Date: Sun, 17 Jul 2016 14:48:03 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hugh Banton <clover2209@yahoo.com>
Subject: Servicing the Serviceman, Part 2

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This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.

SERVICING THE SERVICEMAN, PART 2

By anonymous.a


I don't know if you remember this, but I told you about BMW Boy and the day
he fucked my ass.

"Raped" is probably a more apt description, except I didn't resist, and
actually enjoyed it. So I guess that doesn't make it a rape. Besides, I
came away with a prized possession – a pair of his dirty boxers.

For months I used those boxers to get off. Just the thought of them having
wrapped around that meaty ass of his, that plump cock and balls, was enough
to get me hard. But the smell! It was a smorgasbord old piss, sweat, a
faint whiff of ass crack, but over everything else, the funk of glandular
secretions, that musky, earthy scent of a sexually active young military
airman.

I would hold those boxers in a wad beneath my nose and breath in the smell
as my mind replayed that encounter – him catching me as I tried to steal
his shorts from a basket of laundry, then leading me into his kitchen where
he instructed me to drop my shorts and bend over. The feel of his fat knob
pushing inside me as he used my asshole as his personal Fleshlight. And
then the gallons of Air Force sperm he poured into my colon. I had rushed
home with it running down my thigh, big pearly gobs of jizz leaking out of
my freshly plowed butthole. I had tasted it and savored it, and even wiped
some of it on the boxers he had thrown at me so that his aroma would be
preserved that much longer.

Many, many nights, BMW Boy and his jizzy boxers had been the source of
erotic memories and fantasies, and I had spewed many gallons of cum
remembering what had happened.

But I longed for more.

So one fine spring day, when both his roommates appeared to be gone from
his townhouse, an inspiration occurred to me, and I acted on it. When I had
finished, I was standing at BMW Boy's door.

He opened it. His expression hardened. "Oh. It's you," he said, neither
angry nor accusatory. "What do YOU want?"

I held out a gift. "Since I cost you a pair of boxers, I thought it only
fair I replace them with these. They're the same brand, and same size. I
hope that's OK."

He snatched them from me. A faint sneer had crept into his expression. He
looked them over then carelessly tossed them inside. Then he looked at me.

"Get your faggot ass in here," he said, a tone of disgust in his voice. He
pushed me past the entrance to the kitchen, a fact that registered in my
conscience with a faint note of regret, and into the smallish living
room. He sauntered past me, his butt cheeks clenching and unclenching in a
way only somebody like me would have noticed.

"I should have called the police on your faggot ass," he said, heading for
the couch. "Instead, I used you for a cumdump."

He plopped down on the couch, spread his legs and propped his feet on the
coffee table in front of him. The fabric of his basketball shorts settled
suggestively into his crotch, revealing a sizeable basket. I already knew
what was inside.

"I want you to know something, you fucking faggot," he sneered. "That
session in the kitchen meant nothing to me. It was no different than a
handjob. I just used you and then tossed your ass out, like the paper towel
I used to wipe off my dick, then tossed in the trash."

I couldn't help staring at his crotch. The bulge there was growing
noticeably as that shortish but fat cock filled itself with blood. I think
his dirty talk was having more of an effect on him than me.

"Look at you," he declared in disgust, registering my stare. "You can't get
enough. You're addicted to my cock."

He yanked his shorts down, revealing an extremely hairy ass to go along
with that thick nest of peculiarly straight pubic hair surrounding his fat
dick and balls.

"Get your faggot ass over here and suck me off."

I did NOT need to be told twice. I rounded the coffee table and tried to
position myself between me and it, but there wasn't room.

"Move the fucking coffee table, faggot!" he commanded. I pulled the coffee
table out of the way as he pulled off his shorts and spread his legs
wide. An intense wave of odor rolled out of his crotch, thick and musky and
superheated with pheromones. I swallowed a mouthful of spit before it could
leak from the corners of my mouth, then dropped to my knees and plunged my
face into that hairy, meaty, smelly man crotch.

