The usual disclaimers apply. If you are under age or live somewhere with laws that prohibit you from reading material of an explicit sexual nature do not continue. The same goes for anyone who might be offended by descriptions of sex between two men. Please go.
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This is a revised version of a story that I wrote several years ago. I've wanted to go back and correct some (to me) glaring errors. After finishing Jury Duty and re-doing "Saturday Night Stakeout" and "John", I decided to go ahead with the renovation on the last of my first three stories.
As are most of my stories "The Armored Car Guard" is based, very loosely, on an actual event. It is for the most part, a work of fiction and should be considered as entertainment.
Constructive comments may be directed to MICHAELM6@attbi.com. Flames will be worked, unflatteringly, into the plot line of a story involving a donkey, a roving gang of castrato sheep herders and a sleazy little dive in a the bad part of town where people hang out when they have something to feel guilty about. Most will be ignored.
THE ARMORED CAR GUARD by MICHAEL MORAN
The week hadn't been one for the record books. Everything that could possibly go moderately wrong went horribly wrong. Even things that would ordinarily be nothing more than minor annoyances took on cosmic proportions as the week trudged on.
The high point came with the Wednesday mail. One of the new tellers had cashed five thousand dollars in stolen traveler's checks for a white male of about 23 using a passport issued to Lai Fong Wong (DOB 5 March, 1932). Suddenly that invitation to join a group of misguided friends on a year long nude roller skating trip across Central America looked pretty damned good.
I was in the middle of trying to find out what he could possibly have been thinking (the word "nothing" kept popping into my head) when I heard the familiar rumble of the armored truck pulling up to the front door. The semi remorseful teller was hidden behind a desk, far away from anyone seeking money, and handed a thousand real estate flyers, nine hundred mailing labels and a stern admonition that they all had to go out by the end of the day. I headed for the vault to receive the shipment with my double custody in tow, confident that they'd either forget something vital or drop a box of quarters on my foot.
As we waited outside the vault, behind the triple thick bullet RESISTANT (not bullet PROOF) glass, I noticed it wasn't the usual crew of elderly, perpetually winded guards with sweat stains on top of sweat stains and cholesterol IV drips. We watched with silent admiration as they poured out of the truck and secured the premises.
The biggest one crossed the lobby and planted himself between New Accounts, the street entrance and a sickly banana tree that more than once caught his eye (food?). The others glared threateningly as the truck was unloaded. By the time the dolly was fully weighted down and ready to roll, the testosterone level in the lobby was setting off the smoke alarms and growing hair on Mrs. Goldman's chest. I was impressed.
I don't remember exactly what my first thought was when, having turned away for a moment, I looked up and saw him standing outside the door. A likely guess would be something to the effect of "Holy shit!". Have I mentioned that my grasp of the language fails me in moments of extreme lust?
The man was a walking hard-on for anyone with more than just a passing interest in the male form. For someone with a strong interest in the male form in a UNIFORM, me for example, he was an on the ceiling, running down the walls cum shot on the hoof. Manuel, the sexy guard who picked up the morning work, had met his match.
His name tag read "J.BUSCH" and he stood a shade over six feet tall. His light brown hair was cut in a modified military style that complimented his strong Mid West farm boy features. The gray eyes were large and alert.
My eyes traveled up and down his lean, tightly muscled frame as we stared at each other through the barrier. The jumpsuit had just been reinvented. Unlike the other guys on the truck, he didn't just occupy it; he filled it out and made it home. I was about to fixate on the way the legs were tucked neatly into the tops of his shiny black boots when he nodded toward the locked door and waited patiently for me to push the "unlock" buzzer.
He smiled (knowingly?) and guided the dolly toward the inner room. Walking several paces behind, my eyes rested on the one of the most beautiful pair of buns I had ever seen: high, firm and perfectly proportioned to the rest of his body. I resisted the temptation to send my double custody partner packing, spinning off the combination and pulling the massive door closed behind us and got down to the mundane task of banking.
I watched enthralled as he loaded and unloaded the boxes and bags and wondered, briefly, if he hadn't bent over just a little too long. Yeah, right.
Thoughts of seeing that ass upturned and waiting were still banging around in my head when I realized he was addressing me. Past the lethal Smith and Wesson, I turned my attention to a point where I was looking (more or less) into his eyes.
"I want to sit on your dick," he announced brusquely.
I shook my head, not quite believing what I had just heard.
