Hi, I'm Jerry Baxter and I'm almost finished with my five-year service in the Air Force. I'm glad to be getting out because I want to start a new life. I've grown to hate the petty restrictions and lack of personal freedom of Service life and I've never really taken to being ordered around like someone's personal lackey. Even so, the Service has been good to me; I've acquired a good trade, which can be useful in civvy street; I've seen a good bit of this country and Europe as well as enjoying tours in Cyprus and East Africa. This final posting to Seacove has been a good one but, like all good things it is due to come to an end soon.
There were other attractions as well. I don't mind seeing all that naked male flesh in the showers – I just like being around naked men – but (and it is a BIG `but') showing affection to a buddy is something that is never, ever done in this man's Air Force! I am still ashamed to admit to my mates that I'm a virgin, never having had sex with either man or woman (apart from pulling my own plonker and taking a mouthful of some guy's wad from time to time, that is.) When I was asked to consider extending my service, I said "No way, Jose!" and they instantly began the process to transfer me since I had little time left to be of any good to them in a responsible position. To finish up my last six months or so at Seacove I have been re-assigned as a clerk in the Engineering Squadron office. It is a mindlessly boring, asinine job – just the kind of thing only a military mind could dream up.
Sited on the cliffs on the north coast, Seacove is still an operational ASR [air/sea rescue] unit. However, in the last few months rumours have persisted about the station's impending closure and the transfer of aircraft, men and equipment to a smaller station further up the coast. Seacove is in an isolated position, with nothing on offer but men, rocks and emptiness. Its only good quality is the spectacular view from the cliff tops along the rugged coastline but even that is spoilt by the profusion of CAUTION signs everywhere, warning the men that the cliff edges are very unstable. They have tried everything to alert the men to the dangers of straying too close to the cliff edge, but once a month some hard-head ends up getting pulled off the rocks below with a concussion. The CO doesn't mind, as an incident such as that gives his crews a chance for some unscheduled rescue and First Aid training. By the way, I've learnt that is the Air Force's idea of showing concern at someone's misfortune – treat it as a training exercise! Thankfully, there has never been a fatality since the base was taken over from the Fleet Air Arm in 1946.
It's a pleasant enough spot in summer but few men like doing nothing in their off-duty time but lie about sun bathing on hot rocks or swimming in cold seawater. Most of them are more interested in the girls who frequent the only small pub in the village and would much rather be fucking themselves silly with some floozy. The only snag is the village is an hour's bus ride away – and buses is rare animals in these yere parts, me dear! So, unless you have a buddy in the Motor Transport section who just happens to have a Jeep or Landrover in for maintenance... it's a long walk. Male frustration can run riot and many a night you lie in your bed in the barracks and listen to the stifled moans and groans as some horny airman pulls his meat until he dumps his load all over his sheets.
My assignment in the Engineering Squadron office is to assist Sergeant Marvin Shelton, nominally the Senior NCO in charge. I suppose I had better introduce the third member of our gay little band at this point – Flying Officer Lyndon Tucker. (Why is it that the more vicious bastard types of junior officer always have such poncey forenames? The open and honest ones only seem to have straightforward names like Pete, or Dave, or Joe, or John.)
It isn't a bad sort of place to work in, except we have to live there as well. We occupy a small cabin, which has three bunks, a shower and a toilet. There are three old wartime lockers provided in which we are expected to keep our uniforms up to parade standard. We also have a tiny kitchen, which boasts a small electric cooker and fridge. The minuscule cupboard in which we are supposed to store our non-perishable rations was old when Nelson was a schoolboy! This means we don't need to drive back to the main campsite for anything except supplies and that is only once a week, on Fridays. My main duties are to keep up to date and file the multitude of servicing reports and maintenance logs. I can usually pick up anything extra we need, such as a bottle of hooch, cigarettes or a packet of three for Tucker, from the NAAFI Shop when I drop off my reports to Station Headquarters.
