A Marine And A Judge Can't Wait

by BillyC

24 Jan 2017 6439 readers Score 8.9 (102 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


Sometimes I make the very pleasant mistake of reading my favorite fellow authors’ GayDemon stories at work, when I have a few spare minutes (and can log into the site via the wifi from the building across the street!). When I first started doing so, it was a bigger problem than now – I had to go down the hall from my office to the men’s room to, uh . . . take care of things when, preDICKtably, the HOT stories got me HOT; but now that I have a different office with its own bathroom, I need not be as judicious, at least for that reason. And since reading porn in one’s office shows that I’m firmly into the nasty pig range of men, obviously I’m not going to go THERE about the reasons I should restrain myself. Thus I am often reading my favorite ball-tingling, bone-inducing authors – in absolutely no order of preference: Jack, Eric, Patrick, Tuppie, ‘Nutz, Chad, Grant, Caliban, Bill and more. This, then, is how I came to have such a need to relieve myself; that particular Friday it was one of Patrick Law’s masterful “Owen” series that I reread . . . and my cock took over my thinking, almost getting me in BIG trouble! Here’s the account of the early part of that night.


A Marine And A Judge Can't Wait

by BillyC
[email protected]

I had an hour or so before my husband was going to pick me up for the drive home that Friday, but I was DONE for the week, despite it having been only four days. Re-entry to work after a month’s vacation had been brutal – I’d take a return to special forces training over this. Okay, maybe not. Mostly because back then I didn’t have online porn to relieve the stress or pass the time. Like I do now.

I had my office door closed, my assistant had left early and had urged me to do the same. Not only didn’t I have his excuse (a pre-weekend root canal – who does that?), but my husband had the car and wasn’t leaving for another forty-five minutes to drive by and pick me up for the drive out of town to our home, about an hour outside the District.

So . . . with my phone connected to the WiFi of some less-than-security-conscious building across the street so I wasn’t on my company network, I was surfing. And I had a long board in my pants as a result. I still had plenty of time to read some news or something which would cause me to lose my . . . excitement.

But I didn’t. Of course. And then I stumbled on some responses to some comments online from a fellow contributor of erotic porn stories and remembered I owed him some comments about his series, which my husband and I were savoring.

Jesus! I hadn’t posted a comment since the first installment!!! I was usually far more diligent in showing my appreciation; even when Jim and I fucked our nuts off after finishing reading one of the HOT stories together, I’d usually go back when we were done – or at least between rounds! – and post some grateful feedback for the great read . . . and great fun that resulted. But in this case - the installments of Patrick Law’s Owen series, I guess I’d been too focused on getting to the next great installment and then next and hadn’t expressed our enjoyment as I should have.

There should be a rating system:

Balls Tingling

Hardon

Wet

Had To Jack Off

Full-On Attacked Each Other And Fucked Our Nuts Off

Just click the button that applies, and at least there would be that, explicit, in addition to the overly discretionary one to ten ratings.

The characters’ development over the course of the many installments of the Owen series was deep and multi-faceted, and their journey had many intricate aspects, so I needed to put myself back into that second installment’s setting and scenes to express my comment. And as I reread the vivid depiction of a young man’s introduction to fucking by a big-cocked Alpha, my hardon throbbed all the more. I sat behind my desk uncomfortably in expensive, well-tailored slacks, the type my husband loved me in but if it had been up to me some off-the-rack from the Gap would have been fine, and I squirmed about in my chair, continuously trying to relieve the tightness.

I tapped out my praise to Patrick, the brilliant writer whose stories stoked my desires, and I told myself I’d finish that one installment and then go to the news or something to cool me down. My pants were getting tighter, more uncomfortable, and the wetness emanating from my drooling cockhead was near to causing a wet spot which would soon come through the stretched-to-the-limit fabric of my jock strap to the fine worsted wool of my slacks.

You won’t be surprised to read that I did not do that – finish that installment and switch to some cool-down fodder. Instead I found myself indulging in the third episode, absently rubbing my hardon in my pants as I enjoyed every subtlety and tantalizing erotic aspect of the interplay between Alpha and burgeoning Beta boy. By the time I tapped out my comment to my very gifted benefactor, via his writing, there was sweat in the cleft between my pecs and shoulder blades, and my shirt was sticking to me. My crotch area was in worse shape – certainly wetter than it should be with me there, in my office.

