05.30 hours. J4193187 Corporal Elldon Rimmer reporting for duty, Sir! I have been up for an hour and have shaved, showered, dressed and am now enjoying a wake-up mug of 'herbal' tea. I will soon have to get those lazy tykes next door out of their wanking pits and get 'em fizzin'. My first morning at my latest Air Force base means that those sleeping innocent babes in the barrack room next to my bunk will not know me. By 06.00 hours they will, believe me!
On promotion to the substantive rank of corporal I have been posted to an operational squadron as Disciplinary NCO and I arrived yesterday. Station Warrant Officer Walter Samson, the most senior NCO on the staff, is three ranks above me. He gave me his introductory chat and then escorted me to the squadron's barrack block I was to be in charge of. My principal responsibility will be to work in the Squadron HQ, I have a subsidiary duty which is to make sure the 40 airmen living in the barrack room keep it, their kit and themselves clean and tidy. No dust bunnies beneath their beds, no stained underpants or gym kit on display, foreskins and arseholes to be kept clean enough to be sucked and eaten out by me at any time. My job is to inspect everything!
Over a cup of tea in an unoccupied office on the edge of the airfield, Warrant Officer Samson confided to me that this particular barracks, known as Harrier Block, has given the Squadron Commander nightmares. More seriously, it has acquired bad odour with the Commanding Officer (CO) because of the parlous state it has fallen into through lack of discipline. This is where I come in. Samson and the Station Adjutant (the CO's aide-de-camp in all but name) had discussed the problem before I arrived and reasoned that the new junior NCO might well have some fresh ideas and methods to bring about badly needed changes to Harrier Block. I had recently completed a course in discipline for newly promoted NCOs under the tender mercies of the Air Force Police at their HQ. Another factor had also entered their calculations: I am an unknown element to the men who will be under my care and who I will be responsible for. "Don't worry, Sir," I reassured Samson, "I have picked up a number of techniques for dealing with types like them. Not all, though, are what you might call 'orthodox'." I had paused but he said nothing.
If he had been able to read my mind at that point, WO Samson would probably have gone ape-shit. I had a mental picture from the course I had been on (it is in my mind even as I write). A naked, beefy arsed, rugby playing Air Force policeman had beeen lashed face down to a wooden bench, his taut muscular buttocks glowing like red hot coals where he had been soundly thrashed with a thick leather belt wielded by the Instructor. It was all part of a demonstration of certain 'unauthorised' methods of correction, most of them dating back to Naval practices on board warships in the 18th Century. However, provided no tell-tale cuts or bruises are evident, nothing is ever said or done. After all, 'Corporal Punishment' has been serving the armed forces of many nations for two or three hundred years and is not about to receive his discharge papers just yet. Anyway, back to what I was saying. That corporal had volunteered to play the role of the 'offender': the Air Force police sergeant demonstrating the technique had really laid into him. He was fiendishly efficient, causing the volunteer excruciating pain, but leaving no visible marks. Even as I think about it, my cock is doing its best to point towards the stars! Yes, WO Samson, I learnt my lessons well and have acquired one or two unorthodox methods all right!
Interview over, I dumped my bags and bedding in my bunk in the barrack block and quietly set about having a good look round. All the airmen were out on duty so I could pry and ferret without fear of interruption. What I found disgusted me: if these men, none of whom was over 28, could live like this, what sort of homes did they come from? I could see some interesting days and weeks ahead: I was determined that Harrier Block was not going to be bottom of the league again - not whilst I was in charge. There would not be many nights spent drinking beer in the Airmen's Club (known as the NAAFI) or chasing the few WRAF girls on the base for this lot, I mused. At least, not for some time to come. During my quiet look round, I also discovered that the other wing of Harrier Block was seemingly unoccupied. From the look of the place, no one had been in there for some time. Dust coated every possible surface; the toilets were stained and smelt foul; the baths and shower stalls had not seen Ajax since the Trojan War! To my satisfaction I discovered that the key to my bunk worked the lock of the other NCO's bunk. That discovery could be very useful, I thought, as a little plan was beginning to hatch in my mind. I also discovered the power to that wing had been turned off somewhere. That could also be a bonus and I could always make it my business to discover where the master switch was.
