I've never told anyone this before, but I was nineteen when I first met the serviceman. All I ever managed to learn about him is that he was on rotation, temporarily stationed at the American base near my city somewhere in Asia. I never even got his name, but it didn't matter--he ordered me to always address him as "Sir."
At the time, I was working shifts as a bellboy at a small hotel. Given our central location and moderate cost per night, we were frequented primarily by international travelers. I sometimes assisted guests with miscellaneous requests, running errands to earn tips in their foreign currencies so that I could save up some money.
One evening, I was making my way through one of the hallways leading to the rooms when a pretty local girl suddenly hurried past me on her way to the exit. She didn't seem to be overly distraught, but she was definitely in a rush to leave. I was curious, so I started to walk towards the direction from which she'd originally come. Around the corner, there were a handful of rooms before the hallway finished in a dead end, and the door to one of the rooms at the furthest end of the hallway was ajar. Guests sometimes accidentally leave their doors open or unlocked, so I decided to investigate.
When I reached the open room, I knocked on the door to announce my presence, as we're trained to do, in case anyone was still in there. It was one of our smaller rooms, consisting of just a bed, desk, and chair in a singular room with an adjoining bathroom, and, peering inside, I saw that it was in slight disarray. The desk and chair seemed to have been pushed aside, and there were a couple articles of clothing strewn across the floor, but it was what I saw on the bed that made me freeze.
Sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, was an American man clad in only his underwear.
"Please excuse me," I stammered. "The door was open..."
"It's alright," he said, laconic, his expression rather inscrutable.
There was an awkward pause.
"Well, Sir, if you need anything, please don't hesitate to let us know," I said, about to turn away to leave.
"Wait." It was just one word, but it was clearly an order. Instinctively, I halted.
He looked me up and down, his face still unreadable yet also somewhat predatory. It felt almost as if he was evaluating me--or checking me out--giving me goosebumps.
"Maybe you can help me," he said.
Reflexively, I swallowed. For some reason, I was suddenly nervous. "Yes, Sir. How can I be of assistance?"
"Come inside and shut the door behind you."
In retrospect, I should've protested. I should've left the room, but I didn't. I couldn't. Something about the situation overrode all logic. Perhaps, deep down, I knew what was about to happen, and maybe I wanted to find out. He sounded so authoritative, and it was like my body suddenly wasn't mine to control. Almost automatically, I obeyed him without question. I entered the room, closed the door, and turned back towards him.
As I did that, he eyed me. Back then, I was around 1.75 meters tall. Since I was still young, I was rather lean, and I had a choppy haircut that was popular at the time.
Similarly, I managed to get a better look at him. He was blond--though his hair was shorn, a typical military buzz cut--and not unhandsome. He was approximately 1.85 meters tall, and he had the usual muscular army guy frame. I'd seen plenty of his type before, but there was something about him that seemed different than the usual guys--he had gravitas. I also spied a silver chain hanging around his neck: military dog tags. And, as I had noticed earlier, he was wearing only a pair of white briefs, to the center of which my eyes were immediately drawn.
There was a fat bulge straining against his underwear; it was unmistakably his penis. I could see its full outline, and I mentally traced its contours from the base to the shaft to the tip and back to the base, from which hung his large sack of balls--evidently, they were full.
Just a couple seconds must have passed, but I was so blatantly staring at it. Of course, he caught me gawking.
"You like what you see?" He asked, breaking the silence. It was rhetorical; we both knew the answer.
Embarrassed, I flushed. I didn't mean to ogle him. I'd never before seen an endowment like that, and certainly not in person. It seemed so big--how could it be real?
"I'm...I'm sorry, Sir," I stuttered. What could I even say? I was in a room with one of our guests, who happened to be naked. I balked, standing there, rooted to the spot.
He smirked. "Come here."
Mechanically, my legs moving on their own accord, I approached him. It was like I was watching myself from a third-person perspective. In seconds, I was standing next to him as he sat on the bed.
Without hesitating, he grabbed my hand and placed it onto his bulge. "Grip it," he said.
I felt my fingers close around it. I'd never before even touched another penis, yet here I was, holding a stranger's. I could feel its warmth emanating through the fabric of his underwear. Awkwardly, tentatively, I ran my hand down its full length. I could feel it stiffening. It was so big.
