Date: Sun, 24 Apr 2016 16:36:26 +0100
From: DavidandLaurie <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: OUR SECRET PLACE

I ONLY ENLISTED because Mum and Dad thought it would make a man of me. The
night the big decision was made I happened to overhear them discussing me
as I came downstairs after my nightly shower.

"Let's face it, Marge," I heard Dad say, "he must be queer. Look at all the
time he spends titivating in the bathroom, specially in the morning when
I'm trying to get ready to go to the office. He's worse than a girl putting
on her face to go out with her friends. No, he's queer and that's all about
it."

"Whatever do you mean, dear?" Mum's voice was trembling.

"Holy cow, woman, they told me down at the nick last time he was found in
the park that he deliberately goes looking for it. He's out till all hours,
looking for men to have sex with. Do you want me to spell it out any
plainer?"

"Oh dear, where did we go wrong with him, love?"

"We did nothing wrong. I guess he's got a wire loose somewhere. The
Services will sort him out!" Oh Dad, if only you could have known!

So, here I am. My first night on guard duty at my first regular Air Force
base. I'm supposed to be guarding the Kingsbridge Armoury, along with
Sergeant Joshua Ellington of the USAF, comically known to all as
`Duke'. The Kingsbridge Armoury was built in the mid-1860s as part of a
chain of huge forts, munitions dumps and sundry other military
installations all along the Channel coast, from Dover to Portsmouth, at a
time when minor revolutions in mainland Europe had provoked an unreasoning
fear of an invasion by the French.

The Armoury is a huge purpose built subterranean complex designed to hold
vast quantities of explosives, ammunition, guns, mortar shells, and just
about every other kind of munitions imaginable. The Americans share it with
us so guard duties and the like are carried out jointly. Some of those
Yankee guys have bulges that look as if they could be as deadly as the
missiles we guard and should also qualify for protection.  The Armoury is
laid out as an underground warren of long dark tunnels and passageways,
leading to cavernous dungeon-like areas and their deadly stores, sealed off
behind enormously thick and heavy lead lined doors. Ever since the days of
the Cold War, it has been used for storing munitions, warheads, vital parts
of fearsome airborne weapons such as Rapier, Sentinel and Sting Ray, as
well as some which do not bear thinking about.

`Duke' Ellington is a big black guy, his skin glistening like polished
ebony. About 11.30 in the evening (23.30 hours in military speak) `Duke'
calls me over and invites me to go with him for a cigarette break. I don't
smoke but he don't know that. He leads the way and I follow, giving him a
very careful examination, as if I am about to buy a side of beef. I guess
he is about 34 or 35, big with thick thighs, a wide back and the broadest
goddamned shoulders I've ever seen. The cheeks of his arse strain against
the canvas material of his uniform fatigues, which are tucked into his
highly bulled combat boots. I ought to mention here that we have to wear
the most unattractive, cumbersome protective clothing I know, just in case
some idiot sets off one of the horrors we are guarding. Duke's helmet is
tilted forward on his head, shielding his eyes from the unwanted gaze of
the curious – or the fearful. His neck is thick and bullish, from where
it meets with his shaved head to inside the starched collar is his
shirt. However, the most distinguishing features are his huge hands: one of
them is wrapped around the butt of his rifle as if it were a
matchstick. The other is gesticulating, pointing out where the `dangerous'
things are stored. Fuck me, everything in the damn place is `dangerous',
including him! As we trudge through the damp corridors of power `Duke'
emphasises the importance of keeping where we are heading `a secret place'.

By now, my sexual antennae are on full alert: I can hear the warning klaxon
in my head. We only met a few hours ago and already he is propositioning
me, wanting to show me his `secret place'. He can barely restrain his
lustful eagerness, reminding me somewhat of the men I used to come across
in the local fleapit on a Saturday afternoon. Their hands would creep over
the leg of my short grey trousers and rub the front of my Y's, until they
made playful contact with my pre-adolescent balls and dick, not yet fully
developed but sufficient to give me a truly hard boner. I have always
wondered what, if anything, was wrong with me. I must have been giving off
some kind of sexual body odour that has every post-pubertal male within
cumming distance of me to get a hard-on and want to fuck me – and I'd be
only too willing! The only consolation I could see was that life is never
dull! Suddenly, my train of thought is interrupted when Duke stops walking
and turns round to put down his only ground rule.

"By de way, man, you kin call me Duke only when we is alone." My hand is
engulfed in his. "Ah t'ink you'm purty cute fer a white bo'." I am five
foot ten and a half, with short blondish hair and ice-blue eyes. I have
been called a lot of things in my short life, but `cute' is a first.

"My name is Vince," I softly murmur.

We walk on and descend a steep, narrow, slippery stone staircase into a
musty smelling tunnel which broadens out into a vast, man-made cavern. Duke
is right. This is a dark, humid secret place where no-one would ever find
you if you got lost. Why would he want to come here? As if I could not
hazard an educated guess!

