Sailors and Flyboys

Flyboys

Pete swung into the gym with a big grin on his face. "Fleet's in and I've already talked with Javier. His ship will be in early, on Thursday. Says he can get a three-day shore pass. Time for a special weekend."

"I'm game," Todd answered, but he was looking up at the man spotting him on the bench press and asked, "How about you, Dan?"

"Every weekend's special with you, babe," Dan answered. His idea of spotting was to have his hands on the inside of Todd's bare thighs and stroking them.

Pete was standing in the middle of the gym room at the Air Force base near San Diego, one of several workout rooms scattered around the base for airmen's use, this one being one of the most remotely located ones. He was toweling himself off after his run to the gym. He, like the other three men, Todd, Dan, and Bill, was wearing only a jockstrap, gym shorts, and athletic shoes. All four men, all Air Force officer pilots, were cut superbly. Pete was black; the others were white.

"I'll arrange the BOQ room at the officers' club," Pete said. "But I guess Bill better be the one to go down to the harbor to meet up with Javier and do the hunt. He's the prettiest of the bunch."

Bill grunted his assent at the assignment without losing count in the leg lifts he was doing on another apparatus. Bill indeed was the best looking of the four, although all of them looked great, especially the way they'd developed their bodies. Bill was tall and sultry dark, with some intriguing curling body hair on his forearms, pecs, and in a trail down his sternum, across his belly, and into the waistband of his gym shorts. Broad shoulders and slim waist. Big biceps, washboard abs. The face of a movie star, with a perpetual five o'clock shadow. Bedroom eyes.

"Money for the meals, liquor, and condoms and for Javier's tip go to Todd as usual," Pete said. "Five hundred each should do it, but if it's not enough we all agree to kick in more, right?"

Grunts of agreement were heard all around.

"Make sure you have a good supply of the rubbers," Bill said, turning to Todd. "We almost ran out last time."

Todd was doing his own count of his bar lifts, but he stopped in mid cadence. "Dan! You'll make me lose count."

All he heard in answer was a slurping sound, as Dan had pulled Todd's gym shorts off his legs, pulled his cock out from the jock pouch, and was giving him head.

Todd and Dan could almost be twins—Siamese twins—hooked at the crotch. Both reddish blonds of medium height, and, though well muscled, both on the wiry side. Not an ounce of fat on either one. Both with buzz cuts. Todd was the younger and more handsome of face of the two. Dan, who usually took the lead, as he was doing here, was distinguished by the veins that stood out between his muscles and the skin on his arms and legs, the veins having no fat at all to sheath them. His facial features were more rugged than Todd's. He didn't smile much, and he was more demanding and a bit cruel and rough. He'd had his dick inside Todd most of the time since Todd had come on duty at the air base. Todd, preferably a top, accepted this from Dan but from no one else. What mostly the two had in common, though, was that they liked to share another guy between them—at the same time.

"Could you spot the door for us, Pete?" Dan growled.

Pete picked up two twenty-pound hand weights and moved to where he was standing in front of the door to the corridor, staring through the small window in the door.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," Todd exclaimed as, hunched over him, Dan worked his cock into Todd's hole. Todd's ankles were on Dan's shoulders and Dan was lifting Todd's buttocks with palms that spread the butt cheeks, opening the hole that now hungered for and fit his cock like a glove, and fingers that moved the jock straps out of the way. He revolved the cock head to remind Todd's channel who was boss and then dove deep and began immediately to pump as Todd, gripping the pillars of the weight rack with white-knuckled fists, began to groan and move his hips to the rhythm of the fuck. Dan was thick; Todd was long. Bill, the hunkiest of the four, stopping his leg lifts to pull out his cock, start stroking, and to watch, was both thick and long. The black Pete, the bulkiest and most muscle bound of the four, standing spot at the door and feeling himself going hard at the sound of the fucking, was thickest and longest of the four.

Although not watching, except by way of a faint reflection in the window in the door, Pete could hear the stroking as marked by Todd's groan and Dan's grunt with each thrust and by the sound of the slapping of Dan's big balls on Todd's inner thighs. Pete raised the hand weights to his shoulders. Thrust and groan, up with the right weight; thrust and grunt, lowering the right weight; thrust and groan, up with left weight; thrust and grunt, lowering the left weight. Thrust and . . .