"Excuse me?"
"I said sign here please. That's fifty boxes and three bags."
"Oh yeah... Sorry."
Damn!
He nodded as he tucked the clip board under his bulging bicep, turned on his heel and walked out the door. The click of the outer door lock brought me, reluctantly, back to the real world. The testosterone level in the lobby dropped to acceptable E.P.A. levels and it was back to business as usual. There was still the matter of the Good Samaritan teller who now had another million or so to give away.
The weekend came at last. In keeping with my usual Friday night routine, I headed for The Spike to dump on my friend Russ. He had listened to enough bank horror stories to know when I needed a sympathetic ear.
I recounted every past mistake, corporate and otherwise, that had contributed to my hyperkinetic condition. He was about to hear the part about the generous teller when Rick the bartender tapped me on the shoulder.
"Sorry to interrupt, guys. I know you don't usually accept them, but that guy at the end insists on buying your next beer. Is it okay?"
"Tell the man I said thank you but..."
Rick stopped me.
"Trust me and ask no questions," he said firmly. "You don't want to turn this one down."
I placed my near empty bottle on the counter.
"Screw it. I guess once won't kill me."
I held up the bottle and thanked the entire South end of the bar, not really looking at anyone in particular. A couple of swallows later, Rick came back with a piece of paper, a pen and a bewildered expression.
"He wants you to sign for it."
"He what?"
"He wants you to sign here... please."
I turned around again and froze. Instead of a happy drunk blowing the last traces of his unemployment check, I was looking into the face of none other than "J.BUSCH". I smiled stupidly, nodded and turned to Russ who had already set his sights on a hot little Hispanic guy across the room.
"Holy sit! It's HIM!"
"Who's him? You know that guy over there? What's his name?"
"No, I mean the one at the end of the bar. It's the armored car guy."
"What armored car guy? You never told me about any armored car guy. When did you..."
The last half of my first beer was gone before he could finish the question. Right on cue, my hormones had kicked in. I was sporting a major hard-on that was going to make getting through the crowd a challenge.
I edged around a slender twink, resplendent in designer leather and lip-synching "Respect" and started for the far end of the room. Russ, I assumed, had locked the Latin Lad in his sights and was moving in for the kill. Ready, aim, fire.
He smiled as I approached and, unless my eyes deceived me, shifted on the stool to afford an unobstructed view of the large hole in the crotch of his Levis. Abstruse was obviously not in his off duty vocabulary.
"I was beginning to think I had read you the wrong way when I sent down that beer," he said as our eyes met.
I tried to NOT stare at the gaping tear in his pants. Even if I could, which I normally couldn't, I'd have made an exception for him. Of course he didn't have to know that.
"You thought I could be had for the price of a beer?"
"We wouldn't be having this conversation if I thought you could. I meant at the bank."
"That obvious, huh?"
"Not at all. I was... Oh never mind."
"You were...what?"
"Well, after seeing nothing but "bank types" waiting at the door all day, I was surprised when I saw you."
My ears were burning. I was turning red.
"Don't b-be fooled. I've g-got a whole drawer full of plastic pocket protectors at home," I stammered.
He glanced down at my hard-on, which showed no signs of backing off, and ran his finger up and down its length.
"I'm willing to bet you don't even own a pocket protector."
My brain seemed to have shut down as, once again, I was at a loss for words. Suddenly all I could think of was how much I wanted to see him naked.
In the remote chance that the two beers I'd just consumed in less than an hour had gone to my head and were clouding my judgement, it seemed like the ideal time to get a hold on myself: in the emblematic sense of course. I'd heard stories about guys who carried guns, and it was in my best interest to find out a little more about him before things went much farther.
To my relief, he didn't mind my asking a few questions and even had a few of his own. It turned out that he really disliked guns but in the light of a recent string of armored car holdups saw them as a life saving necessity. If the thought of it made my stomach flip, I had to admit the logic was sound.
Before long, I knew everything there was to know about his job, his likes and dislikes and who else shopped at the same market. He didn't mention Manuel.
It was eleven o'clock before he got around to putting his hand on my leg. I stared into his large gray eyes and prayed that he'd take it from there.
Vince, the bar owner, had a policy about extreme public displays and was keeping a close watch on the horny Friday night crowd. I moved my stool closer and slipped my finger into the opening between his legs. He was as hard as I'd been all evening. I smiled as I stood up and put my empty bottle on the counter.