Reconnaissance over I made up my bed and stashed my gear away. I quietly left the barracks and went over to the Junior NCO's Club, where I stayed out of the way until an hour before Lights Out. Whilst there, I made it a point to introduce myself to some of the other corporals and, by the simple expedient of buying a few rounds, keeping my mouth shut and my ears open, learnt quite a bit about the major personalities and life on the base. I casually mentioned to a few of them that I was to be in charge of Harrier Block.
"Christ, mate!" said one old hand, "you get that lot under yer boot sharpish or they'll 'ave yer balls off and put 'em on toast fer breakfast!"
"That block is poison," another cheery soul chimed in, "many a good bloke 'as gorn dahn the river 'cos of that shower!" There were many other such words of encouragement. I said to myself, "You bet I'm gonna get on top of 'em, but maybe not in the way you lot think. At least, the more attractive ones, that is."
As the hands of the big electric clock on the wall behind the bar crept towards 21.30 hours, I made my excuses that having travelled some distance to get there I was feeling a tad tired and slipped away. It needed another half-hour to go before Lights Out and I could be reasonably certain the men would be far too busy to notice me slipping into my bunk. I'd learnt, incidentally, that the NCO's bunk I was now occupying had been empty for some time prior to my arrival, so my presence would be all the more unexpected - and unpleasant for some! I did not put the main light on as I did not want any latecomers straying along the corridor to take a piss and notice a light on in the room, thereby giving the game away. I had with me a large Air Force issue police flashlight, the beam of which I could adjust down to a narrow, pencil slim arrow of light. Undressing, I took loving care of my best friend, stroking and gently caressing him until he was half-awake. I heard faint noises from the barrack room as its inhabitants made ready for sleep. Two late arrivals came along the corridor and as they passed my bunk I heard one of them say, "'ere, Mike, you 'eard anyfink 'baht a new corp comin' 'ere?"
"Nah, mate," came the sleepy reply, "there 'ave bin no signs of anyone comin' 'ere. Even if 'e did, we'd show 'im, eh?"
"Too fuckin' right, mate. Don't want no fuckin' two-striper fuckin' messin' abaht wiv us!"
Their voices faded as they went into the barrack room. So, there had been rumours, had there? From the sound of things they had had their own way far too long. As I mused about the situation, working out a little surprise or three for the morning, the Tannoy high up on the wall in the corridor had crackled into life: "Lights Out! Lights Out!"
I did not get into bed straight away but lit a cigarette and sat in the armchair which I had repositioned close to the sash window. I raised the lower frame and the gentle night breeze had a soothing effect on my mind. I sat smoking and pondered the situation I had walked into. First off, I would have to get tough with some of these guys: hard but fair, as the Instructor on the course said. Fuck that namby-pamby rubbish, with me it will be all hard. I would quickly spot the likely lads, those who needed a good thrashing or buggering to sort them out. There were usually two or three who were all too ready and eager to spread their arse cheeks. They figured that if they let me bugger them, they could get on my good side. I would eagerly take all they offered but they would soon learn I did not have a 'good' side, only a mean one. A big, burly Air Force sergeant had buggered my 'good' side out of me less than two months ago!
Nevertheless, after an untroubled refreshing sleep here I am the following morning. I rouse myself from my review of yesterday's events and look at the small travelling clock on my bedside locker. It shows three minutes to six. The 'herbs' in my tea are working the oracle, as usual: I am horny, hot - and mean. Standing in front of the full length mirror fitted to the inside of my bunk door, my reflection gazes back at me as I check my appearance thoroughly. Hair cropped and carefully brushed; closely shaven; moustache neatly trimmed; shirt crisp and clean; tie straight, the knot the regulation size; uniform jacket pressed, the corporal's chevrons on the sleeves gleamingly clean; brass buttons shining; cap badge equally as bright; trousers with knife edge creases; parade boots so highly polished they could have been used as shaving mirrors. I have even polished the metal studs on the heels and soles! "Mmmm! You look good enough to shag, feller me lad!" It is time to go. I square my shoulders, pick up a short piece of four-by-two I had found the previous afternoon and step out into the corridor, closing the door of my bunk quietly behind me, and prepare to create mayhem.
