Servicing the serviceman : Part 2

(Part 1 from 1. Fiction.)

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

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

'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 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 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, 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 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 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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