From Part 11
"Take it and shut the fuck up!" I told him, jamming into him hard and fast, mercilessly, as he continued yelping and struggling helplessly.
I slam-fucked him hard and fast, using his hole for my relief and only point of focus as I drove him furiously. When he shouted back, "Is that all you got, BITCH?" I slammed him in the kidney HARD with a hard uppercut and then gave him another jab in his ribs. "OOoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" he groaned, and I felt his tight cunt clench me harder and spasm a few times. I also heard from his breathing he was cumming.
That just made me angrier, and I slammed him harder, until his head was slamming into the wall and the table was coming off two legs with every thrust. I kept going hard and cleared my mind of everything but seeding this bitch and, finally, after I have no idea how long, managed to conjure up a nutblast.
I wasn't even completely through draining into his fuckchannel when I pulled out and struggled but yanked up my board shorts as I turned to go. He started to get up and I slammed him down once more and said, "NO!" to which he slackened against the table.
Limping a little, feeling the fight and some excess exertion of my contorted back muscles which were required to hold him against the table, I headed back to my truck. When I passed the dumpster, my shirt ripped, my board shorts open at the fly but tied at my waist, I pitched the card-key to the suite at the Moana Surfrider into it. When I was inside and had hit the ignition, I ventured a look in the rear-view mirror, struggling a little to the side so I could see my face in the mirror. I looked worse up top than I'd thought I would, and I was relatively certain I looked better below than I felt. DAMN, I let him get too many good ones in, based on the pain that was increasing as the endorphins wore off.
I drove home carefully and slowly, wanting to stop for a pizza but thinking better of my appearance and just going straight to my apartment. I hit the answering machine, heard two messages that didn't interest me, then heard the time-stamp from about twenty minutes before and a familiar deep voice. "Buddy, that was the best! Anytime you need to blow off some steam you know I'm your man. Ooooooooh raaaaaaah, brother." I mumbled Semper Fi out of reflex and stepped into the shower to wash the blood, the day, the week, the past six weeks off me.
When I got out of the shower I went to my phone and called the base and was put through to the base commander, my boss, after a hearty greeting from his secretary. "Request permission to return to duty early, SIR!"
I was dressed and in my uni within minutes, and I was about to leave for the base when my phone rang again. I went back to the kitchen and answered shortly. "James."
"Bill, I'm in the commissary phone booth, so no worries," the familiar voice of my longtime big non-com fuckbud Michael Daniels. I hadn't seen him for several days - since the morning I'd met Greg. I waited, finding myself a little short-triggered and, therefore, perturbed by the 'in the commissary so no worries' cloak and dagger. "Are you there?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Yes, Michael," I answered, more peevishly indulgent than I'd like to have betrayed.
"The C-O notified me that you're reporting, and then he's taking off. I was wondering if everything's okay, since you're returning early."
For whatever reason, I was not making it easy for Mike, and I again simply remained silent, waiting. Well, I knew the reason - knew only too well. Greg and I had become uncomfortably close. It was what I needed at the time, what I needed to get myself beyond the looming funk of the mission and the brutal debriefings afterward. Yes, brutal - even my Corps standards. To have to recount, repeat and reiterate over and over, for several days, the deaths of brothers I didn't save and injury of others I couldn't protect from injury was soul-maiming.
Greg went from highly-satisfying trick to comforter and pretend-for-a-short-period boyfriend, and I'd allowed him IN, both of us knowing the duration available. When he'd held me at night - or I him - I regained my feeling of connection and belonging, the feelings I'd been unworthy of in the deep wallow of my after-mission shock.
Then, just as we knew it would, time passed, Greg's time in Hawaii elapsed and ran out . . . and I either had a choice - miss him and have substituted one psychological anguish for another, or put it all in the past and return to my routine, to my SELF. And that's what I'd done . . . with a stop along the way and a change of plans to accommodate my new ones.
"Bill?" Daniels hissed urgently into the phone.
"WHAT?!" I pretty much shouted. His silence this time caught my attention and reined me back in. "Look, Daniels. If the C-O is having you get his ride ready, then he's obviously waiting for me, so I'd better get my ass to the base."