I peer through one of the small panes of glass let into the double doors leading into the barrack room. The half-light of early morning filters through drawn curtains; all I can see are forty shapeless humps beneath the bedclothes on each bed. Some are lying on their backs, some on their bellies, some in indescribable positions. I also notice underwear and socks, cigarette butts, a couple of newspapers and a magazine carelessly discarded and scattered on the floor. Hands on the brass door handles (which could also do with an application of Brasso and some vigorous rubbing), I wait for the tinny scratching of the Tannoy to labour into life, followed by an ancient recording of the traditional bugle call of Reveille. I push through the double doors, making sure they crash against the wall, throw the main light switches and make as much noise as I can. I march straight down the centre of the room, randomly banging on the metal bed frames with the four-by-two, putting my boots down hard to add to the noise. As I advance, my nostrils are assailed by a disgusting odour compounded of soiled underpants, socks which must have been worn continuously for days, stale beery fumes, and the remnants of someone's last fart. Some of the humps begin to move, sluggishly; from others tousled heads and sleepy eyes peer over the bedclothes.
"WAKEY!! WAAAAA-KEY!!!" I bellow. Sleepy, grumbling voices curse.
"Wha' the fuck. . ."
"Who in 'ell's makin' all the row?"
"'ere, calm it dahn a bit, mate!" I have now reached the furthest end of the room. The last voice has come from a bed to my right. I reach out with the piece of four-by-two and give the end of that bed a couple of extra hard blows. The sound of wood on metal rings out.
"You! Airman! Out of that stinking wanking pit! NOW!!" The bedclothes stir and the bed's occupant sits up, swinging his legs over the side. "I said OUT - O-U-T! Stand to attention when an NCO is addressing you, airman!" The figure clambers to its feet, blinking owlishly at me. It lumbers into what it must imagine approximates the correct position when standing to attention. I make a mental note he will soon have to learn differently! The only thing about him standing stiff and proud is his cock.
"Cor blimey, mate, no need to make such a fuckin' bloody row!"
"Get this, airman, and get it good. I am no 'mate' of yours nor am I ever likely to be!"
"Christ! Sorry, Corp!"
I glare at him unflinchingly. Their education starts here. The man shifts his gaze away from mine. I turn my attention back to the rest of the men, who are slowly - far too slowly for me - getting out of bed. They look surprised, a little bewildered. However, enlightenment is at hand. I roar out the next command: "Right, you idle, good for nothing lazy lot of fucking wankers! Get your hands off cocks and on with socks. Stand by your beds! MOVE IT!" I give them a few seconds to shuffle into position. "Parade! Att-en-shun!" It is beginning to filter into some of the less sleep befogged brains that this is for real. It is definitely not some collective nightmare or hallucination.
"First things first. Starting with the two top beds, every alternate window on both sides of this stinking hole will be opened. MOVE!" Still not realising this is really happening, they start opening the large sash windows. Most of the men are stark naked and the cool, fresh morning breeze soon has them scurrying about more alertly, like a disturbed ants nest. I wait until the last two windows are open and the men have returned to their former positions.
"Ah! That is better. We can now all breathe some of God's good, fresh air, not the foul sewer stench that greeted me when I came in just now. Stand easy!" The men, more awake now, relax but remain where they stand, waiting to see what might happen next. One or two look resentful, a few sullen and suspicious, but no one speaks. I allow the silence to continue for a moment or two longer.
"Now come the introductions. I am Corporal Elldon Hawke. I arrived here at this base yesterday and, yes, in case there's any doubt in anyone's mind, I am in charge here. I shall be occupying the NCO's bunk at the other end of the corridor, which is where you can call on me if you have any kind of personal or professional problem. For all other matters, I shall be your friendly, live-in Stephen King nightmare." I paused to allow the significance of that to sink in. "None of you know anything about me - but I promise you, you soon will. I, on the other hand, know just what a lazy, idle, disgusting lot you are. Who is senior man here?"
"Corporal!" A voice cuts sharply through the room and a tall, blond haired man brings himself smartly to attention. He occupies a bed roughly halfway down the room. I march over to where he stands. I gaze at him intently. He must be about 22 or 23. He is a good looker, well hung, pert tight arse, keeps himself fit. From the sharp way he has responded to my question, he is alert, aware of what is going on. I will keep him on for a while, as senior man; he might prove to be a potential ally. I must remember to check his Service record sometime.
"Your last three, rank, and name, airman!"
"846 Junior Technician Taylor, Corporal!" Now it is my turn to be taken aback. It is most unusual for technician ranks to have any kind of disciplinary responsibilities. Things must be bad if the squadron have had to resort to such a measure. However, we will see.
"He's known to us as Needles, corp." A voice sounding as if it had been liberally greased with sludge from a filthy engine filter comes from behind me. I swing round.