By then my nuts were firmly in control of my destiny. I’m but a mere male – it happens! I glanced at the time, and with time left before Jim would leave the courthouse and head over to pick me up I made a decision. A plan, as it were. I thumbed out a detailed text to my husband:

Instead of going home, after you swing by here let's walk to DuPont and relax for a while and then have dinner at B's

The translation, which would be self-evident to my horny husband, was:

I can’t wait through the long drive out to Annapolis. So I'm going to fuck your brains out the first chance I get at our condo and probably not even bother to go out for dinner. And on the walk there so I can tell you all the filthy things we're going to do!

Jim’s return was virtually immediate:

OFY leaving now

The OFY was OH FUCK YEAH.

Patrick had left me another post, and I replied quickly, indiscreetly telling him about my plans. We shared a few more borderline flirty posts back and forth as I logged out of my work system and engaged the biometric locks on my desk and cabinetry. I quickly responded to Patrick’s last words of encouragement for our evening plans while I grabbed my backpack, coat, scarf and gloves from my closet and then left and locked my office.

I was still hard as a steel girder. And my cock was painfully knocked around as I hurried, my filthy jock strap I’d worn under my slacks twisted and strangling my shaft and pinching my nuts which hadn’t broken free when the pouch got all contorted by my huge hardon. I was clear of my assistant’s office and in the management lobby area when I just couldn’t take it any more and stopped to adjust myself.

It was fruitless to make the necessary adjustment by trying to grip and readjust through my slacks – that was the extent of my plight. Looking around, on a Friday after five, it wasn’t unexpected to see the other four doors in the management area where I worked closed, the lock keypads showing red, locked, not amber, locked-occupied. So I didn’t hesitate – I threw down my gear on one of the waiting room sofas, turned to the wall to avoid the security monitors and unbuckled and unzipped. I was mid-untangling, my big hardon fully exposed, when I heard the glass door swing behind me and just as quickly from the side, “WHOA!” from a deep voice.

I jerked my head in the direction of the familiar voice, while trying to turn my body farther away in the other direction, out of the view of one of analysts whom I know works in our finance area, the young man who’d exclaimed when he saw me with my cock out. “Sorry, General Cate!” he sputtered, frozen in place.

“I thought everyone was gone,” I said inanely and stopped as Phillips spoke at the same time.

“I wanted to see if Colonel Reynolds was still here to give me his take on this . . . “ He seemed to stop there, eyes glued to my crotch, where my big hands and my awkward turn into the wall while not turning too far to be caught frontal on the cams disguised me for the most part but clearly not entirely, given his gaze. “I should have left it for Monday when I didn’t see his Lync window logged in,” he added apologetically, continuing to stare down at my crotch.

My company is owned principally by and staffed majority by retired and former military. Far more men than women, regretfully because our owner, my boss, was old school, a three-star Corpsman who still didn’t quite understand how or why there were women officers who weren’t nurses, much less general officers. It was a great company, and General Ferguson is a great man, just not quite comfortable with so much that had changed over the course of his long and illustrious career and since his retirement. Fortunately for me, like most commanders, he’d served with and around gay men throughout his career, and he didn’t give a whit who anyone fucked, so long as they did and weren’t all grouchy and pent up! (Yes, he’d actually said that!)

For me, when I retired, being recruited to the company I now worked for turned out to be a dream I’d never had. Working among former military men and women, working for (then) a decorated retired Army major – which was interesting, consider I then held a rank in retirement two grades above his, interesting dynamics in our work environment where a military-strict chain of command existed, and sometimes conflicted with our prior career ranks – was comfortable for me. When my role was changed, after a two-year return under a contract to the DOD, and I was reporting directly to General Ferguson upon resumption at my company, it was less complicated. We were both Marines, his rank higher than mine even after the lucrative contract advanced my retirement rank significantly. And after the diluted environment of the DOD under the then-current administration’s liberal, disrespectful, unpatriotic policies, returning to an environment where we were a group of men and women of like minds for the most part and used to reflexively exercising stricter disciplines reinforced that my post-retirement career was tailor-made for me.

Phillips, the young Navy man who was still frozen in place, worked for my associate, Colonel Reynolds, retired Corps like me and our company CFO. Phillips was bright and well-regarded. He was also very attractive, which I shouldn’t have been noticing in that particular situation for several reasons other than the obvious, which was I was on the way to have a sex-fest with my husband. Still I couldn’t help but capitalize a bit on the young stud’s obvious fascination with my only partially covered junk.  

I was also conscious of the time passing, and my husband’s imminent arrival downstairs for the walk to our condo several blocks away. “Phillips, I’ve got to get on my way, so I’ve got to get this, uh,” and I threw a glance downward, “Situation sorted out and on my way. You can see Reynolds is gone, so you’re free to go.” I stopped for a moment to enable him to leave, but he wasn’t moving, other than fidgeting a little. Well, there went the rest of my resolve.

