GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

base. He was a Brit, and the only other guy stationed at COIQ-UA-14 that I liked. He wasn’t a horny fuckhead like the rest of them. He didn’t chase pussy on all fours like some brainless mutt. He didn’t have to; pussy threw itself at him. The very moment he opened that British mouth of his, a pair of BC lips would be wrapped around his cock.
     
    Next to me was Private Hastings, and I could think of no one worse to be stuck beside. The horny piece of shit was always jerking off, and after two years stationed in the middle of nowhere, he’d stopped caring about decency. Most guys took their business to the bathroom.
     
    Not Hastings.
     
    Hastings just used his knees as tent poles to hold up his blanket and he’d go to town with his porn-ridden laptop on his chest. His bunk would glow a pale, disturbing light for three minutes before a handful of tissue paper was tossed aside on the ground, and everyone could finally go to sleep.
     
    That night, Hastings left his laptop out and open on his bed. Normally I would have closed the festering device, but that night I didn’t. On the screen was a familiar face—Miss April’s—and a headline that read:
     
    LEAKED! The 2016 Playboy Playmates!
     
    The girls on the page were familiar. I was surprised to see a total lack of nudity on the website. The website’s comment section was just as surprised. “What is this this shit? Came for tits. Was disappointed,” one user wrote. “Playboy stopped putting nudes in the magazine. Save your time and move on to Hustler,” another user replied. Upon second glance, I noticed a comment made by a user named HastingsLockedAndLoaded. “Great set. April’s going to win Playmate of the Year, no question. I’d love to cum on those tits.”
     
    I laughed. Scrawny Hastings didn’t have a chance with Miss April.
     
    Other comments agreed with Hastings. Everyone loved Miss April.
     
    In Ashley’s photos, she was wearing nothing but a fur shawl and black pantyhose. Every photo in her set came slightly closer to showing everything off than the one before it. In her final picture, her shawl was down at her feet, and only her golden, bling-covered forearm covered her nipples.
     
    But seeing her next to the other Playmates—there was no question about it—she was the finest one of the lot. Too fine to be here, in the middle of nowhere, on a barrel cleaning mission. Though, I still couldn’t put my finger on what made her seem so much better.
     
    One of the photos was a close-up of her face, cutting off just above her assumedly exposed nipples. That’s when I noticed what made her different than the other girls. Her eyes. They were deep, hypnotizing, complex things. They somehow managed to say, “Go fuck yourself. You’ll never have this,” “Well? What are you waiting for? Fuck me, I’m wet and horny,” and “I’d rather be anywhere else,” all in the same look.
     
    None of the other eleven Playmates could imitate that look. None of the other Playmates had that hypnotic power to them, that complexity.
     
    I reached down to my waist and unclipped my belt. I peered out the window, to make sure no one was coming, then I pulled my thick cock out. It was already half-stiff, just from staring into those eyes.
     
    The Iraqi desert is a big, empty, lonely place. And two years is a long time. But I didn’t want to be like them, I didn’t want to stoop down to their level, though it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes, when a half-decent-looking Desert Queen is staring you in the eyes with her bare legs spread wide and her pussy dripping wet, all you want to do is take that two years’ worth of sexual aggression out on that cunt.
     
    But that’s a temporary solution that leads down a dangerous road. There’s a reason they send a new batch of BCs every month, and there’s a reason some of them are never sent home. I’d much sooner be pinned down by two dozen angry Hajjis than two dozen bored Joes with two years’ worth of