"Who said that?"
"I did, corp." I take an instant dislike to this man. Short in stature, his lank greasy hair could do with some nimble scissor work and an introduction to a shampoo bottle. He obviously needs to visit the shower room more frequently and a spell in the gym might not come amiss, either. Even with the cool morning air blowing through the room, he has a faint film of oily sweat on his skin.
"And who are you?" I enquire, politely.
"Oh, I'm Nobby Clark, corp."
"I see, Clark. And pray tell me," I continue, even more politely, "just who's air force do you FUCKING WELL THINK YOU ARE IN?" I have put the hardness back into my voice. Clark stands silent, in his astonishment opening and closing his mouth as if he was a goldfish that had fallen out of its bowl and was desperately looking for water.
"Listen to me, all of you as well as Clark here, and listen well. As far as I am aware, there is no such rank as 'Corp' in today's Air Force. Until there is, you will address me as 'Corporal' at all times. If you forget, the result will be a charge of insubordination. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" Murmurs of "Yes, corporal" steal through the somewhat crestfallen bunch of men in front of me. "Junior Technician Taylor," I turn back to face him, "are any of these men required for early duties this morning?"
"Not today, corporal. There's no early flying scheduled this week."
"In that case, I want every man to wash, shave and get dressed in number twos. You are then to parade outside, under Junior Technician Taylor's supervision. I shall give us all a beneficial, brisk march to the Mess for breakfast. Afterwards, we will march back here. You will all be on parade, outside this block, at 06.45 hours. This will be our routine for the rest of this week. Parade! Attention!" The suddenness of the order momentarily stuns them, but they quickly sort themselves out. "That was a bloody shambles! We will do it again. Paaa-rade! Wait for it, wait for it! AT-TEN-SHUN!" I give up at that point, there will be plenty of other opportunities to knock some kind of coordination into them. "Paaa-rade! To your duties, dismiss! Junior Technician Taylor, I need a complete list of the names of all the men in this room. Bring it to me down at the squadron office later this morning, please."
I walk silently through the room until I reach the double doors. The men behind me are collecting their sponge bags and towels. I pause, turn round, and say as if it were an unimportant afterthought, "Oh, by the way men, I intend holding a full kit inspection tomorrow at 19.30 hours. I shall expect this barracks to be so clean and tidy the Commanding Officer wouldn't recognise it if he walked in. I want to see your uniforms and kit up to standard. Woe betide anyone - I repeat, anyone - whose kit is deficient, dirty, or defaced. I shall post a notice on the board outside to this effect later in the day." I push through the double doors, leaving a stunned silence in my wake.
I had an argument with Warrant Officer Samson today. He seems to think I am going a too far in ordering a full kit inspection off my own bat. Normally, it would have to be agreed with the Squadron Adjutant, then taken up to Station Headquarters and discussed with the Station Warrant Officer, the Station Adjutant and, finally, the CO. However, I have a couple of let outs. First, there is nothing actually in writing anywhere forbidding an NCO - junior or senior - to order a kit inspection for the men under his control. Secondly, I remind Samson that I am there to put the fear of God into the occupants of Harrier Block, and that I intend to do by any means I can, fair or foul. Eventually, he sees my reasoning. He even begins to get enthusiastic about the notion, until I remind him this is my idea and that I will take any kudos - or brickbats - that are going.
"Alright, corporal," he says, eventually, "you do what you think you should, but I'll have to mention this to the Station Adjutant just in case. I promise I will explain it all to him, but if something went wrong - well, I don't have to spell it out to you, do I?"
"No, Sir, you don't." I manage to suppress my delight at having carte blanche to do whatever I like down at the barrack block. "Just make sure that the Adj and the SWO know it is entirely an internal matter between me and the men in that barrack block. If I want them to eat shit at nine o'clock at night, they will do just that or face the consequences." I paused, deliberately lengthening the silence. "Believe me, Sir, my consequences can be terrible!"
As it turned out, they made a reasonable fist of the inspection. They had obviously made an effort to clean the barrack room and the ablutions, although the WCs and urinals were still disgusting. I used Taylor as my number two, giving him a clipboard with a stack of paper attached to it. "Right, Junior Technician Taylor. You know all these men, who they are, where they work and who is in charge of them whilst on duty. You will follow me round and note down every observation I make. You will record the rank, name and last three of each man as I come to his bed-space. You will also record any instructions or orders I give so that there can be no argument later." I turn and face the men lined up beside their beds, standing rigidly to attention. They look somewhat cleaner, smarter and more like military men than they had at six o'clock yesterday morning!