I removed my hands from covering myself, took a step back from the wall to give myself room and got to work, still back to the security cams. “Or you can stay,” I added over my shoulder unnecessarily since he wasn’t moving, and I was fully exposed.

My rebellious cock wasn’t cooperating whatsoever and was still raging hard, which complicated my effort to get myself rearranged in my well-tailored slacks. If Phillips thought I was hurrying to minimize my exposure to him, he was wrong. I was hurrying to hasten my hookup with my studly husband, and being watched by a hot, younger Navy man would add fuel to the fires of our fun to come. And it wasn’t helping me get my cock under control right now one bit!

Phillips’ eyes had widened when I looked over at him. I was dipping at my knees and getting my nuts resettled in my jock’s pouch, cock shoved up at a forty-five degree angle out just under the waistband. It was tighter than before, but kept me from having my shaft trapped in my waistband if I’d pushed myself vertical along the zipper where there was more room, courtesy of our tailor who understand a man needed room for his junk in the front of his pants. He just didn’t tailor them for hardons, much less BIG ones.

I zipped up finally, and grabbed my gear to head out, and I stopped, deliberately stopping uncomfortably close to Phillips, whose face was now flushed. “We’ll keep this to ourselves, won’t we?” I asked him, using my “quiet command voice,” so it wasn’t a question at all.

Phillips started and snapped to attention, which made me laugh out loud. “Sir!”

“Easy there, lieutenant,” I soothed in a much friendlier tone around my chuckling, clapping him on his sturdy, very warm shoulder. Then, still heading out, I let my hand brush his jaw as I withdrew it. Phillips shuddered – I felt it in just the instant the back of my hand rubbed his face in passing – but I just kept walking, shrugging on my coat and getting my pack on as I went. “Have a great weekend, Phillips,” I threw back, chuckling to myself thinking that whoever he hooked up that weekend with would be one lucky man with Phillips’ after burners at full throttle. That or he’d have tennis elbow and carpel tunnel if he spent the weekend alone.

I was surprised when I emerged from the stairwell and Jim wasn’t there. I looked out, and my big SUV – his present to me – was right out front in a no parking zone. Per the text, he was supposed to walk over, and we’d leave the car at his garage. Or maybe he would have parked it in my building, my parking card in it as was his. Either way, idling at the curb wasn’t in the plan. And my nuts sent a jolt through me to remind me to get the FUCK back on plan. I strode through the lobby and absently returned a good weekend wish to the security man, thinking surely Jim hadn’t misread me and not realized the importance of us getting somewhere quick to have some fun. My level of excitement exceeded my capacity to survive a fifty-minute drive without getting us in trouble or in an accident if we were driving.

I yanked the building door open and was almost knocked down by the icy wind. I didn’t look until I got in the car, but it was twenty Fahrenheit out based on my Apple watch’s reading, which didn’t adjust for wind chill.

Jim had reached across and thrown the passenger door open for me, and I virtually dove in, slamming the door behind me as I shivered. “Temp’s dropped,” my husband confirmed.

“NO SHIT!” I shot back, through already chattering teeth, as I leaned over to kiss him.

Jim just laughed and threw the car in gear and made the turns to get us going the opposite direction toward our condo. The direction confirmed that we were still on to go to the condo, not out of the city. Not immediate but gratification soon, which relieved that part of my concern. “You didn’t even button up your coat,” he observed. “Not that I mind the view,” he added, giving my still raging hardon a squeeze through my bulging slacks.

My nuts sent a jolt through my body when Jim gave me that momentary squeeze. I took that to mean my nuts hadn’t caught up with the directional confirmation that the plan was still a go. “Just get us home – QUICK!” I replied, grabbing his hardening cock in return and rubbing it.

I teasingly stroked Jim’s cock, and the usual crawling traffic in the District enabled me to have my husband panting by the time we got to our building and pulled into the underground garage. He chirped the tires going over the threshold, and we bounced and careened down in and around to our parking spaces in the far corner, where we basically skidded to a stop.

“HURRY!” Jim urged, throwing open his door. Now he was the one in a hurry!

I didn’t argue, grinning as I came around the back and saw him awkwardly struggling, trying to get his own big hardon rearranged in his pants. “Need help?” I teased him with a smirk, reaching, having immediately discounted the idea of telling him about exposing myself to a Navy man in our inner lobby.

“Just get the fucking elevator!” Jim snarled, knocking my hand away but laughing.