"I just wanted to know what's up with cutting your leave short and to make sure you're all right."
I stopped myself from shouting at him that I'm none of his fucking concern and to just make his ass available when I want it, and we'll be just fine! Instead, I took a breath and said, "A marine can only take so much down-time, and I've had enough."
"Okay," he replied, sounding tentative. Then, "Meet you in the gym later?"
Without thinking of the double entendre I immediately said, "Good. I could use a long, HARD workout!" and hung up without waiting for his response.
At base I was greeted like a hero by the gate guards and most everyone else I passed, including the C-O's clerk, who veritably gushed over me . . . which coming from a straight marine is something pretty funny to watch! They all knew I'd been on a classified mission, and no doubt bits and pieces had been leaked . . . and exaggerated and now spreading - who knows what they thought I'd done! It embarrassed me, despite it all being fraternal and with great amity. Surprisingly, it continued when I got into my C-O's office. Colonel Mellor was a very formal, sometimes officious base commander.
He was fifty-one and in perfect shape, as if he was a drill sergeant or had just left basic. He held himself in perfect posture always, and, consequently, salutes were crisp and attention was ramrod straight. I was his aide, called an adjutant, which is not to be confused with his second in command, which was a light colonel, Becksley, who had a computer for a brain and saw to every single aspect of the base's day-to-day operations with astounding - incredible even - efficiency. I took care of the C-O's liasons with regional command, liaised with Becksley, ran the base audit and compliance function and did other lower-than-second-in-command and higher-than-secretary duties for Mellor.
Some days I loved it; some days I didn't. The one thing I was never bothered by was any excessive fraternization with Mellor - he wasn't wired that way; interested, supportive, very present and conscious, but efficient in his interface. Thus I was flabbergasted when I presented in his office, came to attention, and as he was ordering me to stand at ease, he came around the desk and not only shook my hand but also hugged me. "I want to congratulate you, marine, and to thank you for what you did."
I didn't know what to say. I was full of questions - like how much he knew about the so-highly-classified mission that I'd signed SEVEN non-disclosures - but knew I had to say something. "Thank you, SIR!" I said stiffly, still in his hold, his hands firmly on my shoulders, looking up into my eyes with intensity.
"Relax, major; I'm not going to get either of us in trouble talking about it. But I want you to know that I am one of the many, many marine officers, brass and D-O-D strata who are William James fans. Sit," he urged, pulling me toward his casual seating area.
I did, and I remained off-balance. I'd never had a "chat" with Colonel Mellor that went beyond me either standing or, rarely, sitting in a chair in front of his desk, taking direction or making reports. "Colonel, I don't know what to say. Thank you, again, sir," I said lamely.
Mellor smiled at me, and I was again struck with how he vaguely reminded me of my late father - handsome but not overly so; great shape and evident in his every athletic movement; serious and intense. Unlike my father, until now, I'd never felt warmth other than brotherly respect, one marine to another. "I took a big gamble on you, James - wait, may I call you Bill?" He laughed, again throwing me, after the startling request. "After all, we work together every day, and you practically manage my life and career here. VERY effectively, I hasten to add, and for that I should thank you more often."
Managing to lamely say, "Of course, sir, you may call me however you choose. And I am very gratified to know that my duties are being conducted in a manner to your satisfaction. No thanks necessary, sir. It's my honor to serve you."
This made him laugh again, and he ended by leaning forward from his chair and smacked my knee. "Bill, what I'm trying to say is that I'd prefer to relax our working atmosphere a bit. And you're surprised, I see. There's nothing nefarious here, Bill; just connecting. Please, if you feel free, call me Hank."
"Thank you, sir," I said, again lamely. And realizing I might have offended, I added, "I appreciate the offer, sir, but my preference if you don't mind is to show my respect for you by reference."
Mellor chuckled again. "Would you be more comfortable if I call you James or major, or will you abide my attempt to relax our relationship without it making you uncomfortable?"