Busch drained the last of his beer and put the bottle aside.
"You're going to make me work for this, aren't you?" he asked.
My reply sounded more frog like than I'd have liked.
"That depends on how you define work," I croaked. "So... (ribbit)... Interested... (ribbit)... in blowing this place?"
He adjusted himself and slid off the barstool.
"I'd rather blow you."
While walking to my truck, it occurred to that I still hadn't caught his name: at least I didn't think he had offered it. The music had been loud, but I'd always made a point of knowing who I was fucking. If this was destined to be a one-time encounter, at least it wouldn't be an anonymous one. I opened the passenger door and paused.
"Please don't think I'm an asshole for asking this, but did you tell me what the "J" stands for?"
"I don't... and I didn't. It's Jay."
I may have gone brain dead, but THAT much I could remember. All that remained was if he knew mine.
It was a five minute drive to his place. Jay lived in the upper half of a duplex on a narrow side street just south of the trendy part of Melrose: not the kind of area most people associate with presumed rednecks who carry guns. So much for stereotypes.
We ascended a long flight of stairs to a wide landing and a sparsely furnished living room.
"Sorry about the odor. I wasn't expecting company."
I realized to my dismay that I'd been searching the dimly lit room for racks of assault rifles and crates of grenades.
"Odor? What odor?"
Jay reached for the switch.
"The gun oil. I cleaned my weapon before I left tonight. It takes awhile for the smell to go away. If it bothers you..."
Relieved, and a little ashamed of my stupid assumptions, I guided his hand away from the wall and downward to my crotch.
"Don't worry about it. It kinda reminds me of the Hollywood High School ROTC Armory."
He looked at me questioningly and, grabbing my sweaty hand led me down a long hall toward the rear of the apartment. We came to a door and stopped. A room appeared as if by magic with the click of a switch.
"My friends call this the fish bowl."
"Damn!" I exclaimed as I stepped inside. "Words fail me."
The room was, roughly, 12 by 18 and sheathed, four walls and ceiling, with mirrors. It was awash in a soft blue light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
"It was like this when I moved in. Pretty cool, huh?"
I joined him at the foot of a massive sleigh bed. Cool? I was standing in the middle of a huge diamond with this hot fucker standing at my side hard and ready for action. Cool didn't begin to describe it: especially when his hands disappeared beneath my leather jacket. No. Cool was definitely an understatement.
"Yeah... It sure is."
I pulled him closer and ran my hands down his muscular back until they came to rest on his ass. My jacket hit the floor and I buried my face in the crook of his neck.
"By the way, my name is..."
"Your name is Michael," he whispered.
"Yeah... I know," I replied just before our lips met.
Jay stepped back out of reach as my hand ventured downward over his taut belly. My first thought was that I had just overstepped some unspoken commandment: kinda like "Thou shalt not tweak my tits" or some other bullshit. Seeing the look on my face, he grinned.
"Don't sweat it. There's something missing.
"Missing? How much more do you need?"
"Don't move. I'll be right back."
He walked out of the room leaving me alone with my four selves (five if you counted the ceiling). As one who's been known to partially rate a man by what he reads, I switched on the lamp and wandered over to the bookcase.
It was filled with an esoteric unusual collection that ranged from a compilation of porn star interviews done by my friend Dave Kinnick to the works of Isaac Singer. Scattered about were computer manuals, books on nineteenth century guns and biographies of obscure people whose stories would never see the light of a TV Movie of the Week. I picked out the Singer volume and began reading.
"Do you know Singer?" he asked eyeing the book as he stood watching me from the door.
"Not intimately, but I saw Yentyl."
Whether or not the book made it back into it's slot is unimportant. I was too absorbed in the sight of the man in the uniform walking across the room to even care. Jay was dressed exactly as he had been that first day at the bank. All that was missing was the mace, the gun (neither of which was a major loss) and the restrictive lead lined underwear.
"I remember you said something about being into uniforms."
To be honest I couldn't remember ever having said that. It could have been a lucky guess for all I knew or cared, but I wasted no time in letting him know how right he was. My hand shook a little as I grabbed him by his thick leather belt and pulled him closer.
As our tongues met, I began to very slowly unbutton his jumpsuit. I had every intention of making things last for as long as I could. Assuming my imagination didn't give out, he would still be begging for more at dawn's early light.
At 6'4", 190 pounds, I'm not a "small" man. I like the feel of a man in my arms. It doesn't matter how tall they are, as long as I'm holding something substantial. Jay fit that requirement and then some. God did he ever.
