Steam & Semen
If you’re going to raw-dog in a military shower, at least bring a helmet.
Ready to find out how a little late-night fun turned into a full-body emergency? Lather up, hold on tight, and prepare to slip into chaos.
I always knew joining the military would push me to my physical limits. I just didn’t think those limits would involve trying to stealth-fuck a corporal named Devin in the barracks communal shower while balancing on one foot like a slutty flamingo.
We’d been eye-fucking each other across the mess hall for weeks. Him with his buzzcut and biceps that looked like they’d been carved by horny Greek gods. Me with my thirst so loud it probably counted as a Geneva Convention violation. It all came to a head, pun very much intended, on a humid Thursday night, after too many squats and not enough shame.
It started innocently. A “you look sore” in the locker room. A “need a hand washing your back?” in the shower. Then, before I could say don’t get soap in my hole, I was pinned against the tile, legs akimbo, suds cascading down our naked bodies like a scene from G.I. Hoe.
It was, in a word, glorious. Hot water blasting. My spine doing things chiropractors would frown upon. Devin hitting angles that would make a yoga instructor weep. Every grunt echoed through the tiled chamber like a Gregorian chant of horniness. I was so close to nirvana I could practically taste the enlightenment dripping down my thigh.
And then. The noise.
Voices. Coming closer. Male. Loud. One of them laughing about “forgot my shampoo.” My whole body tensed, and not in the fun way. Devin’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he mouthed. We scrambled like two wet raccoons caught in a bin of lube.
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