I had a better idea . . . or at least one Jim didn’t. I went past the garage passenger elevator lobby and paused at a corner, half-way around the core of the building. “C’mon!” I called back to my still-grappling husband. In fairness, he has a lot to grapple with, too.

He’s also smart and quick, and from his smirk I knew he knew what I had in mind. Just as he’d rounded the corner, the service elevator had made the loud, metal clang that let me know the lock had disengaged.

Our condo building’s freight elevator is one of those old-style warehouse freight elevators, thoughtfully included in the architect’s design to accommodate large and precious furniture and art which otherwise would be less securely transported in the passenger elevators or a conventional residential building’s service elevator. When I moved in, and all during the work I put in myself (and with various tradesmen that I literally traded my cock for their services and assistance), I’d used the freight elevator many times, courtesy of the building manager who taught me how to use the buttons and levers and had coded my access card so I could. Considerably less complicated than the average RPG, this Marine had no trouble mastering the controls.

Thus I was swinging the big elevator access lever around like an airplane door when Jim made it through the service elevator “lobby” as I called it, since it was so large. Assumably the room was designed for staging the freight. His look of surprise and then nasty delight told me he had thought it was going to be that freezing lobby I’d intended for the venue to relieve our need, and he was excited by the thought of the elevator itself.

As I rolled up the big inner grate to give us access, Jimmy had reached around from behind me and already had my zipper down and my hard cock out and in his grip. We tumbled into more than stepped into the huge, rough-finished space, and I barely got the grate closed behind us and the lever down on the inside to close us in before Jim was on his knees with a tight grip on my full and aching nuts and my cock down his throat. Neither of us complained about the cold.

“OH FUCK, Jimmy!” I gasped, as he made his intention clear with a determined deep-suck, heavy-tongue technique, using his clenched fist around my nuts to pull me into his mouth and out again. “Let me just uuuuunnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—“ I trailed off into a groan as I slammed my hand at the controls to get us moving.

With a sudden jolt that had Jim gagging and sputtering around my cock – and he NEVER gags! – the elevator jerked into upward motion. To his credit his teeth never once did more than lightly brush the fat shaft of my horsecock despite the jostling. “Mmmrrrrrrrrrrgggggmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he growled as he worked on it as if nothing had happened, while I flailed for purchase on the wall of the elevator on one side and clamped my big paw on the back of his head to maintain my footing. My husband’s tightened grip on my bloated ballsac told me he was going for the gold and neither jolts from moving elevators nor anything else was going to stop him.

I had no idea where we were in our ascension – I only knew where I was in my own. I was skyrocketing toward release courtesy of Jim’s masterful cockwork. He learned my huge, fat fuckmeat that first weekend we hooked up, like a concert pianist playing a Ligeti Etude on a new brand of piano. He was still the only man who’d ever deep throated me in his first attempt without having to be literally pulled off before he choked to death. I know – I thought when he did, “What fun is that?” And then he showed me . . . over and over for close to five years now. If there was an Academy Award or Presidential Medal for cocksucking, he’d surely earn it repeatedly!

There was more I had planned than just dumping my nuts once. Struggling for focus on anything other than my nuts, which were beginning to feel like a reactor heading for critical, I strained my body around to barely see the control panel out of the corner of my eye and get a bead on the EMERGENCY STOP switch. It was red, a big toggle-like switch, fortunately, or I couldn’t have gotten to it from where I was and the angle, but I did, and I managed to strain with a big “RRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHH” and flipped it, which caused two things to happen.

What I expected did happen. A HARD jolt as the elevator abruptly halted its ascent. But also, I felt my husband’s head jerk before that, when I grunted, straining his eyes upward to where I’d contorted myself, surprise and question all over his face. He knows when I’m cumming before I even feel my nuts about to combust, and the grunt was too similar to my pre-blast grunt apparently. Feeling his head jerk, I’d looked down, and then, when the elevator bumped to a hard stop his face showed his question was answered. Of course he never stopped sucking/laving my cock and yanking/massaging my nuts. The only way I knew he’d been caught off-guard by the unsteadiness in the elevator was his right hand clenched my left butt cheek for balance. He could do that ANYtime I thought!

On firm footing again – both of us – I clenched both hands on Jim’s head and began skull-fucking him with purpose. His grunts and chokes and moans and garbled, guttural almost-word utterances of “RRRUUUGGGHHH GGYYAAAA!” I knew to be not only encouragement but an order from a hungry cocksucker to his donor, and I somehow got even more brutal in my thrusting.

