I Picked Up a Military Dog in the Middle of Nowhere - C2

Chapter Two: Who Exactly Is He?

Early the next morning, still feeling desperate, I sent a simple message: “Morning.”
Unread, no reply.
Sigh, did I mess this up?
Honestly, I could understand. Hookups in the military definitely require official leave or time off. Someone like me, who just happened to show up at their doorstep, would scare anyone.
The address, the unit, everything exposed — that’s terrifying for a gay person in the army.
People’s hearts are unknowable. Who knows if the person you meet is a pervert? Will they report you? Will they cause trouble? Could they start out nice but turn into a relentless lunatic, even threatening you with scandal?
The risks are just too high.
Filled with disappointment, I spent the morning leading people at work. That company commander, like a beast, fully armed and burdened, took his men out for a ten-kilometer run.
When they returned, the soldiers looked like they’d been pulled out of water. The commander wasn’t happy, cursing and criticizing: “What the hell are those guys at the back doing? Didn’t they eat breakfast? Slacking off? Not giving their all in training? If I catch this again, I swear I’ll make you run more! Dismissed!”
The moment he said “dismissed,” several sat down on the spot, while others tossed their backpacks aside, peeled off their soaked jackets and shirts, revealing their strong muscles as they cooled off.
I peeked from the side, feeling thrilled, but then a chill ran down my spine.
That commander was walking toward me!
Steel helmet, bullet belt, backpack, gun — carrying everything he could — only his face was visible, hard and unyielding as he stared at me: “You… are you the platoon leader’s?”
“Yes.” Though annoyed, I straightened up and dropped my casual attitude.
“Your group’s place is a mess, full of trash, people even peeing around?” He pointed at the grass where we pitched our tents. “And playing music at night? What time is it? Tell your people.”
His face was full of displeasure, thick brows furrowed. He loosened the helmet strap; sweat immediately dripped down his chin.
Like I said before, I can’t help but get distracted by handsome men. Though this guy annoyed me, seeing him like this, fully geared up and drenched in sweat, I nearly got hard. I could only nod stiffly.
He took off his helmet — a short buzz cut, wet — and carried it as he walked away.
I looked at his hair and swallowed hard — not because I liked the smell of sweat, but because the wet look made it seem like someone had just peed on him.
I rubbed my chin. Damn it, dealing with so many dogs in play, every time I see a man, I start imagining him on his knees acting all slutty. This habit had to stop.
It was messing with my work.
I found the instructor. He was furious, cursing the commander for being a pain and their own guys for being clueless. The instructor knew how to handle things, so he went to talk to the commander again.
Most commanders and instructors in companies have delicate relationships, no matter how harmonious they seem. Our instructor was experienced and mild-tempered; the commander was young, hot-headed, and fiery. The instructor played the good cop and took the blame for the commander’s sternness.
Sure enough, the commander got riled up and shouted at everyone. The past few days’ work schedule had been upside down, everyone exhausted and slouching, no one in shape. The commander was mad and forced them to run five kilometers.
The instructor saw the trouble and quickly stepped in to smooth things over.
The commander was from the Army Academy and had a tough style. Seeing us soldiers who were neither real soldiers nor real workers annoyed him — he always wanted to get tough with us.
But once we were out here, we did the hardest work and finished the tasks first. If they messed with us now and someone got hurt because of a slip, it would be a big deal.
The instructor cursed a little but also softened his tone, calming things down. In the end, he asked me to supervise and watch who peed on the lawn.
Seriously, who even does that? I was speechless.
After that, I gritted my teeth and was sent by the instructor to talk to the commander.
When I arrived, the commander wasn’t in his office but at their dormitory’s small gym, doing chest fly exercises. Bare-chested, his muscular body calm and breathing deep, each arm movement made his pecs bulge. Sweat trickled down his chest and abs, gleaming under the light.
Surprisingly, his skin was quite fair, only his arms and neck tanned. Not milky white, but definitely fair. Damn, this was a pale white guy covered in muscle — tough on the outside, soft on the inside.
He probably got too hyped working out — his nipples were large and hard, a mature fruit-like red, quite eye-catching.
He didn’t seem aware a gay guy was greedily licking him with his eyes. He kept working out naturally, totally unguarded.
“Commander.” I smiled and greeted him, but he kept exercising, silent. I didn’t want to wait like a servant, so I spoke beside him: “Our instructor already scolded them. I’ll supervise and make sure hygiene gets better.”
He finished the exercise, stood up, grabbed a green towel to wipe his face, and gave me a once-over: “Is your company’s instructor the boss?”
I was confused.
“Commander, the instructor,” he corrected coldly.
Damn, was he lecturing me on etiquette? I was pissed inside but smiled: “Oh, yes, yes.”
“You guys don’t train much, huh? You all look kinda fat.” He said this wiping sweat.
Was that a jab? I only had a bit of a belly — the rest of me was solid! But looking at our senior squad leaders and then theirs, looking at our commander and then him — no contest.
Our Army Academy commander had been here three years but probably didn’t realize he was corroded. Compared to this guy, he was crushed in every way.
Including looks.
“Yeah, we don’t train much,” I took the chance to openly admire his body.
Honestly, I’m not really into that bulky, muscular type — feels too heavy. I prefer athletic, lean, and toned physiques.
But this guy was even taller than me — I’m 183 cm, and he must be close to 190!
With that height and that body, he didn’t look bulky but like a true muscle beast, a living weapon.
No wonder his squad leaders feared him — with that height and muscle, no one in his company would dare challenge him. Definitely no squad leader would pick fights with the commander.
He put down the towel, sat back down, and resumed his workout.
Chest fly to send me off? Okay, he said nothing; I said nothing and left.
Who doesn’t have a bit of temper?
At noon, I opened the Blue app without much hope and, surprise, saw that familiar “Mm.”
Looking at the time, half an hour ago.
I thought for a moment and decided to give him some space.
Five minutes later, I replied: “When was the last time you played?”
He was even better at ignoring, replying only ten minutes later: “Almost two years.”
Damn, two years! Such a great body, such a big cock, such a masculine muscle dog, and two years with no play — that’s heartbreaking.
Well, this was all in my head. I knew his physique must be good, even the worst in this place would be better than the best in our company, and his cock was definitely big. As for how manly he was — judging by his few words, he must be quite arrogant.
Me: “Don’t you want to be played with?”
He: “So-so.”
“So-so” meaning he actually wants it but is picky and only flirts when he sees something good.
I suddenly felt this might be hopeless.
I’m an honest guy, to be real, my conditions are a bit… not quite worthy of such an elite military dog.
Just a little short after spreading thumb and index finger apart.
So I sent him a few carefully selected photos of my previous play — flash photos.
Foot licking, watersports, oral, riding, collar and leash play.
Me: “These are things I’ve done before.”
He: “Oh.”
My heart sank — that cold “oh” was clearly disinterest.
I still wasn’t ready to give up, so I asked: “Wanna try?”
He read it, no reply.
I didn’t even have the mood to curse, disappointed, I took a nap.
When I woke, he replied: “No thanks.”
Hey, don’t underestimate that refusal — the hesitant tone meant there was a chance.
I immediately fired off messages like a machine gun: “Are you worried about safety?”
Me: “We know each other’s units now, we both understand the rules, no one will harm the other.”
Me: “You don’t need to be scared. If anyone should be scared, it’s me. Your company looks strong; I couldn’t beat you even if I tried. If you don’t want to play, just slap me and I probably wouldn’t survive.”
Me: “How about we meet once? You see how it feels; if you don’t like it, no worries — just consider it a friendship.”
After sending, I felt a little too eager, not very S-like.
I thought, damn, S-types aren’t so pushy, M-types don’t get so horny.
He didn’t reply all afternoon, which made me feel worse — this was probably hopeless.
But at night, he replied: “Where to meet?”
This was almost the longest sentence he’d sent me.
Though I said I wasn’t hopeful, inside I’d already planned: “There’s a pavilion behind your company. Let’s meet there at nine.”
This red brick compound was surrounded by trees, with a large lawn inside, and a small pavilion built in the northeast corner.
He: “Mm.”
Was that a yes? I was thrilled, finally about to uncover this military dog’s true identity.

