One hot, dry and windy day I made my way with cleaning supplies in hand, down to Sergeant Haskell's apartment to give it its weekly cleaning. I was wearing a short pair of Levi cut-offs that highlighted my tight buns and hairy legs, an ancient tank top that was so worn and stretched it barely covered my torso, and running shoes but not socks. When I opened the door to Haskell's apartment, his pungent masculinity overwhelmed me. How the fuck did this man work up such a vapour of masculinity? God, what a turn on it was! Simply standing in the doorway, breathing in his maleness, was enough to initiate an inevitably lubricious stimulation in my groin. Standing in his darkened living room, I considered whether to jack off there and then or to make a start on my duties. I decided on the latter course of action.
From where I stood I could see right through into the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom and bathroom. The kitchen looked OK; anyway, he hardly ever used it. I made my way down the hall, clicked the light on in the bedroom and shook my head in disbelief. The sheets which should have been on the bed were lying in a tangled heap on the floor, along with the pillows. Clothes were strewn everywhere. As I looked closer, I saw that the sheets were heavily stained with dried jism. Lying on the bedside locker was a pair of men's tight cotton drawers. When I picked them up I could see immediately they would be far too small for Haskell to wear. Lying next to them was a half-used tube of KY jelly, some of which had oozed from the tube and was half way to setting. Holy cow! There was even a used condom on the floor at the head of the bed. Must have been one helluva fuck!! Blood rushed straight to my cock just thinking about Haskell's dick buggering the living daylights out of some poor unsuspecting bastard. Some young, innocent greenhorn recruit had go the wrong side of his instructor, been ordered to report to him when they got back to base, and had been well and truly punished for his misdemeanours - the lucky sod!
I picked the condom up off the floor and was about ready to throw it in the trash bin when I thought I would try it on for size. It did not look as if any cum residue was in it, but it had definitely been worn. Popping the buttons of my cut-offs, my stiff cock bounced into the air, searching for freedom and release. I brushed the condom across the head of my cock and a pearly drop of sticky fluid emerged from my piss slit, coating the condom with glutinous pre-cum. Haskell's own unique odour, combined with the faintly lingering smell of recent sex, permeated the bedroom and I was fast approaching meltdown. I eagerly slipped the open end of the rubber over the head of my throbbing boner. Man, was this thing stretched out! I am not exactly small in the dick department but the Sergeant's cock must be huge to have stretched the latex into the shape it had taken. With my back to the door of the bedroom and caught up in the act of trying on his spent condom, I nearly passed out from fright when a rough, calloused hand caught me a stinging crack across my backside. A harsh, grating voice sliced directly into my ear. "What in all fucking Hell do you think you are doing? And how did you get in here, pervert?"
I spun round and there was Sergeant Keith Haskell, caked in red clay mud from head to toe with that puissant sex odour of his drifting over me. The shock of being caught in flagrante, with my cock wearing his used condom as some bizarre kind of revolutionary flag, combined with my cut-offs being down round my ankles, caused me to fall right into his muscular, furry arms. He held me for a moment, eye to eye, my cock still hard and thrumming wildly against his combats, then he slowly lowered me down until I was kneeling in front of his mud-caked booted feet. His right foot moved forward until my balls and stiff condom covered cock rested on the toe and laces of his filthy boot. Applying a steady pressure, he dragged the toe of his boot up the full length of the underside of my cock, sending shock waves of lust racing through my young, violently shaking body. My nipples hardened instantly and I moaned audibly in submission to the quiet virility and power of the man before me. I looked up and met his darkly shining emerald eyes. Without hesitation, I obeyed the unspoken command issuing from them. Placing my arms behind my back, I leant forward and began methodically attempting to clean the dirt from his boots with my tongue. It did not take very long for my face to be covered with a mixture of saliva and the indigenous red mud of the countryside. As the leather of his boots began to respond to my ministrations, Haskell took a step backwards, leaned over and with his hand under my muddy chin, lifted my face towards his groin. Winding his fingers in my hair, he dragged my face into his crotch. Here was the centre of him, the centre of his overwhelming sexuality, the centre of his manhood.
I could feel his cock pulsing under the fabric as he dragged my face back and forth across its tumescent length. He brought my mouth to his shrouded cockhead. I required no further instruction from him as my tongue flicked out and swathed the impressive helmet of his sex through his pants. Saliva was pouring from me, soaking the cloth shrouding his glans until his manhood's ridge was plainly outlined. Trembling no longer with fear and embarrassment but with unbridled lust, I reached up and unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly and tugged urgently at his combats to expose his air force issue boxer shorts. His visibly throbbing masculinity was trapped in the leg of the pungent cotton shorts, drenched in a cocktail of my saliva and his sexual lubricant. Long and thick, it was capped with a baby's fist of a head. I had to have it all. Releasing it from its fabric prison proved to be no easy task and Haskell's need was clearly as great as my own. He was so steely hard and his need was so urgent I fumbled with his shorts, unable to liberate his pulsating, quivering erection. Grunting his frustration at my inept performance, he roughly pushed my slavering tongue away from his groin, grabbed the fly of his shorts in both hands and ripped them apart, thereby freeing his magnificent manhood. It slapped against my cheek, the huge cap like a heat seeking missile destined for its target, my mouth, finding it, tearing its way inside, forcing its girth and length past my teeth, across my tongue, diving straight for my throat. Could I take it? Haskell was past caring. My nose was quickly buried in his sweaty auburn cock hair, crackling like fireworks on the fourth of July, in front of my eyes, his thrumming dick beating a primitive but approving tattoo inside my throat. His fiery-haired balls scratched my chin as they bobbed and swung to the rhythm of his pelvic thrusts.
