REGULAR MAINTENANCE
By John Candu

I spent a day shooting pictures for a hospital's advertising campaign
and annual report. I arrived early that morning carrying an aluminum
Haliburton camera case which held my RB-67 and accessories. The
administrator and I were going over the shooting schedule when Tony, the
chief maintenance man, joined us. Tony would be my escort for the day;
he had master keys and could provide access to anyplace I needed to go.

Tony looked like Mr. Clean, the tall muscular character gracing the
bottles of cleaning solution.  He was at least six feet of pure muscle
and had a nice basket. I forced my eyes away, hoping he hadn't caught me
looking.  He wore bright white uniform pants and a white shirt that
highlighted his well-defined chest.  Even his hair and mustache were
white.  He might have been 50, but he was in such good shape he probably
looked younger than he really was.

Tony didn't talk much as we went from one location to another, but he
kept looking at me with a bold gaze.  I caught him looking at my crotch,
and his eyes lifted to mine unabashedly.  As I got into the swing of
things, I momentarily forgot about him.  By mid-morning I was kneeling
on the floor repacking equipment to move to another location. Tony was
just a step away watching me intently.  

He was facing me, leaning against a wall with his arms folded. "I've
been noticing your equipment.  You can tell a lot about a person by the
way he takes care of his equipment."

It was the most he had said all morning.  A regular chatterbox.  

"I'll bet you have your hands full with equipment in this place," I
replied, just searching for something to say.

"Yeah, but the secret is regular  maintenance.  If you keep everything
lubed and slicked up on a regular schedule, you're not going to have
equipment going down or wearing out from friction at a crucial time. 
You want it to stay up, you gotta attend to it all along. Regular
maintenance is the thing."

Was I imagining that our conversation had taken on double meaning?  As
if to confirm my suspicions, Tony's hand drifted to his crotch and
slowly adjusted his basket. I finished packing in front of him. My mouth
went dry as his fingers dug in and shifted his balls.  Was he getting an
erection? I rose and  we set out for the roof for some bird's-eye
landscape shots.

At the end of the hall, Tony unlocked a door marked "No Admittance" that
led up a short flight of stairs to the roof exit.  I was half-way up the
steps when I felt his finger push against my hole, stretching the fabric
of my pants.

Startled, I stopped for a moment wondering how I should react. His
finger pushed harder, pressing the fabric even further between my
cheeks.  I reached back to slap away his hand, but he caught my wrist
and pulled my hand to his crotch.  He was so hard that my own dick
jumped to attention. I turned around and put both hands on his tent and
began unzipping him.  He was so hard I couldn't get it out, so I
unbuckled his pants and tugged them down.

Tony was at least nine inches of thick man-meat.  His veined, cut organ
lumbered under it's own weight.  I took a seat on the steps and
swallowed his head.  Tony gasped and said, "Yeah, that's it, take that
dick, suck it!" 

I got it wet with spit, and my head began bobbing back and forth on his
prick as he held the back of my neck and pulled my face-cunt further
onto his rod. I made a fist around his shaft to keep him from ramming it
too far down my throat.

"Suck it! Yeah, that's it, suck it! Suck it good!"

I began to taste salty pre-cum and face-fucked him even faster.  But he
pulled back and said, "Let's move to the top of the steps."

Tony began pulling my pants down and fingering my hole.  I stroked my
dick as I fished into the aluminum case and found a tube of oil I used
on the cameras. I squirted some onto my fingers and slicked up my
chute.  I stepped out of my pants and draped them over the railing.
Because Tony was so much taller than me, I closed the case and sat on
all fours on top of it, offering my hole for easy access.

In a steady motion, he pressed his fat head through my portal and shoved
his shaft all the way to the hilt. I'd never felt so full or stretched.
I wondered if I would bleed.  I was so damn horny I didn't care if I
did. 

I bucked against him and he began pumping my ass while holding me around
the waist.  His hairy balls slapped against my own as he rammed his tool
home in a strong steady rhythm.  His breathing got louder and he began a
staccato "Uh!" with each stroke. 

"Uh!" "Uh!" "Uh!"  

He was plunging deeper and pulling me back against him harder and
harder. I was in ecstasy. The hard fucking made me lose control; I shot
my load.  It blasted the aluminum case in thick white splatters.

"Oh, yeah!  Fuck my hole!  Fuck it!! Harder!! Fuck my cunt!! Yeah!"

Tony pulled me more roughly than ever against his abdomen, slamming his
cock into my hole. He held my waist tightly as he erupted, sending gush
after gush of man-juice into my cunt. He began pumping slower as he
finished.  He finally began to go limp and then let it slide out.

As I rose from the case, I noticed the huge dent on the camera case.  My
cum was pooling there.  

"Oh, shit.  Your case got banged up," he said.

I turned around and played with his dripping tool. "Speaking of dents, I
really like the one your cock just put in my ass!  I could use regular
maintenance like that!"

"Yeah? Well, my dick could use regular maintenance, too, just to keep it
up and running, ya know," he grinned.  "It needs attention a little
attention all the time to keep it running."

And from that day on we were on a regular maintenance schedule for many
years to cum.