His cock was sticky with both sweat and secretions. I rubbed it against my
face as my tongue lapped at his equally sticky balls, running over the
pubes that sprouted from his scrotum. He flesh tended to glue itself to my
face – he was that sticky. And the aroma of him – a kind of flavorful
meat smell, not quite that but the correct words escape me.

"Jesus Christ. You are one disgusting faggot. You'd sacrifice your respect
and your dignity just to lick my balls? I'm probably half your age, you old
pervert."

I sucked his testicles into my mouth and washed each one with my tongue,
then licked the backside of his ball sac before moving up the valley
between his thigh and scrotum to take that fat cock of his in my mouth and
start bobbing. The head was fully flared and the pee-hole dilated. As I
sucked and licked and bobbed I tasted a steady flow of precum. He wasn't
dripping like a leaky faucet but by God the inside of my mouth was gooey
with his stuff.

His hands found the back of my head and he plunged his cock down my
throat. A lot of guys would have gagged but I had learned the secret to
deep-throating, the same trick that allows you to chug a beer by simply
pouring it down your throat without swallowing. I had no trouble letting
that stubby enter my gullet.

His cock started pulsing and I could feel shot after shot of BMW Boy spooge
being injected directly into my stomach. He moaned, a surprisingly boyish
sound considering the tough talk I'd been administered the past few
minutes, and held my head in place as he emptied his balls into me.

Then he slowly deflated with a satisfied hiss and sank into the couch,
letting me suck the dregs of his orgasm from his softening cock. I cleaned
him up nicely and then dropped to his balls, licking the fresh layer of
sweat that had gathered there, like morning dew. He had not closed his legs
so I was able to lick under his nutsack and into his taint.

He roused himself to scoot forward a little, then raised himself, exposing
his taint and the hairy black hole of his ass.

"Go for it, faggot," he said, his voice sludgy, as if he had just taken a
hit of heroin. "Lick my dirty asshole."

I pried his cheeks apart, and once his hairy pucker was exposed, I placed
my mouth over the spot and started lapping with my tongue. His cheeks
closed up a little, pressing against my facial cheeks and pinning my mouth
in place as my tongue ran up and down his crack and his fun hole, stabbing
at the opening, trying to get inside.

He moaned louder and with more authority, and began talking dirty to me
again, saying I was a filthy faggot whore who would do anything to get a
load, and he was going to push my face into his ass crack and make me lick
every square inch of his hairy butt, and next time I showed my ass-eating
face around here he was going to fuck my ass 12 ways from Sunday just to
let me know who was boss.

The stickiness of his butt cheeks, the thick musky odor of his butt and the
sensation of his muscles rippling beneath his skin as he held my head in
place and rubbed his asshole against my pliant tongue – it was all too
much for me and I exploded in my pants, shooting out spasm after spasm of
cum that filled my shorts and began running down my crotch and the side of
left leg.

I didn't know it but he had been jerking his cock as I ate his crack, and
with a squeaky moan he came again, this time squirting a single dose of cum
that landed just below his navel.

He relaxed again and his butt seemed to form-fit around my face, his balls
sagging to my forehead and his dick hanging above it all. I licked a few
minutes more, just to give my own orgasm a chance to subside, and then I
pulled my face out of his ass with a * spock * sound.

He looked at me, the sneer still firmly in place. "I'm not going to fuck
you," he said after a few moments. "Not this time, anyway. Now, get out of
my townhouse."

I got to my feet and started to turn and leave when he snarled, "Put the
fucking coffee table back where you found it, faggot!"

I slid the coffee table back into position. He had pulled up his shorts and
his feet found the coffee table. It was as if nothing had happened.

Except as I walked away, I noticed a large, wet stain in the crotch of my
shorts, in the approximate location of my dick. Cum was running down the
inside of my thigh. Once again I was leaving BMW Boy's townhouse with
embarrassing proof of our indiscretions for all the world to see.

But I didn't really care. I had a belly full of jizz and a mouthful of
pubes, and a promise that the fun wasn't over.

---

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