I seized his golden thighs, running my hands up and down their hairy brawniness, driving him deeper and deeper down my throat, towards my gullet. Haskell was uncompromising in his assault, tugging unmercifully on my hair, forcing his great length into me until my tears met with his flowing lubrication and my saliva. I felt him swell in preparation for the launch of a massive load of jism, but I did not want this to end. I pulled off his cock and watched in amazement as it snapped back against his treasure trail of golden red hair reaching just above his navel. Lacking the onslaughts in my mouth and down my throat, I made up for the loss by greedily devouring one of his copper wire balls, pulling it taut and laving it with the juices flowing out of me. Haskell moaned with satisfaction, spreading his legs wider to give me better access to his low-hanging testicles. As I worked them over with my tongue and all-devouring mouth, I spread his arse cheeks and began licking my way along his perineum towards his perspiring, reeking arsehole. This was to be my undoing.
With the speed of lightning, I found myself flat on my back and Haskell's ripe arse firmly planted over my face. I felt I was about to suffocate but was happy with that thought because digging into his arsehole with my tongue was sending my prick dancing wildly with unrestrained lechery. Haskell leant forward over my torso to open his sweet-and-sour hole even further while his big cock drummed rhythmically against my hairless chest. I licked all the day's odour and sweaty stickiness away, smoothing the hairs around his pink hole until it opened like a rosebud unfolding in the warmth of sunlight. Surprising me, Haskell leant further forward and stripped the spent condom from my cock, plunging his mouth down my eight and a half steel-hard inches, taking me to the root. His thick fingers were soon rubbing up and down my arse crack searching for my teenage hole. I knew I was about to get fucked big time, but I did not know what I craved more: his nine inches of man-cannon sawing in and out of my horny hole, or continuing the arsehole feast I was gorging on.
Flipping around and placing himself firmly between my out-spread legs, Sergeant Haskell grabbed an ankle in each calloused hand, stretching my legs like a wishbone to expose my twitching hole to his heat seeking missile of a cock. With lust glazed eyes, he spat a huge wad on to the head of his cock. Leaning forward, he pushed it slowly but forcibly into my fuck hole. I inhaled sharply with pain at the colossal intrusion. As I did so, Haskell took advantage, forcing more than half his cock into my rectum, roughly pushing my body along the carpet toward the bed as he continued the assault with his fully loaded cannon. Seconds later he was pounding into me as if he was in an almost uncontrollable rage. All I could do was to hold on to his mighty arms and surrender my being to his manhood. My own cock was stone hard and tapping against my abdomen. Haskell's prick hammered my prostate, coaxing me closer and closer to orgasm. I could feel the head of his cock rub repeatedly against me, driving me further and further towards oblivion. His plum-headed penis was at the gateway to my arse when the first shot of jism erupted from my cock and landed on my forehead. With my mouth wide open in a soundless scream of release the next shot coated my lips and scorched my tongue. I convulsed with pleasure as his prick swelled inside me. Just as I thought I could not cum any more, his cock pounded the walls of my rectum and jettisoned six massive spurts of seed, pushing even more sex juice from my turgid prick. Panting, sweating, collapsing in a haze of sex scents and semen, with his still hard cock in my arse, Haskell put his arms around me and pulled me to him. In a complete reversal of his previous roughness and domination, he gently kissed the cum from my forehead and brought his lips to mine. "It's alright son," he whispered, "it's alright." With the fur of his chest teasing my nipples to hardness again, he began a slow in and out of his massive pleasure rod, working both of us toward an even higher peak of sexual rapture.
I let my host know that I was going to be staying with some buddies for a few days and remained in Haskell's love nest for three whole days, stopping only to eat, shower, shave and shag. He shagged me on the floor, in the bed, on the settee, bent over the kitchen table, standing up, lying down, sitting, squatting, anywhere and any way he could. I never imagined any man could manufacture such vast quantities of sperm - he must have made enough to repopulate half the county. Suddenly, it was all over. By the time I set off for Uni, he had been posted overseas and I lost touch with him. However, even after all the time that has elapsed since those halcyon days, I can still hear his voice whispering in my ear, "It's alright, son, it's alright."
Laurie Page, December 2008