The four Air Force officers were a close-knit group, having discovered their mutual interests in jockeying jets, keeping their bodies hard, and fucking young sailors.

Sailor Tim

Tim stroked down the front of his Navy whites and turned this way and that, looking at himself in the mirror on the back of the cabin door of the dorm-like space he shared with nine other sailors on his destroyer. The clothes were tight on his small frame, with a trim, but well-muscled, torso and legs, but they really looked good on him. The jerkin was tight, showing his definition and his small waist, and the white trousers were tight at the thighs and across the crotch and flared at the hem. It was the first time he'd worn them. His first shore leave on his first naval cruise. He was barely nineteen and fresh out of the Iowa cornfields, getting his first taste of the greater world.

His brother was a sailor too, but he'd done everything he could to deter Tim from joining up, saying that with his blond, pretty-boy looks and small stature, he'd be eaten alive on board a naval ship. That had titillated Tim more than scared him, although now that he actually was in the Navy and had just been on the sea on a tin can with mostly randy men, he better understood what his brother had talked about.

The hedge on the men who had initially circled around him like sharks on the prowl, however, was sitting on a bunk beside him, watching him dress and admire himself in the mirror.

Big Ralph, named that for many reasons, including his bulk, his scare factor on board, and his seniority in the naval enlisted ranks, had become both Tim's oppressor and his protection. He was oppressing enough, though, that Tim was elated that he'd gotten a two-day shore pass in San Diego—and that Big Ralph hadn't.

It had been four weeks since Big Ralph had made good on his pledge to protect Tim from the sailors, including a senior ship's officer, who had been chumming ever closer around Tim as he moved around performing the deck duties of a bottom-of-the chain swabbie.

He just hadn't set up the protection the way that Tim had imagined he would. He'd done it by staking his own claim and staring down the competition. Big Ralph had managed to get Tim reassigned to a top bunk in his own cabin and in the darkest hour of one night, had climbed up into Tim's bunk, naked and already crowned and with a bottle of lube.

Tim woke up on his belly, with a heavy body on top of him, a hand smothering his mouth and nose, and thick, greased fingers inside his channel entrance. He had struggled, but to no avail, with the big man. He managed to bite the hand of his assailant in reaction to the surprise and pain of a hard cock entering him, and, when the hand was taken away, he screamed for help against the attack. But he writhed ineffectually, while Big Ralph laughed and pumped his ass with increasing speed and depth. There was no indication that anyone heard him struggling or, if they did, that they cared.

Tim, who had been curious about what it was all about before coming into the Navy, now knew exactly what it was about. No one came to his aid that night, because every other man in the cabin was under Big Ralph's protection as well. They had all had their first night with Big Ralph.

And Big Ralph, indeed, did protect them from others, as long as they were willing to put out for him.

After spending the night on top of Tim and fucking him again in the morning, with Tim realizing that resistance was both futile and a little late, Big Ralph whispered the rules of their relationship to him. Since then Big Ralph had fucked him as many as three times a week, and, as promised, kept all other takers at bay.

Tim came to accept this as just another aspect of the routine of life aboard the destroyer. But he was looking forward to this two-day shore leave in San Diego for a change of pace.

Sailor Javier

"The USS Halsey. My second year aboard. And you?"

"I'm on the Shoup," Tim answered. He looked away and nudged in closer to the table as another older sailor drifted by close to him in the bar and smacked his lips suggestively. "Just four months, though."

"Ah, four months." The guys would be pleased, Javier knew, if he landed this one. The guy was perfect. Probably only eighteen by the looks of him and just the right bod. Javier was judging this on his own body; he'd obviously been just right for the four of them last year. And this guy and he were almost identical in style and body style. This one was a lot prettier than Javier had been, though, he had to acknowledge. The major differences between them were that this guy was a blond and Javier was Hispanic—and this guy seemed so shy and a little skittish of the attention he was getting in this bar loaded with sailors off the ships. Javier wondered if he'd been this shy last year at this time and decided that he'd never been that shy. He'd known the score for as long as he could remember. And the almost palpable fear of the sailors swimming about the guy—he said his name was Tim—could, Javier thought, be put to his advantage.