The cabin had originally been put there by the Navy towards the end of the last War, for what arcane purpose has long since been forgotten. It is officially intended for use only when there is an extended period of night flying (training again) or a week long exercise with the Yanks and/or NATO involving round the clock servicing of aircraft (and occasionally the men flying them, but that's another story!) It's so handy that Shelton, Tucker and me use it all the time.
We have ample free time. Our working hours are officially from eight in the morning to six in the evening, unless there's a panic on because some fat head pilot can't find his way home. However, the grease monkeys who work on the machines have to be bussed over to the maintenance sheds and hangars each morning from the main camp area. That means we only have to be on duty from nine to five. One of us is expected to be around to answer the phone or the radio link to air traffic – yes, you've guessed it, I'm invariably the muggins who falls for that one! But that is enough of my moaning, it really is a plum job I've landed, compared with some of the shitty chores most `short-timers' end up with.
I learnt very quickly that Sergeant Shelton is a caring man – he cares very much indeed for his well-being and personal comforts. He is also a career man who has been admonished more than once for hitting the bottle too often and too hard. He gets away with the next best thing to murder because, in fairness, he has been a first-class engineer and has saved the Ministry of Defence tens of thousands by detecting possible problems before they happen, thus preventing serious damage to machines or costing irreplaceable lives. The Services know how to look after their own!
About a week after I arrived I was summoned to Flying Officer Tucker's official office up at Station HQ. It was suggested' by him that my main responsibility at Seacove during my remaining time in the Service, was to keep his' sergeant off the drink and out of trouble. He went on to say I had been volunteered for this duty by the Chaplain at my previous station because of my `high moral character'! Moi? High moral character? I don't think so, mate! Maybe giving the Chaplain a blow job in his office one quiet Saturday afternoon had something to do with it.
Giving me a stern look, Shitarse – oops, sorry Sir – Flying Officer Tucker said that if anything caused an upset with the sergeant, I was in deep cacky. Shelton is due to retire in a couple of years and Tucker wanted to look after a good man and it was up to me to keep his nose out of the dunghill while I was assigned to him, to let nothing prevent him from getting his honourable discharge and a fat pension. Joe Myston, an airframe fitter I'm matey with (no, not that. Joe is as straight as the proverbial and is rumoured to have almost single handedly repopulated the village!) told me that Shelton's problem is that he's having a rough time with his wife, who is suing him for divorce. The bush telegraph has it that she found her husband with his dick up an airman's arse, fucking him silly. He just cannot cope with his personal problems and has consequently developed a serious drinking problem.
When I got back to the Squadron Office after receiving the lecture about my responsibilities and doing some admin at Station HQ, I sensed something was very wrong. It was a Friday and we were supposed to be closed over that particular weekend. Rushing in to our quarters I was disgusted to see Sergeant Shelton sprawled on his bunk stewed to the gills. Tucker was also there but he was not in much better condition.
"I wanna fuck, a good, hard long fuck!" Shelton was raving and Tucker was simply egging him on.
It was plainly obvious to me that Shelton wanted to get his rocks off and as I blundered into the cabin he looked up at me, pointed a finger at me and shouted, "No fuckin' whore for me tonight. I want boy's arse and yours'll fill the bill nicely." As he leered at me, I knew I could be in deep, deep shit. I was not about to let him or any other bloke fuck me.
I turned to run but Tucker grabbed my arm and forced me over to the third bunk, which was the one I normally occupied. I hadn't had much time that morning to make it up so it was in a bit of a mess. In a single swift movement, Tucker ripped open my fatigues from collarbone to crotch and there I was exposed, my semi-erect cock and balls hanging out for all to see. Shelton lurched to his feet, grabbed at the shoulders of my fatigues and pulled them back and down, thereby locking my upper arms so that I could not move them. He struck my chest with the flat of his hand, knocking me down on to the bunk. He bent down, roughly grasped the legs of the fatigues and pulled them off over my booted feet. The only things I was left wearing were my boots and socks. (Tip: never wear heavy-duty military fatigues with underpants unless you are doing a severe penance for some misdemeanour. Keep the crotch area as loose and airy as possible; too tight and the effects are horrendous and not to be contemplated.)