"Do you all understand?"
"Yes, corporal!" The reply comes as if from one voice, loud and clear. They are learning quickly. "Good. I shall now begin the inspection. Your space first, I think, Taylor." As I hoped and expected he would Taylor had made a real effort. The linoleum around and under his bed gleamed. His small bedside mat had very recently seen the business end of a vacuum cleaner. The top of his bedside locker shone, free from clutter. The only thing on it, apart from the small issue reading lamp, was a leather frame containing a black and white photo of a middle-aged man and woman. I picked it up and looked at it.
"Your mother and father, Taylor?" I spoke quietly, using a normal tone of voice.
"Yes, corporal."
I replaced the photograph carefully, making sure I did not scratch the surface of his locker top. I turned my attention to the window behind the head of his bed. I shook the curtains and a little dust flew out from the folds. "Note. Curtains to be cleaned." Then I noticed the corners of the panes of glass in the window. Smears were visible which he had been unable to reach. I said nothing but ran my finger along the sash. It came away with the faintest traces of dirt. "Right, Taylor. These windows are filthy. Note. Windows and frames to be cleaned and inspected tomorrow morning half an hour after Reveille. Understand?" I looked directly at him. He was disconcerted, nonplussed that I had pulled him up in front of the men. I did not think he believed me. I showed him the corners of the window panes and the dirt on the sash. "Now do you understand why I cannot make exceptions?"
"Yes, corporal."
And so it went on until every man's bed-space and laid out kit, open locker and uniforms had been inspected minutely. At the end, Taylor had filled almost forty sheets of paper with notes. I positioned myself in the middle of the barrack room and said, "Right, everyone, gather round." They all moved into a semi-circle in front of Taylor and I. "Compared to what I found here yesterday morning, not bad. But NOT GOOD ENOUGH. I shall deal with the inspection in three parts: first, the ablutions. Second, this room, and third, your kit. Those ablutions are in a disgusting state. I shall inspect them every morning, Saturday and Sunday included, for the next four weeks. At the end of that time, I want to be able to eat my dinner off that floor - and don't think for one moment that is just idle chatter. I will leave it to Junior Technician Taylor to organise a cleaning roster. I suggest it might be as well to clean the WCs, urinals and shower stalls twice a day, but I will leave that decision to you. Remember: I am generously giving you all four weeks to bring these barracks up to something approaching a reasonable standard of cleanliness. The next Station Commander's Inspection is five weeks from today and I do not want Harrier Block to be bottom of the league EVER AGAIN!"
Leaving no room for arguments to start up, I gave them chapter and verse about all the faults I had discovered in the barrack room: dust under beds, lockers not tidy and locker tops stained where a hot mug of tea had been carelessly put down or hot liquid had been spilt, extra effort required on some of the bed-spaces to polish the linoleum, windows and window frames to be cleaned. A thousand and one things that were not good enough - as well as a few extra ones I threw in just for laughs. Then I started on the men's kit: I got very personal and mentioned in gruesome detail the dirty underwear, the unwashed and stained sports kit and casually mentioned the shorts I had found with dried spunk stains caking them, the missing items not replaced. It took me more than an hour to exhaust my list of complaints. I left them with these words: "Right. Now you all know why I did not like what I saw here yesterday. You have a chance to put things right. I shall inspect the barrack room again one week from today. This order in no way countermands my instructions regarding the ablutions. Has anyone any questions?"
A lone, somewhat timid voice piped up. "Corporal, what do we do about the room in the other wing?" Aha, trying to catch me out, were you, lad?
"What is your name, airman?"
"Northcott, corporal."
"We do nothing for the time being, Northcott. I am glad you brought this matter up. I have spoken to Warrant Officer Samson and the Squadron Adj about this and we do nothing until this wing is up to standard. Then we shall see. If - and I repeat, if - they and the Station Commander are satisfied with our standards on the CO's next inspection in five weeks time, we might get some help to clean that place up, but that will depend solely on your efforts here. Meanwhile, don't worry your pretty little heads about it - that is why I am here. Taylor," the abrupt change of direction did not give anyone time to respond, "report to me in my bunk in an hour, with your list. There are some things I would like to discuss with you." I marched out of the room to my bunk where I changed and made my way over to the Mess for my evening meal.