"That means you've gone through all the hazing on ship then, I guess."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Tim wasn't acting like he wanted to talk about it. Bingo, Javier thought. That means you've been nailed already, little buddy. That's helpful.

"As bad as mine, I guess. Mine included being turned. Which is OK now, I guess, but it was really something at the time. But I got myself a protector and then it was mostly OK. Guy with a face like yours, and your size and conditioning, I bet you've had a really rough time."

"Well . . . it's OK now."

"So, you got yourself a protector too."

"Yeah . . . I guess."

"Makes a lot of demands, does he? Cock too big to handle?"

"No, not really." This given with hesitation. "He's got several sailors he's protecting, and he isn't too big."

Well, baby, you're in for a real surprise then, Javier thought. But with an ass that's still tight, you'll be a hit with the guys.

Tim was looking like he really wanted to change the subject—like he might even jump up from the table and bolt, so Javier changed the subject. He didn't want to lose this one. This pigeon looked like the mother lode as soon as he'd walked into the bar, all glassy eyed and looking like he was lost and might just back out again. The older sailors had seen him immediately and started jockeying for position. It had been Javier's luck that, to Tim, he looked like the most similar, familiar kind of guy and all Javier had to do was motion to him and pull out the chair next to him to get the pigeon roosting in his cage. He'd just come straight to him. Javier wouldn't tell the guys it had been this easy.

"So, this being your first shore leave, you bring enough cash for two days?"

"I've got $200." Tim said it as if he was rolling in cash.

"Well, shit, that ain't enough to get you through supper in a town like this."

"It isn't?"

"No. Did you ask anyone on the ship how much you needed? The prices get jacked up when the fleet's in. Two bills ain't even enough for an hour of pussy. And forget getting a room. You'll have to go back to the ship for the night."

"I will?" The prospect was crushing. Two days shore leave but he'd still be going back under Big Ralph's control for the night.

"'Course there's a way you can avoid that."

"There is? How?"

"I got a friend that would really go for someone like you. And he's an officer. I bet I could get him to feed you and take care of your room for the night. You could go back to the ship at the end of your leave with the two bills still in your pocket."

"For what?"

"He'd want to lay you, of course. But I'm telling you that he's a real hunk. You'd enjoy him. You've said you get fucked regularly on the ship."

"Not all that much," Tim answered. "And I don't know. I—"

"You go back to the ship tonight and your protector is going to fuck you, ain't he?"

"Well . . ."

"And is he a looker? I'm telling you that my friend is a real hunk. And he's an officer. An Air Force officer. He'd treat you right."

"I didn't really come on shore—"

"The hell you didn't. You sayin' you got all outfitted in those tight Navy whites and came into a sailors' bar at 11:00 in the morning just to have a couple of meals on shore and spend a night in a dirty hotel room all alone? You come out to get a little pussy from a dirty whore? You ever even had any pussy?"

He'd lost Tim half way through that. What had Tim come on shore looking for? It wasn't a woman. Javier had struck home there; Tim had never been attracted to women. It had always been men who had turned him on, although he hadn't done anything about it until it was forced on him. But why did he make such a fuss with his dress? And how did he plan to use his shore leave? Wasn't it more not to have to be on the ship and at Big Ralph's beck and call?

"Tell you what. Let me make the call. Maybe the guy's busy and won't even come. And if he does, you can scope him out for yourself. Think about it. A hunk who will pay for everything and all you gotta do is let him fuck you once. If you go back to the ship, you'll have the same old guy layin' you. At least you'd be tryin' out someone new. Have a little adventure on your shore leave; somethin' to remember it by. I've been laid by this guy. It was heaven."

Javier didn't wait for Tim to reply and Tim wasn't moving real fast in providing a reply. Javier was already pressing the buttons on his cell phone. He winked at one of the sailors hovering around when Tim wasn't looking and the guy came in closer. Tim shuddered, which is exactly what Javier wanted him to do. Bill, who had been waiting for a call, picked it up on the first ring. Javier managed to convey through prearranged signaling that he had a hot prospect and that it would help if Bill came in like a knight on a white horse.

Javier pointed Bill out as he hit the door and let Tim see for himself that the man really was a hunk, and that he looked spiffy and commanding in his closely tailored Air Force officer khakis. Tim also saw that as Bill entered and strode straight to the table, all smiles and in-charge authority, that he gave side looks of staking his territory that had the sailors who had been hovering around Javier and Tim—and had been egged on a bit by Javier when Tim wasn't looking—backing off.

