Basic Training

Every task—big or small—fuels the company's survival, but Sergej Gulbicsov simmers with resentment over his lot: scrubbing and servicing the artillery. He ropes in his buddy for backup. George Vidanov, though, eyes a different prize—the thick, pulsing rod straining against Sergej's fatigues. They dive into their private drill, hands slick on shafts, mouths eager, until George bends Sergej over for a raw, pounding ride. Sweat slicks their skin; grunts echo like distant thunder. They finish strong, both erupting in hot, sticky bursts, grins splitting their faces amid the spent shells.