"As I said, sir," I answered, very uncomfortably, "You may call me as you please. It is my honor to serve you, sir."
"Wow, major, you really are the tough one. I had no idea; I just knew you were a kickass marine who happened to be a homosexual." I gasped and shot forward on the sofa, but he put his hand up, "Stand down, Bill; it's just us here. And if two marines - two brothers - can't be honest with each other, then there's something wrong."
"Sir, I know about your former aide, and -"
"Of course you do!" he spat, cutting me off. "Everyone knows . . . and about my son. Gibson was not an honorable man. He was nothing like you in that respect. He also wasn't half as efficient or serious about his job, and I have to wonder about the decisions that led to him achieving O-5. And by the way, you've been submitted for a promotion in rank."
"Sir, I-" but this time it was my own lack for words that caused me to stop.
"It hasn't been approved yet, but it will be. And well-deserved, marine."
I was having difficulty being comfortable going from the very informal and personal to the less familiar. "Thank you, sir. It is with a great sense of pride that I take your assessment of me. I have the utmost respect for you, sir, and I know some of your own history and accomplishments, as I told you when you interviewed me for this post. So your positive appraisal of me validates me at every level."
Mellor smiled, and I could see that he was suppressing a laugh. "That's why I annoyed my wife and postponed my lunch after you called, Bill. I wanted you to know that I am exceptionally proud to call you a part of my command, particularly after your excellent work the past couple of weeks. And to express my appreciation personally for your service."
"Also," he interrupted me, and I immediately shut up, "To suggest that you do take the last few days of your leave and enjoy the island here." Taking the inference correctly, I sat forward again, straighter. "You're being PCS'd, Bill, much to my chagrin, but also I am proud that you've served here with me and have received this posting."
"Where, sir - may I ask?" I loved Hawaii - had come to love it - but I wasn't overly thrown, having had a decade and a half to learn that I was simply a game piece on the vast military playing board. I would miss Hawaii - with luck and God's grace, I would return, just as I'd returned for this posting after having visited once before and wanting to.
"The Big P, Bill. You're being posted to General Claymore's team. I know little more than that; but we both know that's an accomplishment, and although I'll be very sorry to lose you from my command here, I was honored to recommend you to General Claymore."
"Thank you, sir," I uttered, low and in awe of being requested to join the staff of one of the legends of our branch, now a very significant force at the Pentagon. "Any words of advice, sir?"
"Bill, you don't need any advice from me. You are a great marine, and from what little I've had the opportunity to know you, I believe you're a good man, too."
"Sir, from you that's-"
His hand up again, he chuckled. "Okay, okay - I get it. And I appreciate your appreciation. And now, I have an impatient wife waiting for me in town." He got up and put out his hand.
"SIR!" I barked, clasping his hand. "May I ask when I am to report, sir?"
"Ten days, marine - first of the month. Take whatever time you need in the meantime here, but do take your remaining leave days and enjoy this beautiful volcanic rock while you have the opportunity." He was retrieving his cover from the rack by the door and turned. "Oh, and Bill," he said, turning so suddenly that we were almost nose-to-nose, "I hope my reference to your, uh, personal status, didn't make you uncomfortable. The service and the nation may not be enlightened, but having a homosexual son has enlightened me. I apologize for the rest and appreciate the grace with which you abide the oppression." With that he slapped me on the shoulder, smiled and walked ahead, faster than I was prepared to, and no reason to keep up with him.
As I walked out, his secretary said, casually, "We'll miss you here, sir." Then, with a lower voice, he conspiratorially added, "And congratulations, soon-to-be colonel!" with a wink and a smile. Yes, he was one of my persuasion, though we'd never done anything more than acknowledged each other, unlike my considerable indiscretion with the irresistible Corporal Daniels.
Stopping in my own tiny office, adjacent to the C-O's, but which had its entrance around the corner from his secretary and the waiting area, I checked my inbox. Nothing - of course there wouldn't be; the secretary was every bit as attentive and serious about the C-O's office's business as I was, and he could have easily done my job, with a little more age and rank.