“FUCKING TAKE THAT! YOU FUCKER YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME FUCKING—“ was all I got out before my body seized momentarily, my pubes crushed against Jimmy’s GQ-worthy face. My body erupted both internally and externally, my spasms coming as the nuclear cumblastion started. “FUCKYESSSSSSSSSSS!” I shouted as I felt my seed rocket through my fuckpipe.

“MMMMMMRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGMMMMMMMMRRR!” Jimmy moaned in appreciation as he gulped and then sucked after he moved back enough to get a mouthful of my firehose-stream of cum in addition to what I’d blasted into his gullet.

I hadn’t realized that Jimmy had got his suit slacks unbuttoned and unzipped while he was doing his cockwork, but the moment I was pumped out, he sprung up and without letting loose his grip on my nuts, vaulted to the nearest wall behind him, jerking me along with him. He knows I can always go twice. I may be about to turn fifty, and twice is usually my limit without a few minutes to reenergize, but that second one I’m always good for!

He stopped short, and I slammed into the back of him – I was still tethered by his death grip on my nuts. He bent toward the wall and with his right hand spit a mouthful of my cum and his spit and snot into his hand and slathered his hairy hole swiftly. In just moments he had three fingers inside himself, and he was obviously slimed enough because he pulled me toward his ass by my balls and ordered, “FUCK ME – NOW!”

Who was I to argue? Happy husband, happy life and all that. I shoved his upper body down hard against the wall, which he braced with his right hand and made a cum-slimy hand print that I knew he’d leave there when we were done. Of course he still hadn’t let go of my nutsac. And I SHOVED into him HARD, like I knew he wanted. “OHCHRISTFUCKINGHELLYESSSSSSSSSSSSS!” he spat in a quick cry that turned into a moan.

Jim’s cunt is like molten lava at the best of time, and when he’s worked up it gets beyond description. It’s also still TIGHT despite being STRETCHED and battered by my fucklog lo these many years – thank you Arnold Kegel! I swear that if we ever meet Arnold Kegel Jim should let him fuck him in appreciation. My learned husband, of course, had, however, when I suggested that to him, informed me that Kegel was long dead!

With Jimmy matching my thrusts, I slam-fucked his clenched cunt until it finally felt like he’d relaxed enough to not rip my foreskin off, and then I really let go. “YEAH, MARINE, JUST LIKE THAT!” Jim hissed, thrusting himself back onto my thrusts hard enough to make my pubic bone feel the painful impact of his tailbone again and again.

We went on that way – him shouting orders, pleading for more, harder, faster, and me somehow summoning the middle-aged stamina to meet those demands – for some time. The second time for me with no break in between usually takes even longer, and I’m a slow-cummer to begin with. But neither of us was deterred, and when I reached up the back of his shirt to his shoulders, he was drenched in sweat as I knew I was. I reached under his armpit with my right hand and brought it back and inhaled deeply of my husband’s scent, my body reacting with new energy stores as the primal imprint overtook any exhaustion factor. When I licked my fingers, I had to let out a loud, long growl.

“YEAH, FUCKER, C’MON!” was Jimmy’s reaction to my guttural growl, and I felt him working his cuntchute muscles tighter around me again, milking me to his second helping of my seed.

I slammed him hard and jammed him into the elevator wall tighter, more erect, and I began battering his fuckchute from a slightly different angle. It apparently was the right angle – okay, I knew it would be, and I was getting close to my second blastoff point – because Jimmy’s left hand got behind my ass and was digging his fingertips into me screaming, “DON’TFUCKINGSTOP! YEAH! JUSTLIKETHAT! I’M—“

Like Jim knowing my body, I know his, and his sudden silence, his words choked off, preceded the telltale tensing of his every muscle, most notably his cuntring and cuntchute in a vise grip on my cock that makes it almost impossible to continue my thrusts. “DDOONN—“ he choked out. “STTTTTTT” followed, the best he could do to plead with me not to stop.

“C’mon, stud, milk my cock and blast your nuts for me!” I ordered. And like the perfect husband he is, Jim’s body began convulsing and he cried, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” as he unloaded all over the elevator wall and floor.

His fuckchute spasming like a crazed milking machine pulled mine out of me with a spontaneous blast that had me almost throw my back out with the first spasm. The sudden seizing of my entire body for a second then almost immediate convulsions felt like whiplash. “FUCKING CHRIST!” I yelled, and I began spewing my seed a second time, this time nearly ten inches deep inside my husband’s very talented mancunt.

“EVERY DROP – GIMME ALL OF IT!” Jim growled, still thrashing and milking those drops – more like gushers – out of me.