"Take it out," he said, his voice low.
My mouth went dry. This was happening. This was really happening.
Obediently, I slid his underwear off. I could smell a faint, earthy scent--it must have been his musk. It smelled extremely masculine. He spread his legs, allowing his cock to spring into full view. My eyes widened.
His cock was massive. It was easily more than twenty-two centimeters long. Obviously, I'd never before seen one so big.
"Stroke it," he commanded. "Get me fully hard."
It didn't even occur to me to dissent. I wrapped my fingers around it and began to stroke up and down.
It was so warm in my hand. It was thick, too. I could barely get my fingers wrapped all the way around. This was a stark contrast to my own endowment.
As I masturbated him, I began to pick up on his cues, indicating his pleasure. When I tightened my grip, I could feel his heartbeat pulsing through it. When I sped up the pace, he let out a groan. When I slowed down, he bucked his hips, as if encouraging me to go faster. I could see a fluid beginning to leak from the slit at the tip, making the glans glisten and slicking my hand. Soon, everything felt sticky. I jerked him off for a few minutes, but it felt like forever. Then--
"Put it in your mouth," he said. "Let me feel your lips."
I'd never done that before, but--as if in a trance--I submitted to him. I kneeled at the foot of the bed, lowered my head, and opened my mouth to engulf him.
He shifted his position, making it easier for his cock to enter. "Use your tongue to cover your teeth, and bob up and down," he instructed me. I complied. It tasted salty, but it wasn't unpleasant.
I struggled to fit his cock in my mouth. It was just so big. Slowly, wary of my teeth, I began to blow him.
"Fuck," he hissed, "that's good. Just like that."
He put his hand on my head, controlling the cadence. I could feel a metal band on his finger pressing into my skull--he was wearing a wedding ring. He started to force my head up and down. My eyes began to water, but I didn't object. I was no longer in control.
As I sucked his cock, he closed his eyes. Occasionally, he would give an appreciative grunt; those noises seemed to activate something from deep within my brain, an instinctive need to please him. I was on my knees, fellating a foreign serviceman, and I felt completely servile.
"The good thing about your country is that you're all natural cocksuckers," he said, "and even you boys look like girls. That girl from earlier got scared and couldn't do it, but you have no choice. You work here."
I didn't even think about disagreeing. On some primal level, I knew he was right. And, with his cock in my mouth, all I could do was assent. I was powerless.
"Keep sucking my cock," he said, "and maybe I'll give you a reward."
Gradually, steadily, my mouth adjusted to its new role. My jaw was a little sore from opening for so long, but it didn't matter. All that mattered to me was doing my job. He put both hands on my head and began to pump faster.
"Fuck, yeah..."
My eyes had teared up so much that it was hard to see. I felt sloppy. Tears, saliva, and his pre-cum were all over me. He was fucking my face.
Soon--
"Oh, fuck," he moaned. I could feel his body starting to tense. "Keep your mouth open. I'm going to give it to you."
He was thrusting into my face with so much force, and his hands pinned my head in place. Even if I wanted to, I wasn't going to be able to escape. He had total control over me.
"Don't move," he ordered. "Here it comes."
With a deep groan, he pressed into my mouth one last time, and his entire body shuddered. His cock began to spasm, shooting thick spurts of his fluid into me. I don't know what I expected--it was hot, viscous, and salty. Intuitively, I swallowed his cum, but he was flooding my mouth and some of it dribbled out.
He held me in that position, forcing me to drink his ejaculate, until he was finally drained.
When he finished, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and lightly slapped my face.
"Good job," he said, "now get out."
Dazed, I got up, stumbled over to the door, and let myself out. I stood there in the hallway, trying to catch my breath, gathering myself, collecting my bearings. Slowly, I felt my consciousness returning. I was a mess. My hair was tousled, my face was covered in all kinds of bodily fluids, and my work uniform was rumpled and stained. Looking down, I saw a small tent of my own in my groin area and felt a wet spot there.
I think my mind was a little disoriented. I was in disbelief at what had just occurred.
I didn't know that I would see him again so soon afterwards.