On a whim I shut my door and sat at my desk and called my mom. She'd left a message, and I owed her a call, more than just to tell her I was home safe. I made her day, and she made mine - I enjoyed the talk, and I enjoyed telling her I'd be much closer soon, due to my reposting to Virginia. I looked forward to seeing her more often.
Then, since I was enjoying reconnecting, and it was afternoon, so my two brothers would both likely be home from work at their homes on the east coast, I called them, too. I got both of them, and likewise enjoyed the talks. Then my intercom sounded with the secretary telling me that Daniels was outside and wanted to see me.
When Daniels was inside my office, he shook my hand formally and told me he was glad to see me in uniform again with a sly grin. He'd seen me out of it a couple of times since I'd been back.
"I thought you were driving the colonel to meet his wife for lunch."
Daniels grinned wider. "He told me he was going with her afterward, so he didn't need me anymore this afternoon. He's a horny fuck, you know; like someone else I know."
"Steady, marine," I warned him. We didn't do that sort of thing in my office or on the base at all.
"Gym?" he asked.
Daniels was massive - six-six and around two-forty of solid muscle, he was a hairy beast of a hot bitch bottom. We did the kind of workout together we often did together at the gym - him hitting it hard, me hitting it harder to show I could. An hour in and we were both sweat-drenched. I couldn't speak for Daniels, but my entire body was humming with the burn and the rush.
As we were heading to the showers, I noticed there was a pretty good basketball game in progress outside. "I'm going to see if they need another," I told Daniels, cocking my head toward the outside.
He told me he had to get back to duty anyway, to finish out his day despite the C-O being gone. "I wondered if maybe later . . . " he said, quieter, when we were in the hall to the lockers, when I was about to head the other way to the door to go outside.
"Definitely call me," I told him and headed out.
The guys welcomed me into the game - they'd been odd-manned anyway, though it wasn't stopping them from enjoying the game. Most of them were younger than I by a decade . . . young bucks, all hustling as if the game mattered. I was proud that I kept up with them.
Most of them I didn't know. One of those I couldn't help but notice. Every time he was down court and heading in after a turnaround, he absently brought his hand to the crotch of his workout shorts and held what looked to be a rather fat, if not long, cock. Just held it - not adjusting himself, not giving it an absent stoke like some guys do - just sort of holding it.
We played on, and I admit my attention was drawn to him. He was a couple of inches shorter than my six-four-plus so still tall; thick dark hair and blue-green eyes; broad surfer-like shoulders, very lean, dark, heavily hairy legs to match his darkly furred dusting across flat pecs and a thicker treasure trail. About the sixth or seventh time I saw his cock-holding move, our eyes met. I held his gaze for that moment, and he mine; not a flicker of self-consciousness. The next time he smirked at me.
After that he switched with another player to guard me, and he checked me close and hard at every opportunity. Being "shirts" I was at a disadvantage, wishing I could feel his skin and fur against me more than just his arms and hands and legs as we tangled. His sweat was aromatic, and his hard body against mine was starting to make me want to grab my own cock.
Shirts won by three points, me baiting the cock-holder into a foul on my last basket, and taking the free-throw besides. "Good game" all around, bro-hugs (though then we didn't know that's what they were called) likewise. Cock-holder held back and was the last to approach me - I hadn't made an effort to approach him. "Major, huh?" he asked, moving in.
"And you are?" I asked as our chests touched, more than a bit annoyed by what I perceived as a mocking tone.
"Nothing." When I reacted to that, he clarified. "No rank - I just saw the game after making a delivery and, since I'm finished after this one, stopped to see if I could get in on it."
"Bill James," I said, putting out my hand. He shook it with the same hand he'd been holding his cock with all those times - that gave me a jolt to my own cock. I looked around, and we were alone. Good thing, as I was close to the end of my self-control, and I might be tenting my PT trunks if my jock strap didn't hold.
"Dave Anderson," he said back, before he released his strong grip on my hand. "If I'm keeping you . . . " still our hands in the grasp.
"You're not keeping me. A shower then I'm off duty for two days."