I rested the palms of my hands on his back for a second or two before allowing them to drift downward until they came to rest on his ass. His powerful, finely tuned muscles grew tense: like those of a tiger preparing to spring. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his crotch tightly against mine as I slid my middle finger through a hole in the seam.
"It's an old uniform," he growled.
The temperature in the room seemed to jump ten degrees as I dropped to one knee turned him around and got to work. I yanked the two halves apart, then sat back to admire his exposed ass. Strangely enough, there was still something wrong. Then it hit me.
"Lose the tee shirt," I commanded. "Get rid of it."
Jay's face remained impassive as he lowered the zipper of his jump suit, reducing the shirt to shreds while I watched with breathless anticipation.
It was only when the last piece had fallen to the floor, and every feature of his sharply defined chest was revealed, that I recovered my senses and got to my feet. I brushed the palm of my hand lightly over a hard, pierced nipple, then grasped the ring between my thumb and forefinger and pulled gently.
"You like that?"
Jay shuddered and nodded his head.
"Yes sir. I like it very much sir."
Okay. The "sir" part caught me by surprise, but I could go along with it if he was into that. Still holding on to the nipple ring, I reached inside and grasped the base of his thick cock with my free hand. His breathing became heavy: as if he was about to shoot his load.
I pulled my hand out.
"I don't want you to cum yet."
"No sir," Jay replied gasping. "Don't want to sir."
He dropped to his knees and freed my straining dick from its prison. He studied it for a moment and then looked up into my face. His eyes glittered like alpine lakes beneath a star filled night sky.
"Nice cock," he said running his finger along its side. "May I suck it, sir?"
In less time than it takes to work up a suitable response he had taken it into his mouth. All I could do was catch my breath and hold it until his nose was buried deep in my pubic hair. He gagged once and paused as if waiting for me to take the controls.
Lacing my fingers behind his head, we fell into a natural rhythm. Before long I was fucking his face like a madman while he received my thrusts with an eagerness that was inspiring.
Everywhere I looked I found another version of my cock sliding into his mouth. Every wall presented another image of Jay furiously beating off, his torn uniform flapping wildly in the still air.
"That's it. Swallow my big cock," I commanded.
I rotated my hips, forcing his nose even deeper into my crotch as I probed the warm confines of his mouth. He nodded eagerly, pausing briefly to catch his breath before getting back to work with renewed vigor.
My balls churned and drew up into their sacks. I'd lost all sense of anything existing beyond the head of my penis. It's an oversimplification to say that I'd become one big erection with just one thought in my wet, swollen head.
Rather than risk carrying the analogy to the next unsavory level, I'll just say that he sensed that I was getting close and pulled away. I stood over him, my dick, glistening with saliva, and rested it on his cheek as his hands moved up and down my legs.
"I want this thing inside me, sir."
"Not yet."
I helped him to his feet and pushed him against the wall. Then, dropping to my knees, I pulled the shaft into my mouth. With the sound of his moans ringing in my ears, I went to work like a man obsessed.
Everything I'd ever learned was coming into play. Things I remembered, from men with faces I could no longer visualize, came back in a rush as I worked his cock, and him, steadily toward the brink.
I loved sucking his dick. I loved the way he tasted: salty, like someone who'd just peeled off his jock strap after a long day on the playing field. I relished his smell, immersing myself in it as my tongue probed every hard inch of his cock and balls.
At one point I glanced upward, hoping for a glimpse of his handsome face contorted with pleasure. He'd be watching me, his face glistening with perspiration as his hands worked over his nipples: twisting and teasing them. Clearly, my technique of sucking harder at the head and gradually decreasing the suction as I moved along the shaft was turning him inside out.
"Your mouth feels so good. Jesus, you're killing me."
Lest my efforts became lethal, I got to my feet and he threw his muscular arms around my chest. My tongue slid down his throat as I wrapped my hand around both of our cocks and stroked them together.
"Now," I whispered. "I want your ass now."
"Yes sir," he responded eagerly.
Jay retrieved a half-empty bottle of lube and a rubber from under the bed and got back on his knees.
"It looks like you're prepared for anything."
Although there was nothing to read into it, my offhanded observation didn't go unnoticed.
"I'm not promiscuous. I jack off a lot," Jay replied.
