Servicing the Serviceman
By anonymous.a
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I live in an Air Force town. It has its benefits.
For starters, not a month goes by without a hot littleairman moving into my townhouse complex. In fact, it's usually two or three hot, little airmen sharing a townhouse. The military gives each serviceman a housing allowance for living off base. For airmen that's about $1,000 a month. If two or three share one place, they can split the rent and pocket the rest, which is why you see so many young airmen, fresh out of basic, driving Mustang GTs and American Eagle motorcycles. With $600 a month lying around they can afford such vehicles.
So it was with more than a little interest I noticed the newBMW coupe parked at the townhouse next door.
They moved in on a Saturday afternoon. They ownedpractically no possessions so there wasn't much to move – basically a couch andTV, a couple of beds, and boxes of clothes. Later they retired to the upstairspatio where they talked late into the night. It was autumn so I had my windowsand sliding glass doors open to air out the townhouse. Sitting in my upstairsoffice behind the computer, I could hear everything they said.
They talked about girls, mostly. As the night wore on theirconversation became more ribald until they were describing individual sex acts,and the crazy things that happened during such encounters. Guys that age alwaysseem to have stories about Mom or Dad walking in on their lovemaking, or a condomcoming off inside a vagina, or hubby returning early from a business trip.Probably 90 percent of them were untrue, but that didn't make them bad stories.
Over the next few days I kept on eye on them. Due to thisclandestine observation I learned there were three of them, an Asian fellow whodrove an SUV, a block-headed white guy and his motorcycle, and BMW boy.
BMW boy was about 5-7 or 5-8, 165 pounds, with short, curlyhair. He looked like a slightly stockier version of the Facebook guy, MarkZuckerberg. What I remember best about him was his meaty ass. It wasn'tnecessarily a bubble butt. It was big, however. Big for his size. He wore thoseclingy basketball shorts which showed off that big ass without much left to theimagination. I could picture myself diving into that ass with my tongue, eatingout his 22-year-old anus. What a story that would be!
Over the ensuing months I continued my sneaky observation ofthe Air Force household. The boys would leave for the base around 6:30 and comeback by 4 or so. They drank a lot of beer in their off hours. Sometimes BMW boywent out on a date, but he never seemed to score, considering the hours hespent with his roommates out on the back porch, smoking and talking about howweird the girl was, and how her father came with them on their date. Verystrange.
Nothing much happened until a week or so before Christmas.It seems BMW boy's roommates returned to their respective homes for theholidays and he was left there alone. Since I live alone I didn't see that as aproblem; he was probably enjoying the privacy.
That day began innocently enough. I went out to the mailboxto get yesterday's mail, which amounted to nothing but junk. I chucked it intoa trash can on my way back to my unit. But as I passed BMW boy's place my eyewas immediately drawn to something.
A laundry basket.
He had left his laundry basket on the front porch, and itwas filled with dirty clothes. And right there at the top of the heap was arumpled pair of boxers.
God, talk about visions of sugarplums dancing in my head –except these weren't plums but juicy military boy balls, and that fat cock thatmust go with them, and that meaty ass. I could see myself stuffing that wad ofboxers under my nose and inhaling deeply, savoring the aroma of piss, sweat,cum, ass, and the earthy, manly, musky odor of sex.
I must have presented an odd sight, standing there on thesidewalk staring at a basket of laundry. Truth is I was working up the courageto dart up there, snatch them and hustle back to my unit for a morning ofcrotch sniffing and jerking off. But I was afraid. What if somebody saw me?What if he was peeking through the blinds right now, trying to figure out whatI was up to. And cameras – there are freaking cameras everywhere these days. Whatif one of them was shooting video of me right now – and oh God, what ifsomebody loaded that video onto the internet? My life would end. Death byshaming.
Still, I wanted those damn boxers. I had to have them.
I tried to concoct an excuse for going up to his porch, butthere was no newspaper to put on his doormat, no piece of dropped mail to leaveat his door, nothing.
In the end, I walked up to the door as if I owned the place,reached down, started to pick up the boxers –
– and the damn door opened.
My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. Everything juststopped.
I looked up. He was standing there, his face registeringsurprise that slowly melted into anger when he saw what I had in my hand. Hesquinted at me.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
And I could think of nothing to tell him, no excuse, noreasonable-sounding lie, just nothing that would get me off the hook. Istammered idiotically for a moment, then fell silent. Finally, I decided totell him the truth.
"Sorry, man, but I've seen you around and I think you'rehot, so I thought I would take something to remember you by."
He opened the door and stood aside. "Get in here," hecommanded.