He stepped just a bit closer, nothing anyone looking at us would have noticed, and he inhaled deeply. "Don't shower," he requested - clearly a request - speaking softer.
His sweat was still running, despite Dave having wiped his face and neck a few times with his t-shirt. Mine was, too, despite me having pulled my shirt up to use it for the same thing.
"Is there more to that offer?" I asked levelly.
He started to pull his hand out of my grip, way too late now anyway, and I held on. "Are you gonna kick my ass?" he asked.
"That's not what I thought you wanted me to do to your ass," I told him and abruptly released his hand, grinning. Dave stumbled backward a half-step, then brought his right hand back to his cock. I could see it was now bigger in his grip. "And obviously I'm right," I grinned.
"I have my own place in Pearl City," he told me. The way he said it he was clearly glad he did, probably thinking I lived on base; but there was also an element of pride in it, which for an early-twenties deliveryman I guess made sense, even though Pearl City was nothing to write home about.
"Wait on Bay Drive, and I'll grab my gear and meet you. Then I can follow you from there. I'll be in a black truck." He grinned and mock-saluted me, then turned and loped off toward a panel truck, or at least I thought that was where he was headed, not knowing for certain. Great-looking ass in those shiny shorts - bouncing as he walked.
When I got to Kaneohe Bay Drive and slowed to turn, realizing I hadn't specified which direction, I saw him pulled off to the right and pulled in behind him . . . like I'd be doing when we were out of our vehicles before too long. I chuckled to myself at that.
A stop I hadn't expected but should have for him to return the delivery truck, and then he walked back out less than five minutes later and across the street to where I was waiting. He got in and gave me directions, then was silent as we drove about two miles. I liked that - no small talk.
I can't say I remember anything about his apartment. It was as non-descript inside as it was out. We were both ready, and he pushed his shorts down and stepped out of them as soon as he closed the door behind me. The view of his ass showed I'd underestimated it - not great-looking; simply awesome. I reached out and felt the hard curve of his darkly-furred bubble butt and growled. "Glad you like," he told me, moving out of my grasp and heading toward the kitchen counter.
Dave turned when he got to the counter and was on his knees fast, so when I stopped short, he was right there. He pulled down my PT trunks and moaned. "OH fuck yeah!" he exclaimed, burying his face in my sweat-soaked jock strap. I put my hands in his thick hair and pulled his face in hard against me, grinding my cock and balls all over his face as he continued moaning like a bitch in heat.
My cock wasted no time going to attention, shucking the jock strap when it was about half-staff, jutting out the waistband and then falling forward horizontal when it was almost fully hard. Dave was still rubbing his face over it and my nuts and began licking along my length and sucking my balls through my jock. "Yeah," I growled and kept undulating my hips and holding his head so I was all over him.
"GOD you're fucking BIG!" he huffed after coming up for air.
"That gonna be a problem?" I asked.
"Would it matter if it was?" he challenged me. I laughed and held his head and pushed my precum-slimy had into his lips.
Dave wasn't accomplished sucking fat cocks it was obvious, but he was enthusiastic and went at it no matter. I never did get my head into his throat, and after the last attempt when he retched as if he was going to vomit, I pulled him to his feet and pushed him over the counter ass-up. "OH FUCK YES I FUCKING NEEEEEED IT!" he told me. At the same time he surprised me by knocking about with his arm on the counter, knocking some things to the floor, including his phone. "Vaseline is there somewhere," he strained upward, looking.
I saw it on the lower counter below where the junk was he'd sent flying and grabbed it and got a glob of goop and was going to lube him up when I decided to not pass up his sweaty, hairy ass with my tongue. Getting on my knees behind him, I used the thumb of my hand that had two fingers full of Vaseline and my full other hand to spread his buttglobes and expose his pink pucker. It was breathtaking, both in appearance and in aroma. Ringed by darker fur than on his buttcheeks, the pink fuckring was accentuated. And he smelled like a guy who'd just played hard. HOT!