He stretches out on the cold and damp stone floor, taking a pack of
Marlboro cigarettes from the breast pocket of his thick fire and blast
proof tunic. He flips it open, extracts a cigarette with his teeth, and
then lights it with his Colibri. He takes a long, slow inhalation of smoke,
throwing his head back and closing his eyes. He holds the smoke in his
mouth for a few seconds, then gradually exhales, controlling the thin
ribbon emerging from between his thick lips. He sighs, contentedly. He
opens his eyes and holds the cigarette towards me. I did not even think of
the fire hazard of having a lit cigarette and a bare flame in that
environment!

Although I didn't – and still don't – smoke, I want to go through
with it, just to see what he intends doing. I reach out to take it but he
jerks it away from me and holds it pointing downwards over his crotch. It
is dark in that cavernous space but the glow of the smouldering cigarette
creates enough gentle radiance for me to see that he has a raging hard-on
straining to break free of the confines of his heavy canvas trousers.

"Sitt'ee down heah," he orders, patting the ground next to him. I squat
down on my haunches and he places the fag against my lips. I open my mouth
and take it. His thumb and forefinger caress my lips as I take a deep drag,
swallowing the smoke, leaning my head back against the cold, damp and
uneven stone wall, striving not to retch or cough. I let the smoke seep
lazily through my half open lips. Duke puts his fingers back on my mouth
and manoeuvres them to prize it open. He uses my saliva to moisten his
thumb and fingers and, before you know it, he is trying to fist-fuck my
mouth.

"Mmmm! Ah'd like to put ma fist up yo' reah end, hunny an' give yo' a real
treat!" His voice whispering seductively in my ear is silky smooth. I find
this kinky and erotic – I have never tried to take a fist up my back end
before!

He rolls over towards me and presses the lower half of his body against my
lower half. I can feel the hard, giant prick throbbing against my thigh,
even through our heavy duty trousers. He buries his head between my neck
and shoulder, putting his big hand on my cock and balls, massaging them
through my combats in a circular motion, which drives me nearly wild. He
slowly humps my leg, rather like a randy dog. Duke's big fingers wrap
around my groin and his middle finger reaches under my scrotum attempting
to find its way to my where my anal opening should be, still protected by
my underwear and cumbersome uniform. I lift up my arse to encourage his
probing finger, wanting it to discover my itching pucker.

"We'm gonna have some fun times durin' these `ere breaks," he rasps into my
ear, "but now we'm in a hurry. We don' wan' dem missin' yo' on yo'r fuss
day, now do we?" For some reason, at this moment I cannot help thinking of
Mum and Dad and what they'd make of all this – after all, they'd been
instrumental in my signing on to get away from these temptations in the
first place!

Duke reaches down and unzips my fly, followed by his own. He undoes our
security fittings and trouser waistbands. Both of us lower the cumbersome
combats and flameproof underpants in one swift movement. He climbs on top
of me, sticks his hand back in my mouth and I go down on it, sucking as if
it were an enormous prick. He rolls over, pulling me on top of him. He
guides my mouth down to his huge, uncut dick and, as soon as I am on it, he
flips us over to a sixty-nine position, swallowing my cock and both my
balls like a vacuum cleaner. He nibbles, bites, slurps and sucks. My mouth
wraps around the bulbous head of his massive prick. He fucks my face and
sucks my dick like no-one has ever done before.

Soon, too soon, it is time for us to cum. Shoving his middle finger up my
arsehole, he times his rhythm with my spurts. As thick, creamy gobs of
spunk shoot out of my cock slit, he frigs me hard with his finger. He
swallows every drop of my jism and keeps on sucking.

I'm spent, sore and want him to stop, but he has not cum yet. He rolls me
on to my back and straddles my face. His huge, hairy balls bounce heavily
against my eyes, nose and face. Whenever they get close to my mouth I gnaw,
chew and lick. Right above my eyes, Duke is hand pounding his dick and I
get a clear close-up of his foreskin sliding back and forth over the crown
of his cock, lubricated with quantities of precum with every pass. He gasps
and spreads his legs. My tongue slips into his arsehole. He thrusts down on
to my face. He grunts and groans. Stifled cries echo through the
chamber. "Oh, fuckin', fuckin' hell!" he yells. He lies backwards, with me
under him, his hairy arse in my face and I can feel him trembling as he
fires off his big cannon. "Careful," he gasps, "we don' wanna git messy on
our uniforms."

He carefully clambers off me and stands up. His enormous cock is still
dripping seminal fluid. He reaches out a hand to help me up. As I rise, I
lick the remains of his cum from his prick. He squeezes out one more large
wad. I take my finger, wipe it off his dick and then put the finger into my
mouth. He watches me as I suck his cum off my finger and I can see the
burning lust in his eyes. He'd like to do it all over again – and so
would I.

"Ah cum a gallon," he says, pointing to the rough stone wall behind us. It
is dripping with thick gobs of cum. "Yo' didn' do so bad yo'self, cutie
bo'!" He milks my dick one more time and bends over to suck out the very
last drop.

Duke and I did duty together frequently after that and by the end of each
tour of duty, we had whitewashed the walls of `our secret place' several
times over!

Laurie Page.