Meanwhile, Tucker had come round to the other side of the bunk and was standing behind me. He had deliberately positioned himself out of my line of sight – I couldn't even see him in the wall mounted mirror I used for shaving. He leant over me and took hold of my legs, pull them back over my head. This had the effect of spreading my buttocks wide, exposing my arsehole. I was soon to learn that our beloved sergeant liked having his chicken plucked ready for gutting and stuffing. He was standing by the small kitchen area. He heard Tucker cursing me and grabbed a handful of butter from the dish on the table. He headed over to me and stood facing me. He grinned lasciviously, his tongue running over his lower lip in an obscene way. He shoved the butter up my arse to lubricate it. Slowly he dropped his uniform trousers and underpants. His enormous blood engorged cock throbbed and jerked wildly. His purple-red cockhead was shiny, the cockslit leaking a clear fluid, which oozed out and fell in long, sticky ropes on to the mattress between my legs still clamped in Tucker's grasp. Shelton inched forward unhurriedly, positioning his rampant tool and lining it up with my defenceless hole. With a sudden forward lunge, he was up my arse. Screaming with pain, torqueing and twisting on that fucking bunk, trying in vain to get away, I begged him to stop.
"Fucking Jesus, Sarge, don't! I've never been screwed before! I can't take it! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!" I roared in agony as he plunged ever deeper into me.
"I do believe, Marvin," came Tucker's grating voice, "this one could be a virgin."
"Let me at `im, Sir! Let me fuck that virgin arsehole!" The prospect of shafting a tight virginal hole was clearly exciting them both.
Hot, drooling and slobbering, Sergeant Marvin Shelton rammed his cock in and out of my ravaged rectum, fucking me in earnest. Pushing, twisting, he screwed me royally until he could hold it in no longer and let loose his load. I prayed that would be the end of my torture, but that prayer fell on deaf ears. My crying and struggling only refuelled his excitement to yet higher levels. Far from his dick deflating once his ejaculation was finished, it seemed to grow even harder and thicker inside me. Shelton simply continued to rape me again – twice. Finally, his lust sated, he withdrew his dripping cock from my raw and aching backside. He stepped smartly around behind me, grabbed hold of my ankles and yelled at Tucker to get his fuck now, as he'd loosened me up "good and proper!"
Tucker's cock was quite as large and thick as Shelton's but he was gentler in his initial approach to his victim. He opened my sticky arse with a couple of fingers, stretching me out as if I were a street whore. I felt no pain at first – in fact, his friendly persuasion seemed to calm the inferno raging inside my rear end. Instead of brutally ramming his member up me like Shelton had done, Tucker eased himself in, a few inches at a time, pausing to allow my sore, tender body to accept him. Foolishly, I let my guard down a fraction, finding myself beginning to enjoy the sensation of a man's sexual organ at work inside me.
Once he had entered me, Tucker began to work up a lazy, slow fuck rhythm. Gradually, he quickened his pace until he was banging me like a rutting stag. Further excited by my cries of pain and shame, by my sweat lathered body writhing and squirming beneath him, his steel hard ramrod ripping into me, he came off many times. When he finally withdrew he was close to exhaustion; he let my legs fall on to the mattress and left me there crying like an hysterical female. My arse was bleeding and leaking thick cum. I felt as if I had been ripped apart. They had both raped me, destroying in the process whatever was left of my career in the Air Force and reduced me to the status of whore. Staggering naked over to their bunks, Tucker and Shelton were both sound asleep in minutes.