I had not forgotten Taylor was going to bring the notes he made during the inspection. I intend using this as an excuse to get inside his pants. I've seen him at work in the hangar during the day and he really turns me on. It had been a warm day and he had stripped down to an oily pair of ancient KD shorts a size too small for him. I made damn sure he did not catch me ogling his packet - which seemed to be even larger when crammed into the confined space of that oily, dirty crotch. I wondered what he wore underneath, if anything. I had a lot of difficulty keeping my pecker down all that afternoon: good thing I had some paperwork to attend to in the office.
Now I am back in my bunk I find I have no clear strategy or plan in mind. My grandfather, who had spent most of his working life in the Army, repeatedly said to me when he knew I had been promoted, "Elldon, when you're left alone with the men in your charge, always keep two or three steps ahead of them. Always make sure you have a plan of action or a strategy to counter any signs of insubordination amongst the troops." I have followed his advice since that first day and it has never failed me. Sitting in my armchair with a cigarette going and trying to read a magazine, I find I cannot concentrate on the printed words: they keep blurring and fading in front of my eyes. I cannot stop thinking of Taylor and his packet of goodies. Fuck this! I stand up and strip off my clothes, only keeping on my thin flimsy shorts. The dark hair spattering my chest retreats down to my stomach in a thin line, disappearing behind the waistband. My cock is rigid, straining against the pale grey material, a damp spot where my cockhead is leaking juice and getting bigger by the second. I am not going to be able to keep my hands off my cock. Where the fuck is Taylor? There came a sharp knock on my door, almost as if it was on cue. "Come in!" I bellow, the words coming out louder and harsher than I had intended, the pressure of my horniness making me lose control of my voice - temporarily.
The door opens and Taylor comes in to my room. He is wearing nothing but a jockstrap and socks. The white cotton gleams against his tanned body. His well-toned muscles are displayed to best advantage, making him more seductive. I detect a sense of veiled power in his physique. The jockstrap he is wearing only adds to his presence. He is certainly not shy of showing off his lusty manhood and I swore to myself he had a half hard-on. Two thin strips of elastic delineate the twin mounds of solid flesh of his naked arse, the near perfection of his body broken only by a rude ridge of hair crawling into his arse crack. I hope he will soon have something else in that cleavage!
"Come in, Taylor and close that fucking door. By the way, what's your first name?"
"Andy, corporal."
"OK, Andy, let's drop the formalities. My name is Elldon but I don't want to hear you call me that when the men are around, clear?"
"Yes - er - Elldon." To get things started and to relax us both, I began a bit of horny male banter with him.
"You've got some balls, Andy, coming in here like that."
"I could say the same for you, Elldon," he replied, not trying to hide his ogling of my package. "I thought we were going to go through the results of this morning, not admire each other's choice in underwear and what's filling it out."
"Right then, let's get down to business. Bring the list over here."
Every NCO's bunk has a small table, one of the privileges of rank. It's OK when there is just one man using it, but it gets a tad cramped when two are sitting at it. Andy and I sit side by side, the papers between us. My thigh comes into direct contact with Taylor's, despite my best efforts. I can feel the warmth of his thigh flesh against mine. I am damn sure he can also feel my leg against his. I glance down at his crotch and like what I see happening there. I am becoming randier and randier and I know he is as well. He keeps trying to shift his leg away from mine, but there is not enough space. I must get through the official business we have as fast as I can, then get down to the real business of the day! Somehow, we eventually get the job done. We are both as hot as devils in hell. He looks at me as I finish entering the last note on the worksheet.
"Shall I make us both a coffee?" he asks, planting a warm hand on my shoulder. Its contact almost scorches the skin off.
"Later," I say, "I like to see a man wearing a jock, Andy. I think it gives a distinct sense of a guy's manhood, don't you?"
"Yeah," he replies, "I hardly ever wear anything else out of uniform. Don't often wash 'em, either. Wanna smell?"
"Can't wait," comes my quiet reply.
"Then don't."