The overall impression was of protection arriving, which placed Bill in a niche with Tim that was just what Javier wanted. Protector/fuck master. It was what Tim understood.

Bill, who liked the looks of Tim immediately, was all smiles and sultry sensuous looks, and touching Tim's arms and, once, his cheek, and, later, his thigh, while he guided a discussion about Tim's life up to this point and moved into everything they could be doing in the next two days other than fucking. No, Tim had never been to an officer's club. No, Tim didn't know they had bedrooms an officer could check out for a guest's use right in the club, something called a bachelor officer's quarters, a BOQ. And that Tim could sleep there in a real nice room if Bill reserved it. Yes, Tim was hungry enough for lunch. Yes, Tim had thought of touring the USS Midway Museum, a decommissioned aircraft carrier open to the public, while he was on shore leave. No, he didn't know that they had one of the world's best zoos right here in San Diego.

Tim was completely disarmed. Bill, indeed, was a hunk. Dark looks; black curly hair; an open, friendly smile; a magnificent physique in that Air Force shirt, with curly black hair peeking out of his neckline and on his forearms. Biceps that pushed his shirt sleeve up to his shoulders. A commanding demeanor that held back the sailors who had been zeroing in on the table. His conversation put Tim at ease. The occasional touch of his fingers on Tim's arms and hands sent chills right up the young sailor's spine. And he didn't once mention that going with him would require that Tim let him fuck him. Before long Tim was catching glimpses under the table of Bill's basket—and wondering.

Let the Games Begin

The air base was on a plateau above the city, and as they drove there, Bill told Tim how convenient the officers' club was. Everything was right there together. A dining room that served good, hearty food—all to be put on Bill's club tab, of course—a well-stocked bar, and the wing of bachelor officers' quarter rooms that were well used during the week but more or less deserted on the weekend. It would be no trouble putting Tim up in one of these. It wouldn't cost him a dime. Bill, who indeed loved using the officers' club for the purpose he had for Tim, didn't mention that the club officer was a good friend to Bill and his friend and that he ran a back bar as well as a front one—that the back bar was more for Bill's kind. Nor did he say that because of the nearness of the airstrip and the concern that visiting pilots get good sleep, all of the BOQ rooms were soundproof.

They had steak sandwiches and piles of French Fries and a couple of beers—to add to the two Tim had already had at the bar with Javier—for lunch in the club dining room.

Afterward, Bill suggested that he show Tim the BOQ room he'd booked.

Bill stood and so did Tim, but Javier remained sitting.

"You coming too?" Tim asked.

"No. I'll sit out here a while," Javier answered. And then in a lower voice that at least pretended that Bill couldn't hear, he said, "I think this is where you pay the rent."

Tim shuddered, but he turned and followed Bill back down the corridor leading into the BOQ wing.

He was sitting in Bill's lap on the end of the bed, feeling the hard cock under him through the material of the trousers they both still were wearing. They both were shirtless, though. They were kissing and Bill was working Tim's torso with a hand, while holding him in an embrace with the other arm. He was working slow. All of this was new to Tim. Big Ralph always just went for the fuck and he always did it in the dark. Bill was preparing him, making him moan and sigh. His kisses were making Tim breathless. What he was doing with his hands was driving Tim crazy. Tim felt the bulging of the biceps and also of the man's pecs. He ran his fingers through the man's chest hair. It was silky soft.

Bill unbuttoned Tim's fly, flared the opening, pulled Tim's cock out, and started to slow stroke it. This was attention Big Ralph had never given him. He quivered and felt his hips start to go into a motion that pushed his cock up through the encircling hand and then down again. Up and down. He was fucking himself in the cupped hands. Bill refused to let his lips go and pushed his tongue inside Tim's mouth and flicked it in and out. Tim began to writhe in ecstasy. Bill, much larger and meatier than Tim, just held him fast and continued kissing and stroking until Tim came with a shudder and a long sigh.

"Now me," Bill whispered, coming out of the kiss, and turning Tim and pushing him down on his knees on the carpet between his thighs. Tim moaned as Bill unbuckled himself, pulled down his zipper, and pulled out a half-erect cock.