I chose nine o’clock because from seven to seven-thirty, they watch TV; at eight-thirty, roll call happens; at nine, they can wash up and have free time — a convenient moment.
Anxious and restless, I finally waited until nine and went to the pavilion.
Honestly, I hadn’t been this excited and nervous to meet a dog slave for a long time. After playing with so many average dogs, nothing really interested me anymore. These days, dogs were picky, playing only a couple of ways, not even the ones I liked — so boring.
But this one, just being a military dog, was enough to fire me up.
I sat there, damn, so many mosquitoes.
I looked at the Blue app. The distance wasn’t reliable anymore — too close. I stared anxiously, looking around. This place was deep in the wilderness, pitch black at night. I couldn’t tell if anyone was coming.
Time passed; it was already past nine.
No one showed up.
I opened Blue.
Me: “Are you here?”
Me: “Are you still coming?”
Me: “Are you there?”
That desperate look was like a scorned woman. Sending so many messages, I knew I’d lost my S-status and dignity. My chances with him were even lower.
I waited until nine-thirty, saw my messages read but no reply, and finally accepted I’d been stood up.
Damn!

Footnotes:

1. “Blue app” (小蓝) — This refers to a popular Chinese gay dating app known for discreet and coded communication.

2. “0” and “1” — In Chinese gay slang, “0” means the receptive partner (bottom), and “1” means the insertive partner (top) in sexual roles.

3. “M” and “S” — These are shorthand for masochist (M) and sadist (S) in BDSM contexts, indicating sexual preferences.

4. Military terms:
   • “连长” (Company Commander) — The officer in charge of a company-sized unit in the army.

   • “指导员” (Instructor) — A political or training instructor overseeing discipline and morale.

   • “排长” (Platoon Leader) — Officer leading a platoon, subordinate to company commander.

5. “Flash photo” (闪照) — A feature on dating apps where a photo is temporarily visible for a few seconds to protect privacy.

6. “Collar and leash play” — BDSM practice symbolizing submission, often associated with “dog play.”