Collapsed together there in the big, cold freight elevator, both of our dress shirts drenched in sweat, still joined in copulation, we panted. My husband’s back and ass against my chest and groin, even through our soaked shirts – he’d much earlier shucked off his absurdly expensive suit coat somewhere on the dusty floor – I snaked my arms around him and kissed the coarse hairs on the back of his neck below his hairline. “Mmmmmmmm,” I moaned in appreciation.

“Yeah,” he huffed out. “Very mmmmmm,” he moaned again, bringing his right arm up and cupping the back of my head with his warm, sticky hand.

At length, “You wanna go upstairs or just go back to the car and head out home?” he asked. A logical possibility since we’d solved the immediacy of our need and intended to not spend the night at our condo in the District.

I inhaled deeply of his neck, his manly sweat and familiar scent again sending a frisson through me. “No fucking way!” I responded. “I’m taking you upstairs and licking every square inch of you – outside and as much as I can get to inside!”

“You always know just what to say, Marine!” my husband grinned back at me.

We unheaped ourselves and got standing. The stench of mansweat and mansex in the elevator had replaced the vaguely metallic, dusty smell it generally exuded, and the heady aroma now had my balls tingling again. I hit the toggle to release the stop switch and slammed the button for the top floor, ours. The elevator jerked into motion, causing both of us to sway for a moment, Jim, every the opportunist, grabbing my cock for support. I smirked at him. “I could use some cleanup here,” I announced, throwing a glance down at my slimy cock in his hand.

Grinning at me, in an instant, he was on his knees – again – and lapping at my cummy, ass-slimy cock. He looked up at me questioningly when I put my hands on his head to steady myself. I was getting hard again, having flagged some after that second load, and his look told me he wanted to know if my grip on his head signaled that we were going for the gold or if it truly was just cleanup. I chuckled, holding his gaze as he sucked and licked and lapped and occasionally smacked his lips. Finally I answered. “Let’s take this inside,” just as the elevator bounced to a stop.

Jim slowly withdrew, his tongue and sucking action exaggerated as he did. The loud POP when he finally let my again-engorged cockhead burst from his mouth made us both laugh. “Sure?” he asked, his evil grin tempting me, a quick swipe of his tongue on my frenulum and over my piss slit adding to the enticement.

I pulled him up to standing and crashed my lips over his, taking his mouth forcefully, and him taking mine right back, me inhaling the pungent aroma of my cock and cum and his ass and our sweat from his face as I tasted us on his lips and tongue. As our clench heated, we were startled by the blare of a male voice over the intercom.

“I, uh, SEE you two got the elevator going again,” our building concierge’s voice boomed with a clear note of amusement.

I jerked my head up and did a lightning-fast three-sixty of the elevator and immediately spotted the two security cams I knew I’d find before I even looked. DUMB JARHEAD! My wanton nuts had propelled me faster than reason, and we were certain to have been caught in flagrante, in toto, as my husband would say.

“We’re obviously just fine, Henry,” my husband answered, unruffled. “We’ll pick up the disk on the way out in a couple of hours,” he added, as if it happened all the time.

In fact, it had happened a couple of times. The stairwell, the passenger elevator, but never in the freight elevator. Actually, I should say, never in the freight elevator with my husband. There was once, long before I met him, just after I moved in, when my very fuckable plumber-fuckbud and I were hauling up some sinks and fixtures and we, uh, indulged some testicular urgency and partook of the privacy of the freight elevator. That time, though, I’d wrapped my t-shirt around one cam, and his around the other. The passenger elevator and stairwell were each easier to keep full views from the single lenses, but we had secured the disks, and I’d ensured that the building’s system hadn’t backed up yet, for a few large bills my generous husband had thrown the concierge’s way. “College fund,” he grinned, pocketing the money each time, though he didn’t have children that I knew of – he wasn’t married – and the grin was more than appreciation for the money. The last time he’d asked, “Any of the other guys, uh—“ and we’d told him it seemed he was our only “concierge voyeur” as it happened. That was the extent of conversation about it – I hadn’t mentioned that undoubtedly there had been a different concierge on that Sunday afternoon with plumber Chaz.

“Understood, Judge Ellis,” came through the speaker. And then we both burst out laughing as I wrestled my flopping horsecock into my pants, Jimmy likewise zipping up and retrieving his suit coat from the elevator floor and putting it on, straightening it and buttoning it like James Bond after a brawl.

I got the lever rotated, the grate slid up and the outer elevator doors open as I thought about how my cock jumped – one of MANY times watching James Bond – during the scene in Skyfall when Daniel Craig lasciviously retorts to Javier Bardem, “What makes you think this is my first time?”