He carefully removed the rubber from its foil package and placed it on his tongue. My dick slid into his mouth, only to emerge safely sheathed and ready for action. Jay grinned at my surprised expression, and wrapped his strong arms around my neck.
"Nice trick," I whispered.
"I've always wanted to do that on a real man. So far I've only been able to practice with a dildo."
The kiss was hard and passionate. The time was right. He turned and bent over the edge of the bed.
"Fuck me," he whispered huskily.
The sight of the perfect ass being offered to me was overwhelming. I dropped to my knees and buried my tongue deep in his hole. His whole body quivered as I licked and teased it.
"Oh God! Eat my hole, man!"
I slapped his left cheek as I moistened my finger and thrust it deep inside. Jay rocked back and forth, murmuring softly as I pushed in and out until his sphincter relaxed. It was then, as I withdrew my finger and positioned my dick at the opening, that my attention was drawn to a length of chain dangling from the ceiling a few feet away.
"Don't move. I just had a brilliant idea."
I abruptly turned and went in search of my jacket. I'm not sure how brilliant it was, but Jay appeared to be intrigued as I fumbled through the pockets. Neither of us spoke: even when I led him away from the bed, snapped the cuffs on his wrists and looped them over the hook at the end of the chain.
I stood back to admire the magnificent body, helpless and exposed, before me. It was one of those moments that I'd fantasized about: right down to the dripping, erection. Pulling aside the fabric of his uniform, I kicked his legs apart and thrust my straining cock deep inside with a single lunge.
"Oh fuck!" he cried out, straining at his bonds. "Shove that big dick up there. Ride that ass. Ride it hard!"
I grabbed the back of his belt and continued my attack using long jackhammer strokes that scarcely gave him time to breathe, much less acclimate himself. We were like a well oiled machine, pushing and pounding one part against another.
I thought of that first day and of how I'd chastised myself for daring to imagine him begging for my dick. How could I have given myself the luxury of imagining my hands roaming across his heaving chest and down his rippled abs?
When I couldn't penetrate any farther, I took a half step forward and forced my cock deeper by shear will power. Jay stopped thrashing and, with a deep sigh, went almost limp as it pushed steadily against his prostate.
"Oh God! Do it, daddy," he demanded forcefully, his hard-on bouncing like a fleshy divining rod. "Plow my hot butt hole!"
I picked up speed; relentlessly pounding his greasy, abused hole as the slap of sweat drenched flesh against flesh filled the room. He was getting close and gasping for air as his balls constricted in my hand.
"Cum for me," I whispered, twisting his right nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
I resumed stroking him in time to the plowing he was getting from the other side, and twisted his right nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
"Oh shit," he cried out. "I'm gonna blow my load right through the fucking wall!"
He arched his back and, with a howl, shot his wad across the room on to his reflection in the gleaming mirror. Wave after wave of cum splattered across the floor until I released his spent cock.
No longer able to hold back I pulled out, tore off the rubber and walked around to face him. Jay looked down and grinned as I shoved my greasy dick through the opening of his ravaged uniform and jacked myself off to a shuddering orgasm into his wet pubic hair.
A thick strand of cum ran slowly down the top of his still semi hard dick. I waited for it to reach the end and fall to the floor before tearing away the last of his uniform and releasing the cuffs. Jay staggered once and fell into my arms.
"Fuck, that was hot," he whispered as a shudder raced through his body.
I gently picked him up and carried him toward the bed, his head resting against my chest. He stretched out on the white sheets and waited patiently as I removed the rest of my clothes and climbed in next to him.
Later, as he lay next to me with his smooth ass pushed firmly against my crotch, I looked up at the ceiling at our reflection. Sometime within the last couple of hours, or however long we had been there, it had started to rain.
I pulled him closer and my cock sprang to life again as I kissed the back of his neck. Jay maneuvered it between his cheeks and tightened his grip on it.
"You're not going anywhere, bank man," he growled in a low, painfully sexy voice.
"I wasn't even considering it."
I was about to doze off in preparation for the next round, when I heard the faint sound of the front door opening. Jay yawned and stretched but was otherwise unconcerned.
"Oh, that's just my roommate."
"Hey, Jay! You home Buschman?"
There were footsteps coming down the hall.
"We're in here, Manuel."
"Manuel?" I queried.
"Yeah you know him. He does your morning pickup."
I dropped back on the pillow and smiled. An already memorable evening was about to become one for the record books.
30
MICHAELM6@attbi.com