"Ya know, Doc, I'm not sure…"

That's when Doc found the top of my head – the one jutting out from my pelvis about 20 inches.

"Eeeyaaah, Doc, careful with those teeth, man!"

Between the sucking, slobbering noises, he managed to point out that "ith" very definitely "too bih" to go in his mouth. Which was fine. All that sucking and licking and even the teeth felt really damned good.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Doc, I don't think that's gonna work."

His pants were down around his ankles and he was trying to seat himself on my cockhead, a leaky, quivering, empurpled orb about the size of an Indian River grapefruit. I scooped him up in the palm of my tire-sized hand.

"I think you'd probably have more luck sitting on a fence post, Doc."

As usual, I was behind the times. Now he was standing on my cock with those nice black rubber-soled army shoes, attacking my left nipple.

Dayum.

That felt good.

Then he lost his footing – but not his bite. That felt even better! It wouldn't have occurred to me that I'd get an erotic charge from having a hundred and eighty pound man hanging – by his teeth – from my nipple, but, hey? I was learning all sorts of new stuff.

"I think, Doc, maybe you need to calm down a minute and let's talk about where this is going…"

He dove for my cock again, only this time I jerked when he swooshed and – WHAM! – knocked him right in the kisser. He crumpled like a rag doll, which, come to think of it, isn't really any great surprise, considering the size and shape and heaviness of the member that did the knocking. There are blunt instruments and then there are telephone poles and mine was a doing a fair imitation of the latter.

I put Doc back on the exam table and bent down to find a cold compress to put on his rapidly swelling blackened eye. He started moaning as the door to the office began to open…

"What the fuck is going on here?!!" Sarge bellowed.

I turned to face him, stark naked. His gaze was like a blast furnace, consuming me.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," I heard him mumble and then he was in my arms. A quick swipe of my right hand ripped the shirt from his big, hairy body and then I held him up to eye level, plunging my tongue into his hot, sexy mouth. Another swipe and his pants were gone and his big tool was slapping against my impregnable abs.

"Is this what you wanted, Sarge?" I growled at him. "Someone who could manhandle you? Someone who could make a man mountain like you look like a little girl?"

He moaned.

"Fuck yeah, private, oh, Jesus, fuck yeah…"

I sucked and licked every inch of him, lifting him and turning him and tossing him and holding him sideways and upside down. Sometimes he'd struggle and then – CLAMP – I'd exert the tiniest amount of pressure and he couldn't move. Sometimes he'd grab my wrist or my ankle or my cock and try, fucking TRY, to move it this way or that, but no fucking deal.

I fingered his hot manhole with my wrench-sized finger, then sucked his tonsils `til I thought they'd pop out. I held him, all 260 lbs. of him, one handed against the ceiling for five minutes while I sucked his massive he-man dick, then relented after he begged me to let him suck my insanely engorged fuckpole.

He did a better job of it than Doc did, somehow stretching his mouth (and apparently dislocating his jaw) enough to get a little bit of me in.

"I'm gonna sit on it," he muttered, his dark eyes crazed with lust, and he did. Somehow I knew it would work; a space opened where no space could be, tighter than tight but accommodating me, rearranging Sarge's insides so that when I started pounding I wasn't just pounding his prostate, I was pounding his diaphragm, slaving his breathing to my pumping, his sternum rising and falling with each thrust.

When I finally came he nearly flew off my dick. Sarge's eyes rolled back in his head and for a brief moment he seemed to have stopped breathing. Then the cum was rolling out his ass and down my barrel- sized quads and I held his head on the mountain range of my chest, his drool mixing with my sweat.

I didn't pass out so much as I blissed out, moving into some zone of intense erotic satisfaction, sublimely conscious of the feel of my body, his body, his body against mine, the mixing of his cum and my cum and our sweat, the taste and smell and the feel of all of it.

"Ahem."

I snapped back to reality. Sarge was still passed out, softly snoring on my chest. Doc, sporting one helluva shiner, standing over us, his nice Doc-dick looking ready to burst.

"Private, I think we need to wake Sarge up and do some talking, don't you?"

I grinned up at him. I stood up in one easy motion, lightly holding Sarge against my Herculean torso, as easily as if I'd been holding a newborn. Gently I laid him down on the examining table.

"Doc, I think the three of us have a lot to talk about but let's let him sleep a bit longer,"

I put my finger under Doc's chin and tilted his head so I could see the shiner in a better light.

"Damn, Doc, sorry about that, bud. That's gotta hurt."

He blushed, then stammered something about "his pride" being the only thing that got hurt.

"I'll do better next time," he said.

I grinned and squeezed his shoulder, then eased off when he winced.

"You did mighty fine, Doc. In fact…"

His good eye widened. •