I dove in, eliciting more moaning from him and breath-sucking as I tasted his salty sweat and maleness and licked all over his ring and up his crack. When I finally pressed in, I could feel his tightness, taste his essence more strongly and was breathing his sweat with my nose in his moist, hairy crack. "AWW JESUS FUCK YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" he cried, pushing back into me.
Careful not to make a mess with the Vaseline, I held those hard buttglobes well apart and tongue-fucked and slurped his fuckhole until he was begging for my cock. "AW FUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK I FUCKING WAANNNNNTTTTTT IT!" he moaned between hisses and panting.
I leg go of his buttcheek, allowing it to close around my face but not going any less deep with my tongue, and I grabbed his cock and pulled it down and back and began stroking it. "OH HOLY FUCK!" he hissed as I pushed his foreskin back and smeared his precum over his head. I began pivoting my hand over it, not his shaft, just the head, working it, feeling his ass clench as I did. "You've got me," he huffed, "Close, man."
Dave's hairy sac was pulled up tight, so I knew he wasn't exaggerating. I backed off his cock and his hole, replacing my face and tongue with my fingers. "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he exclaimed when I pushed two in, and at the same time I'd got a grip on his pulled-up nuts and was working them down again, massaging them roughly as I scissored and turned my fingers inside of him. "OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GGGGGGGOOOOOO OOODDDDDDDDDDD!" he moaned as I did it.
My cock was insistent, and after a third finger and a longer exclamation, followed by a few yelps when I nudged his prostate, I couldn't wait any longer. I got to my feet and wiped my own fast-flowing precum over my head to make it plenty slippery, and as I positioned it against his hole he urged, "Yeah, just fucking FFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Well, having been raised to be a good guest, I gave my host what he wanted. As I jammed my head HARD against his pucker, even my three fingers hadn't prepared it for the assault. His fuckring gave way reluctantly and after what seemed like impossibility, and he cried out LOUD as it finally did. I pushed into him and held as he banged his fist against the counter and panted, his tight cunt clenched so tight around my throbbing cockhead that it was painful . . . in a delightful way. It wasn't but a moment, though, until he pushed back, giving me the clear signal that he wanted more, regardless of what the vise grip his cunt had on me suggested.
I obliged, pushing HARD into him, deeply seating, pushing past both his prostate, which when I did caused him to gasp loudly, and his second ring, which caused him to yelp out, "OHMYGOD!" I could it wasn't the first time anyone had gone that deep in his fuckchannel, but it might have been a while, based on his surprise.
"Just fucking TAKE me, man - use my fucking ass!" he snarled back at me.
So, without further ado, I did just that. I started with some quick long-dick strokes - almost fully out, leaving him gasping as my fat, throbbing head STRETCHED his cuntring, held a beat, then SLAMMED back into him until my pubic bone slammed against his tailbone and ground as deep as I could get into him, causing a deep, long grunt. I gradually increased the pace, jarring him savagely with each collision, until my loins and his ass were slapping together loudly, and my balls were swinging between his legs into his painfully.
"GOD you don't loosen up do you?" I growled.
He guffawed uncomfortably at that between gasps and yelps and long, intoxicating moans of great pleasure of being reamed. "I don't usually - AAAAAAA! - take a fucking TREEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH trunk up my ass!" he finally got out.
I threw my head back and laughed, serving to lever my groin forward, shoving myself even deeper into him. "FUCK YEAH!" I yelled and smacked his ass, causing his cunt to clench even harder on my already tightly-held fuckpipe inside him. And then his ass started spasming as his body suddenly tensed, and then he was thrashing and bucking, wrenching my cock as I continued to pummel his cuntchannel. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA fffuuuuuccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" he cried in a long moan as his cum splattered on the wood below the counter and I kept banging him and enjoying the undulation as he bucked and peristalsis my fuckrod felt inside him.
Growling, I started jackhammering him harder and faster. When Dave growled back, I felt it in his fuckhole, felt him clench and milk me, knowing he wanted my seed . . . or wanted me to finish. I really didn't care which.