Jim clamped his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him as we walked from the service elevator, through the service elevator lobby on our floor, out into the hall and to our own condo’s rear service door. “Another rear entry,” I quipped stupidly as he activated the thumb scanner on the lock. Yeah, we like gadgets at home, too.

“I sure as heck hope so,” Jim threw back as he thumbed us into our own service room.

My husband NEVER swears, except during sex. Then it’s a steady stream of curses. HE says that it was because raising a son alone required that he set a good example and give no quarter; but knowing his very upper-crust parents, I suspect it’s more his oh so lofty upbringing than chosen behavior. I will say that if it was, in fact, only for raising Perry, the strategy worked, as he RARELY curses. As for me, on the other hand, I was raised by very middle-class parents (actually lower-middle-class who managed to make our lives not too much different than the middle class majority), two ex-military fathers and a mother who didn’t hold back from expressing herself colorfully when the occasion called for it. Nearly thirty years in the Corps after that sealed my fate as far as language! I still get a kick out of Jim when he says things like “heck” when he means “hell” and “darn” when he means “damn” or “fuck” and the like.  

As soon as we were inside the service area of our condo, I slammed him against the wall and grabbed his ass, pressing myself against him. “Think you can take it again, stud?” I breathed into his face.

I felt his response against my crotch as his cock sprung to life again in his slacks. “GOD YES!” was an unnecessary response after his cock made his desire clear, but my husband believes in precision in communication.

I took his mouth again, and this time we sucked face hard and long, complete with teeth knocking, full-body humping against each other, wild groping and much moaning. Neither of us gave any indication of the mind-blowing sex we’d just had in the elevator. I was raging hard again, despite the twofer. He was humping forward into me and back onto my fingers that I had pressed into his crack through his slacks, moaning like a bitch in heat. When we finally broke out of our kiss momentarily to suck in some deep breaths, Jim broke away and threw himself over the folding table, unbuckling his pants. He cried out, “For fuck’s sake – just fucking FUCK me . . . AGAIN!”

Yanking his pants down – and probably breaking his zipper, but by that point I didn’t care – I surprised him by instead dropping to my knees and buried my face in his musky, freshly-fucked hole. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” I exclaimed, my tongue penetrating him first-off and licking around the inside of his cummy cuntwalls.

“OH JESUS BILLY!” Jim moaned as I sucked and licked and slurped his deliciously sweaty, musky, funky, cummy mancunt. He gyrated and rubbed his ass all over my face as he tried to grind onto my tongue deeper. I reached up to grab his cock, which was jammed downward against the side of the cabinet, and my knuckles brushed a stream of precum that was flowing from him and gave me excellent lube to grip and firmly stroke him from root to tip as I ate him. “JESUSFUCKING—OH SHIT, BILLY – OHSHIT!” he cried as I moved from his cunthole to his nuts and sucked them in with one oversized gulp and swirled my tongue while I pulled them HARD with my mouth.

Jimmy’s cock was like iron in my hand, thickening as I worked it relentlessly and continued my feasting on his nuts and then back to his hole and began tongue-fucking him again while I nibbled on his cuntring. All the while he was writhing, grinding, occasionally slamming his fists down on the counter as he spewed a steady stream of exclamations of joy and want.

His balls were pulling up, and the huge flange on his enormous cockhead was flared to the max. I didn’t need his shouts to tell me that he was close . . . again. Instead of jacking and tonguing him over the edge I pulled back devilishly. “OHNOYOUFUCKINGDON’T!” he growled, reaching back with a big hand and pulling my head so my face was jammed back into his crack. “FINISH IT!” he ordered.

I decided to . . . but on my own terms. I let my tongue dart over is pulled-up nuts and brushed the back of my index and middle finger gently over his flowing piss slit and to the underside and his frenulum and just massaged there, under his head. “OHHOLYFUCKINGSHIT!” he cried out, as my flicking tongue and gently-massaging fingers ignited him. Slapping the counter repeatedly and crying out like a man being tortured, his body flailed, and his cock shot stream after stream downward . . . into my waiting, well-positioned other hand, filling to overflowing as he blasted and blasted his second load of the afternoon.

When he finally begged for mercy from my tongue tickling his nuts, and I’d been alternating with tickling his cuntring, too, while the backs of my two fingers massaged his cockhead, I took pity. I did take a LONG lick inside and then up his sweaty crack and back down all the way to his still-dripping tip before I pulled back. Then I caused him to jump when I licked up from his left knee along the inside of his thigh and then his right before I stood up. “Jesus, Bill!” he huffed.