I stand up and face him. He runs his hands over my chest, stroking the hard flesh of my pecs, gently scratching at my nipples which are standing up like miniature hard-ons. He reaches out, the fingers of one hand delicately fondling the outline of my cock in my scanty briefs. It rises up like a marine at reveille, swift, strong and ready for action. He drags his hands from my chest to my arms, running his fingers over my biceps, seizing me under the arms. The damp hairs of my sweaty armpits send drifts of manly odours into my brain. I burrow my face into his neck, chewing the thick vein with my lips as a dog gnaws a succulent bone. He almost lifts me off my feet as he drags his mouth over my shoulder, slavering over my chest, lifting both arms. I reach out and grab hold of his rampant hard dick, urging him on as he licks under one armpit. He opens his mouth to taste the crude oil of my sweat. I growl deep in my throat, dropping my fist from his cock, using both hands to encircle his ears, dragging his face over my chest until he lifts the other arm and banquets there, opening his mouth fully to gorge, to breathe in, to enjoy and appreciate the hairy reek.
"Go to it, Taylor." I give the order with my voice harsh, commanding.
He almost cracks my rib cage with the strength of both hands as he sinks down, licking over and biting the trail of hair that leads to the waistband of my skimpy briefs. He lashes his tongue over the band, tasting the elastic, gnawing and snapping with his teeth. His chin brushes against the hard cock pulsing inside my pouch, sending a wave of pure lust surging through me. I lift his head, he looks up and sees this bastard of an NCO glaring down at him. My arms are raised, trying to support myself against the wall. The hairs of my armpits are glistening, stuck to my skin by my sweat and his spittle. I drop my gaze. The thick, heavy rod inside my pouch is leaning to the side, testing the strength of the cloth; a dark blot of pre-seminal juice almost covers my cock head. Taylor presses his nose against the oozy material, breathing in deeply the puissant cock and pungent underwear odours. I force him to open his mouth and cover up that cock head with his lips. I hurl it into his mouth, a guttural groan firing from my lips like shot from a cannon. But he wants more. In one rapid movement that surprises and almost spins me off my feet, he turns me round and savagely tears my briefs down to my ankles. He forces me to lean forward, both forearms resting on the table, and spread my legs. He lifts a hand and grabs my heavy, sweaty ball sac from behind, violently twisting and pulling at the contents until he makes me snap my head around and give a moan that is half pain, half pleasure. He wants yet more. Gripping on to a fistful of hard cock and sweaty balls, he sends his tongue licking slowly and carefully down the crack of my arse. My moans, my writhing, are more pleasure than pain. The hairs of my arse crackle like burning twigs as his blistering tongue draws up the acrid moisture; he drinks like a thirsty man in the desert. This is only the hors d'oeuvres. He is after the full meal. He releases my cock and balls, slipping both hands around the lower part of my arse cheeks. He pulls them apart, to gaze on the rare beauty of hair framing a furrowed male arsehole. Then he tickles the ridge of my hole with his tongue, breathing in my smell with his nose. I hump my arse back with a savage snarl, "Eat that fucking NCO arsehole, junior technician!" He wraps his forearms tightly around my thighs, nipping arse flesh with his front teeth until I yelp like a dog being punished. He drives his tongue deep into my hole, his nose buried in the hairs of my crack. He flicks his tongue around the pulpous filling of my arsehole, savouring the sensuousness of man to man intimacy. His tongue is alive, searching into every crevice, nook and cranny it can reach, while he pulls my cheeks further apart and thrusts his face up my arse.
Suddenly, I come away from his probing, scorching tongue and spin back to face him. I step to one side, just out of reach, leaving him panting. My legs are still spread, my chest heaving and shining with globules of sweat. I wrap my strong fingers around my cock, peer at him with my gimlet eyes and give him a wicked smile. I chuckle deeply in my throat and wave my cock in front of me. "Open wide, airman!" I grate. I reach down and grasp a handful of his cock hair and slip my swollen cock between his lips, corking his throat with the thick, hard flesh of my rampant cock. He almost chokes but takes a deep breath through his nose and is greeted with a heady whiff of astringent cock hairs that make him shiver. He must be aching to have a gutful of my cream to join that pungent odour. He can almost taste my cum...I pull out roughly and snarl, "Back off, boy."