His well-shaped and well-defined body was sheened with sweat. Sometimes rivulets of sweat would run down over the ridges of muscle in his back when he would rear back and then would roll down his sides, all the while catching the bright light from outside and making them look streaky on his well-tanned flesh. The sweat on the thick hairs of his arms and ass and legs glistened as if he was freshly showered and hadn't toweled off . . . and sweat from each of us was in splats on the vinyl floor beneath our feet.
My mind was wandering, interest waned despite the pleasing way he worked my cock. I couldn't put my finger on it. I had him by his waist, holding him steady while I plowed him deep, hard and fast with my raging cock which had no such distractions as those in my head. It was as if I was two men - my cock and balls were one very determined man, full of need and intent on sating that need; the rest of me was not resisting what my cock and balls were doing, but for the first time in a long time it wasn't appealing to ME, it wasn't compelling to ME.
Unconsciously - or maybe somewhat consciously - I was fucking Dave with a vigor and twist-grinding as I fucked him that had him moaning almost continuously. When he wasn't moaning, he was panting and sometimes swearing. Clearly not having any internal conflict, other than, perhaps, some frustration that his impressive asswork on my cock hadn't gotten me off.
As I forced myself to merge myself and tune in, I brought into focus that he was not only working my pistoning fuckstick with his highly-proficient cuntmuscles but he was also meeting me thrust for thrust, fucking back into me hard and wantonly. I reached out and grabbed his head by a handful of his thick, dark hair and yanked his head back HARD. Leaning down over him, not missing a stroke, I growled at him low and slow, "Work for it!"
In response his clench on my cock was so tight it caused me to grunt and strain to maintain pace . . . but I did, and my aching nuts smacked harder into his and sent a jolt up through my gut that surprised me. FINALLY - something to work with!
I FUCKED him even harder, drove it into him, DRILLED his fuckchute until I felt that jolt go to a burn and worked it into the start of my own explosion. And just as I did, I felt him go stiff again and start yelling, "OHFUCKOHFUCKOHFUCK!" and then erupt into spasms in his fuckchannel that pulled me from a slow burn to a seismically significant blast that had me yelling as it rocketed through my long cock and traveled deep into his guts.
"UUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I cried until it just overtook me and all there was for me was the pumping and draining.
"HOLY FUCKING FUCK, BATMAN!" Dave cried out suddenly, startling me back to reality. "DUDE! You're one MAJOR fuckmachine!" he gushed, still face-down on across the counter.
"Thanks," I mumbled self-consciously, pulling myself out of him as gently as I could.
"YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWW WWWWWWWW FFFFUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK!" he hissed, particularly when my fat cockhead plopped free with an audible pop and a decent amount of my seed plopped out with it, splatting on the floor with a veritable puddle that he'd spewed during two apparently-heavy drainings himself.
"Sorry, bud," I apologized, walking away and helping myself to a paper towel to wipe my cum-slimey cock clean.
"Awwww, man - you denied me the best part," he grinned lasciviously, licking his lips as he watched me wipe myself. I just finished and then crumpled the paper towel and sort of looked about helplessly. "Just pitch it on the counter - I'll take care of it," he said, with obvious dejection.
As I struggled to stuff my still half-hard cock back into my jock strap and get my shorts leg down over the bulge, it was uncomfortable, as if a loud clock was ticking. Dave knew it, felt it - it was evident in his last statement. And his next.
"Just my luck - the Iron Man of fucking shows me what fuck-heaven is, and he's not into me."
I looked across at him, handsome, sweaty, furry and HOT, knowing I had no obligation because this was just a hookup, but feeling like a shit, too, because all I wanted to do was to get the fuck out of there. "For what it's worth, Dave, you're an AMAZING fuck."
"Just not your type of amazing fuck?" he finished.
"Thanks for a better afternoon than I'd intended having," I said, meaning it, heading for his door.
"See you on base - I hope - next time I have a delivery?"
I smiled, thinking it would be unlikely.
As I drove back past the airport I saw a jet taking off in the distance. I wondered if Greg's plan had landed yet. As I drove I realized I had no idea where he'd even flown off to.