I brought the handful of his precious spooge that I’d been carefully protecting in my cupped palm up to my mouth and lapped at it. Then I reached around and put it in front of his face, and with my other hand entered him with two fingers and found his spot to give him a quick residual jolt as he licked himself off me.

He was up in an instant and kissing me again, both of us reveling in his taste, us ground together again, his still-drooling cock sliming my own slacks, the scent of mansweat heavy around us in addition to the cum. I pulled back enough – him protesting – to reach under his dress shirt and pull it up along with this suit coat and all the way over his head. His tie had been loosened, but he was struggling with it to get it over his head. I, on the other hand, had access to what I wanted, and I dove into his left pit and licked and sucked his male essence until I was nearly swooning. He was flailing about with his arms up but held inside his still-linked cuffs to get his collar open enough to get his shirt over his head, and I went to work on his right pit, eliciting a “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, BILLY!” from him. I knew it wasn’t protest of anything other than the shirt, and then I felt his upper body tense and the shirt loudly RIPPED before his suit coat and shirt were flung across the room along with a tinkle that I suspected – and later confirmed – were his expensive cufflinks, probably wrecked and in pieces.

I had begun licking up his sweaty neck, savoring the different sweat taste from his pits and from his ass and thighs, and Jim let me, running his hands over my back and butt as he writhed and moaned. I flipped him around again and licked from the top of his butt crack along his spine, tasting him, enjoying him, particularly the musky sweat of his landing patch below and the place he always sweated between his shoulder blades and then the back of his neck. Each taste of him was better than the finest meal.

Again turning him and this time boosting him up onto the folding table to his surprise, I pulled off his shoes and socks and then pants from around his ankles and began licking his huge hobbit feet. More moans from him, and his recently-spent cock was hard again which I saw when I looked up, gratifyingly so! “You know I get to do the same to you, Marine!” he called, still laying back prone, enjoying every lick, every suck of his toes, ankles, calves.

“After I fuck that sweet cunt of yours again!” I told him.

And, when I’d licked up to his nuts again, and his big cock was swaying about, again precumming, I pulled him to the edge of the counter and entered him suddenly and roughly. “OH FUCK YESSSSSSSSSSS!” he cried after an initial gasp. I fucked up into him HARD and FAST and didn’t change positions. When I was exhausted and drenched with sweat – still dressed, my shirt stuck to me everywhere though my pants were around my ankles I knew I was close to ready to fill my husband once again. I moved enough to JAM my cockhead HARD against his p-spot with every thrust. “OHJESUSFUCKINGCHRIST!” he yelled as his body jerked HARD and then again and again, his cry falling off to an unintelligible moan that heightened as I felt his fuckchute begin clenching harder around me in time with my cockhead’s collision with his gland.

“YEAH, cum for me!” I ordered. And he did. A LOUD yowling cry as his body broke into intense spasms and, finally, just as I felt my body about to tumble over the edge, his cock spurted up in a high, long arc that coated his face with a long rope . . . one of many.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” I shouted as my nuts erupted in ecstasy and agony.

“GIVE IT—“ was all he could get out as I pumped out into him . . . again.

When I was done, I was braced by my hands on the edge of the counter looking over him. A large bead of my sweat ran off my nose and onto Jim’s chest, and I leaned down and licked it up, savoring our mixed salty, sweaty taste. “Mmmmmm,” Jim cooed, still flat on the counter, his arms out limply. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.”

“No worries, Your Honor!” I told him and scooped him up, pulling him first, then him raising and following my motion to put his arms around my neck. I dipped back and down and got my arms behind his hanging thighs and then with ease had him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Easy stuff,” I proclaimed.

“My cave man,” he joked, pounding his fists on my ass as I walked.

“Your cave man HUSBAND,” I corrected, carrying him through the condo to our bedroom and through.

“Hey,” he protested, as I got to the shower, and still holding him started it. “I wanted to give you a tongue bath!”

“How about I rain-check that for you until tomorrow morning after CrossFit?” I bargained. Right now you need a shower, a we both need a little nap before we head out for the drive home.

I had us both under the water then, and when I gently let him down onto his feet, I kissed his cock before I stood up again. Well, it was there, after all! I reached for the soap, but he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tight against him. “God, Billy, THANK YOU!”

“For wrecking your hole?” I joked.

Jim wasn’t deterred. He chuckled gently but held me tight, kissing my neck. “You know what I mean. Thank you for this life. For our life. For making me love being a man every damn day.”

“No, Jimmy, thank YOU,” I answered, holding onto him tight, the hot water from nine sprays pelting us.



by BillyC

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Copyright 2024