It was a command but I do not wait for him to obey. I pull him up by his hair, push him on to his back across my bed. I kick off my briefs as he kneels between my legs. I grasp his cock with my fist. His large cock head is greasy with thick, oozing fluid. I snatch at his cock hairs, clamping my mouth down on his cock. He groans loudly, clutching at my spiky hair while I outrage his super cock, twisting and pulling on his cock hairs until he must have thought they were being plucked out by the roots. He lifts his hips and rams his aching cock in and out of my throat. I slide my other hand round behind him and finger his arse. When my finger grates over the delicate, sensitive folds and creases of his arsehole, I know I have hit the epicentre. His body convulses. He roars like a wild animal, crushing my mouth to his cock, forcing it to stay by grasping my ears painfully, pushing his hips towards the ceiling and blasting off. At the first spurt, I brutally take his hands from my head, lift my face and keep only the cone of his cut dickhead between my lips while it pumps and gushes his seed into my mouth and down my throat.
He lies there with his eyes closed, panting for air. Slobber and sweat run down his chin, his whole body is wearing a shining armour of sweat. Sitting on the edge of the table, one foot on the floor, the other on one of the chairs, I gaze down at this man in admiration. He opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is my cock, hard and rampant, which I am gently stroking. The head sparkles, mainly due to the condom I have pulled on. My bristly balls hang down beneath, the scrotum as hairy as my crack. Despite just dropping a load into my mouth, I can see he is still lecherous: his cock has only gone down halfway and is starting to revive and swell again. I sweep my hand over the creased soft flesh of his balls. The warm moisture, sticky with the remains of his jism, lingers on my hand like early morning dew on grass. I lift my hand to his nose and order him to "Smell yourself, boy." He inhales deeply and a gentle moan escapes his parched lips. I watch him, keenly, a knowing smile lifting one corner of my lips, then stand up. I walk over to where he is lying on his back on my bed and stand over him, looking down on him. I lower myself to kneel on the bed, straddling his chest, still stroking my raging condom wearing hard-on, my balls swinging gently back and forth with the rhythm of my handiwork. I rub my condomed cock head across his lips. As he tastes the fusion of rubber and flesh his tongue flickers lizard-like to moisten his lips. He mumbles something I cannot hear.
"What you sayin', boy?" I demand.
"Take the condom off, Elldon. I want to suck that cock until it shoots down my gut. Take it off."
I smack him in the face with my cock. The blow is lewd, carnal. I work my cock over his cheeks, his eyes, his lips and he begins to sweep at it with his tongue, drenching it with his saliva, the blending of thin rubber and hard cock flesh arousing fresh lust inside him. He wants more. He will not get it. I inch my hips forward and position my legs until my quivering, dribbling cock head is pulsing at his door. He lets me in. I enter. My cock head widens his arsehole and drops inside, a white hot metal stake dissolving into the warmth and softness of this man's body. He swings his head from side to side, the palms of both hands grip the coverlet, he groans.
"Now know me," my voice is hushed yet reverberates inside the room like an echo in a canyon. I ram myself home. A masculine man with his cock impaling the arse of another masculine man. He yells, gasps and drowns in my consummate power. It raises him and spreads him wide as I hammer his arse, my cock constantly stuffing him deep and hard, leaving him craving for yet more.
"More... more... more..." he repeats endlessly, mindlessly as the fucking goes on, "more... more... more..."
"Here's your fucking, boy" I grunt, ramming my cock home, pulling my cock out, then ramming so deep he must have feared my cock head would leap from his mouth. Sweat from his forehead is burning his eyes. Sweat from my chest joined with his as I crushed his body with mine, his arse full of my cock, my pulsating cock inside his guts, splitting him apart with its fierce and riotous pleasure, as I clamp my cum washed mouth to his. Snarling like a ravenous wolf, I empty the cream from my balls into his welcoming arse.
At last I find the energy to open my eyes, to raise myself from the body of the man beneath me. I collapse sated on to a chair, grinning at him. I caress my softening cock with tenderness. I look at Andy lying on my bed, his eyes wide open, lips parted, breathing carefully and deeply. "I love the feel of a satisfied dick," I say quietly. I slide a finger round the rim of my cock head, squishing the last drops of my cum from my cock slit and use it to coat the fleshy knob. Andy looks on, a little taken aback. We gaze at each other for a seemingly long time, but the ancient Tannoy breaks into our post coital calm. It is Lights Out once more. He gets up slowly, slips his jock back on, hiding his precious cock once more. I circle his hips with my arms, pulling him close. I look deep into his eyes.
"Stay with me, Andy," I murmur, "and we can go far. For once in my life, I have met a man who I can trust with the key to my magic kingdom. Sleep well."
Without replying, he turns and leaves the room.
Laurie, December 2016.