I lay flat on my back on the stained mattress, my brain fuzzy with horror at what had befallen me. What could I do to save myself? My arse hurt like blazes and left a trail of bright red blood spots mingled with the remains of their semen whenever I moved, trying to ease the burning pain. I knew I could not report to the Medical Officer without being subjected to an examination, which would only result in my having to admit to having been fucked by another male. It would not do any good to cry "Rape!" as it would simply be denied. No one was going to believe I'd been shafted by two married men, one of whom was an officer.
Finally, around midnight, cold and shivering, shaking with the effects of delayed shock, I fell into a heavy, unrefreshing sleep. Imagine my terror when, a couple of hours later, I woke and found Shelton and Tucker sitting up on their bunks, naked, wide awake, cocks hard and aroused once more.
"Hey, fuck boy, over here!" Shelton ordered. Slowly, reluctantly, I slid off my bed and limped slowly towards him. "C'mon, slow coach, speed it up a bit. Bend over and grab your ankles, show me that lovely tight pink little rosebud of yours."
Inwardly quaking as if I were made of blancmange, I protested. "I'm not queer, Sarge. You can't make me do this!"
Tucker now spoke up. "Alright, corporal, you've made your little protest. You wanna know something? We really don't give a monkey's fuck what you think. We wanna get our rocks off and you're gonna be our service boy from now on. You will service us whenever we feel horny. After all that you put out for us earlier on, you can service us or else we will be filing charges with the police that you're queer and tried to put the make on us."
Shelton grinned and said, "You can kiss your honourable discharge good-bye right now, slob." I stood silently in front of my tormentors. There was nothing I could say. Patting his bunk, Shelton said, as if he was talking to a small nervous child, "C'mon, son, come and give me some of your comforting, come and take care of me." I still could not move. "COME `ERE AND SUCK ME OFF!" he roared. I was finished. I had suddenly found myself being promoted to the unenviable position of being my sergeant's resident cocksucker. What the hell could I do?
I walked slowly towards him as he lay on his bunk with his legs spread-eagled, his massive erection pointing to the ceiling and visibly pulsating with anticipatory lust.
"C'mon, fucker," he snarled, "kneel down between my legs and get busy on my boner. The fuck thing's aching for a good blowjob."
Tucker meanwhile had been standing by watching and fondling his cock with one hand and stroking his balls with the other. I knelt between the sergeant's legs and bent forwards, the action raising my arse in the air. I forced myself to put my mouth over his cock but I could not bring myself to swallow it. Crack! I jerked as Shelton gave my exposed arse a hard smack with his hand.
"What the fuck do you think you're playing at, turd? That's not the way to suck a man's cock!"
He grabbed my head and pulled it savagely down, until I started to choke. He forced my head up and down his heavy, thick shaft and continued doing this until he finally pushed me down to his hairy balls. I lay there with his cock buried deep in my throat. I could feel it expanding as he unloaded his cum in hot, salty volleys. I felt an almost overwhelming need to vomit but Tucker held me down until I had swallowed everything that Shelton shot into my mouth. I was only released by them when I'd swallowed everything that had been pumped down my throat.
"Now you're on the way to becoming a cocksucker," Shelton said, grinning like some kind of lewd gargoyle. He let me up and I moved hesitantly towards the door to leave when Tucker called out that I was only half done. I was going nowhere until I had serviced him. Resigned to the inevitable, I walked over to him and stood there at his mercy.
I was surprised at how much easier it was to suck cock the second time around. I learnt to let them push their cocks deeper and deeper until finally their balls struck against my chin, until finally their respective balls tightened and unloaded their burden of cum deep into my gullet.
Over the last few months leading up to my discharge, I have found myself lusting continually after their bodies. At night, I walk over to their bunks and ask if they require me to service them. All they have to do is give me a certain look and I'm on my knees, ready to venerate those two big cocks. I have grown very adept at giving them major blowjobs and have developed a technique for swallowing them both at the same time. I also let them try out new fuck positions and teach me to do new things to their bodies. I am always an eager student these days.