He turned his head to the door. There it was again.
"Get the fuck up! We just got hit! Time to move!"
The reality of where he was hit him. He was instantly awake. In a flash he was at the door. He opened the door and almost knocked over Staff Sergeant Williams. The only thing that kept him from tumbling over was the fact that he was a very well built man. From head to toe it seemed to Peter that he had too much muscle. His light caramel skin looked pale in the moonlight. He had a lot of stubble on his face, but that couldn't be helped. He had a shaving profile, after all. A lot of black men had them. It was something about their skin that formed shaving bumps quite easily. Before the Army, Peter had never even heard of shaving bumps, but as soon as he joined they were everywhere.
"We roll in ten minutes. Get your shit on and get your vehicle running." He turned and walked away as he finished the last sentence. The cold air bit at Peter's heels as he retreated into his room.
Now he remembered where he was. Peter was a Private First Class in the US Army. No, not Peter. PFC James Guillot was his name here. He was currently on his first tour in Iraq. He was assigned the Quick Reaction Force as a driver. The dark unfeeling walls were the metal walls of his CHU. He still wasn't sure what that stood for. In the Army, chances are if something has a ridiculous name, it's a verbal pronunciation of an abbreviation. Usually, you had to guess until someone said what it stood for out loud. He was pretty sure CHU stood for Combat Housing Unit. Then again, that would make too much sense.
He was dressed and in full gear within two minutes. He bolted out of his room to the Den across the street from the CHUs. About halfway, James was struck with a feeling like he was completely naked for everyone to see.
"I know this feeling," he said to himself. "MY WEAPON!" He had been in such a rush he had forgotten his weapon. A soldier's best friend is his rifle. In James' case, it was an M4 Carbine Assault Rifle. Small, lightweight, but if you aren't wearing it you'll know. A soldier is trained from the first second he gets his weapon until the day he leaves the Army that his weapon is his lifeline. James bolted back to his CHU before he was spotted in full battle rattle without a weapon. Surely, if he was caught, he would receive an Article 15. He would lose half his pay for two months. He didn't really need the money, but he second part of the punishment was 45 days of extra duty. His free time was his sanity. They would not take that from him.
James reached his room and fished for his key. It was then that his heart dropped into his stomach. He had forgotten his key, too. This was bad. James checked his window, checked his door again to make sure he had locked it. It was no use. He was fucked. He accepted defeat. There was only one thing to do. He walked to the Den where a very impatient SSG Williams awaited him.
"You're late Guillot. Get the vehicle started." He stared as James tried to speak. "Where the FUCK is your weapon private!?" James' voice finally started working, but very quietly.
"It's in my room sergeant. I locked my key and my weapon in my room." His voice was the only hint that he had any emotion at all. Looking upset or scared when you're about to get torn apart by an NCO was about as useful as washing your hands thoroughly before a bath.
"Get in the Den. Wait for me there. It'll be a while, so entertain yourself." SSG Williams sighed and looked at the one person James hated more than anyone.
"PFC Townsend, you're driving four! Hurry and get it started. We're keeping the whole FAB from leaving their rooms." Townsend stood up and just the sight of him pissed me off. He was taller than me and as he stood up in the gunner's hatch, he just looked even taller. This thought annoyed me for no apparent reason. He was a skinny black man of about 25 years. He was one of the few people with a goatee and sideburns. He said he was on a shaving profile, but that would eliminate all shaving and his little style was very obviously trimmed for looks. Actually, everything about him was for looks. Every ten minutes he'd pull out a brush from his calf pocket and brush his hair forward. The only thing was that he barely had any. It was extremely wavy and reminded me a bit of an oompa loompa's hairstyle. He was a pretty boy. The kind of man that was all looks and no performance.
The convoy rolled out and James was left to contemplate his current situation.
He waited for about an hour before he fell asleep. He woke up to SSG Williams kicking his foot. He shot to his feet and went to parade rest.
"Look, I know you've been stressed lately and you're tired. It's no surprise, really. You've been going non-stop without breaks or a decent meal for weeks. Your body's doing overtime and it can't be healthy for your brain either. I would have just sent you back to sleep if you hadn't left your key in your room. We all need a break from time to time. But now you're in a sticky situation. I'll take you to billeting to get another key, but it has to be later on. I know someone who comes on shift later that will help us out."
James stared on, completely speechless. He'd thought he was going to be destroyed. Or at the very least, he'd thought he would get an Article 15. He felt the last bit of anxiousness drain out of him. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that was still keeping him going.
"Guillot, are you okay? You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine sergeant. I just got a little dizzy. I didn't get to eat anything since before our patrol yesterday morning." As he finished speaking, everything got hazy. He heard someone talking, but he couldn't locate them or identify who it was. His field of vision seemed to get smaller and smaller until he had two little pinpoints of light. He crouched down and put his hand on the floor to steady himself. And then he was out.
James awoke on a soft bed with noises buzzing around in his head. The noises calmed down and he realized that they were just two people whispering. He smelled something familiar, comforting even. It smelled like Christmas at his mother's house. The scent of Apple Cinnamon filled the air and he inhaled deeply. He realized the whispering had stopped.
"James, could you open your eyes and sit up please?" That voice was a female's. It was beautiful. It was soft and calm with a high musical tone to it. James. It had been a while since anyone had called him that. It still took him a minute to respond to that first name. It's not what he had grown up being called. He was certain he'd imagined it. "James, could you open your eyes and sit up please?"
He slowly opened his eyes to find he was in a dimly lit room. It was warm and welcoming. This wasn't the TMC. He looked to his left and he felt like he'd been struck by lightning. Standing next to him was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Studying her, he realized she must be an islander. He wasn't quite sure where she was from, but definitely from the Pacific Islands. She looked to be around her mid twenties with a tanned look and almost a brownish-orange glow to her skin. Her eyes were what had gotten him, though. They were incredible. Those gorgeous eyes seemed to look straight into his soul. The deep brown seemed to to radiate a calming feeling throughout his entire body. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders like a gentle waterfall. He was enraptured by the soft grace she seemed to carry.
"James, I'm Sergeant Perez. I'm a medic and a friend of SSG Williams'. Apparently you passed out from a combination of stress, lack of sleep, and low blood sugar. You really should try to take it easy every once in a while. You'll end up dead if you don't."
"When you hit the floor, I brought you here," SSG Williams interjected. James hadn't even realized he was in the room. He was only just now coming back to his senses. "You're lucky she lives right across from the Den. You're going to rest here until my buddy gets on shift at Billeting. Then I'll give you a ride. Don't worry about work. I'll have Townsend fill in for you. Maybe if he wants to show you up so bad, he might actually do some work. You can consider this your hard-earned day off."
James blinked away the last bits of his sleep as the realization of what was happening finally hit him. He was going to spend the rest of the day not working, and alone with a female? Maybe with too much enthusiasm, he nodded in understanding. He didn't feel like talking. His mind was still trying to grasp what had happened. As SSG Williams walked out the door, James looked back at SGT Perez.
She smiled at him and said, "So would you like to sleep or maybe do something fun instead?"
Maybe his day wasn't going to be all that bad.