I asked him what for – shit, I didn't want the dude goingpsycho and stabbing me – and he said, "Do you really want to do this outsidewhere everybody can hear?"
Well no, I didn't, whatever "this" was. So I stepped insideand entered the kitchen. By God if he did go psycho on me, I wanted access toknives – lots of knives.
He closed the door and locked it, the knob and the deadbolt.He stood at the entrance of the kitchen, trapping me. He was wearing an olivedrab T-shirt and baggy camo pants with lace-up boots, pretty much standardissue for servicemen these days. Even in those crappy-fitting clothes he lookeddamn good.
"Drop those shorts and turn around," he ordered.
I reared back, shocked. "I beg your pardon?" I stammered.
"Drop 'em and turn around. That's my requirement for notcalling the cops on your ass."
Slowly, and with a lot of trepidation, I complied. I feltthe satiny fabric of my shorts slide down my thighs, then the scratchy cottonof my boxers. The air in the house was cool and I immediately felt a thin layerof sweat in my crotch and crack start to evaporate. I turned but peered over myshoulder to make sure he didn't reach for a butcher knife.
Instead, he unbuttoned his camos and shrugged them off hiships. I got one brief look at his cock – it was thick at the base and nestledwithin an abundant thatch of weirdly straight public hair – before he pushedhimself against me. I felt his cock separating my butt cheeks, probing for myhole.
"Now this is the way it's going to go," he whispered, hischin on my shoulder, his breath hot in my ear. "I am going to stick this thingup inside you. Do you understand? I am going to stick it in you, and I am goingto fuck you. I am going to use your hole as my personal cum dump. And you arenot going to do anything but stand here and take it. Got it?"
I nodded, too excited to think. My heart was hammering in mychest, not out of fear but sudden lust. This encounter had taken a deliciousturn for the better.
His dick left my crack for a moment and when it returned, itwas hard and slippery. Was he carrying lube in his pocket? No matter. I felt itrub against my anus and I tried to relax and open myself to him. I felt hisknob push against my ring and slowly, almost gently, it slipped inside.
"I'm entering you now," he rasped, his lips touching my skinjust below my left ear. "I'm invading your secret space, the most private partof your body. I'm using it for my own pleasure, and when I get through I'mgoing to pump you full of jizz. You won't be able to make it back to yourtownhouse before it starts running down your leg."
He wrapped his arms around my chest and laid his cheekagainst my back and continued to push inside me. I felt a warm glow spreadingfrom my ass across my entire body as his rigid shaft sank deeper, and deeper,until I could feel his pubes in my crack and his balls rubbing against my ownballs.
He started fucking me. His crotch was like a bowl that wasfilled with my ass. He thrust in and out, in and out, and I could feel his cockcoming into me from different angles, always filling me and sending waves ofpleasure surging through my nerves and into my brain so that any other thoughtbut to allow this young man to do this thing to me was quashed.
"You're letting a man use your body for his pleasure," BMWboy groaned as he pushed harder and harder. "You're letting a man conquer youand use you like a filthy slut." Christ, his dirty talk was setting me on fire.His balls were now banging into mine and I really wish I could have tastedthose babies – not to mention that thing inside me – but he had been so directand forceful.
The sensation of being fucked by this 22-year-old was morethan I could stand. I spread my legs a little wider to lower my ass, andsomehow that gave him the ability to push another half inch of that fat cockinto my asshole. As he continued pounding me I began to smell his sex, and thetang of ass, and I just wanted to lose myself in the sensory overload.
I couldn't take it anymore. The orgasm exploded in my brainlike a shower of shooting stars. I literally could not see for a moment. Forthe first time in my life, my cock shot wads of cum totally hands-free. It hitthe kitchen drawers I was leaning against and oozed down the stained wood todrip onto the linoleum.
Then his breathing tensed and his body grew stiff, and hepaused for just a beat before plunging a final time and growling "Yeah!" as hiscrotch lifted me up and a flood of cum spewed into my ass. He held his cockthere as his balls emptied themselves into me, and I knew what he had said aminute ago would be true. I'd never make it back to my townhouse. There wassimply too much cum in my ass.
He held onto me through the aftershocks of his orgasm, andthen slowly unglued himself from my body and withdrew his cock. He steppedbackwards across the kitchen, breathing heavily, his Mark Zuckerberg faceflushed, and yanked a paper towel off the dispenser. He used it to wipe off hiscock. I pulled up my shorts.
Then he was pushing me to the door. When we reached theporch, he grabbed the pair of boxers and threw them at my chest, hard. I caughtthem.
"Next time, ask, asshole."
And as I hurried back to my townhouse, clutching my prize inmy hand, all I remember hearing him say was, "Next time."
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