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Sir, Yes Sir!
by Ryan Field

Category: Erotica/Fetish Erotica
Description: When good-looking young Buddy goes looking for fun near the military base, his heart is racing and his pants are tighter than ever. He stumbles upon a bar where the music is bawdy and the military boys are rough and ready to go. It all starts out with an innocent smile and a simple game of pool in the back room. But it winds up in an old recreational vehicle parked outside the bar, with two drunk, rowdy cousins who know how to kick off their black boots and give orders to their smooth little blond boy. And Buddy can't wait to get down on his knees and follow their commands. His solitary goal is to please them both at the same time. It's not about love and romance anymore. It's about satisfaction, primal urges, and grown men with strong needs taking what they want without any apologies.
eBook Publisher: loveyoudivine, 2010 2010
eBookwise Release Date: November 2010

eBookeBook

4 Reader Ratings:
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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [35 KB]
Words: 7134
Reading time: 20-28 min.


The first Saturday night in August I decided to venture out for a quick drink at Apple Jacks; just to see if any of the other guys from the base would be there. It was a hot, moist night in the Deep South, where the air was so thick you could feel it against your palm if you waved. I wore my fatigues and a pair of heavy boots. I'm lucky because I can always pass as one of the straight "dudes" in public. I don't hide that I'm gay, but it's not the first thing people think when they see me. They usually just assume I'm a quiet, passive guy who appears to be totally innocent. As a civilian my hair is blond and wavy and I keep it longish; but the army had shaved it all off by then. My skin is olive. I have one blue eye and the other is lavender; but oddly enough, when I decide to look at dominant men a certain way they usually know at once I'll spread my legs, arch my back, and beg them to slap my ass...they can't wait to punish me.

It was just after midnight when I walked into Apple Jacks parking lot with my hands in my pockets and my shoulders curved forward. It wasn't very crowded, stippled with mammoth pickup trucks that had big knobby tires and dented Buicks with grimy windows. Toward the rear of the lot, in front of a wooded section, there was a rusted, lop-sided motor home with a brown Ws painted on both sides. As I crossed the dirt parking lot toward the entrance I heard the twang of country western music blaring through the chipped stucco walls. This had to be the ugliest flat-roof building in the world; just an eyesore...square and squat as though it had been tamped down by a giant meat press. There were no windows; just a front entrance and a rear emergency exit with gray metal doors. A large neon sign above the entrance was missing both Ps from Apple, and the K and S from Jacks; from a distance you would have thought the old bar was named A LE JAC...some type of upscale French establishment.

But there was nothing upscale about Apple Jacks. I slipped into the dark cave through the entrance door, between a fat guy in a plaid shirt with no front teeth and sixty year old bleach blond with wrinkled, freckled cleavage who smelled like she'd been marinated in cheap drugstore perfume. They stepped aside and smiled--I was still stunned by how well civilians treat men in the service. Inside the walls were dull knotty pine, like one of those old American Legion Halls where people have lunch meat and potato salad weddings, and the floor carpeted in a dark shade of some color I couldn't quite make out. You could barely see the third rate country western band on the other side of the bar through the thick cigarette smoke. Oh well, you could certainly hear the pitchy singer belting out hillbilly music. I was beginning to wonder if this hadn't been a colossal mistake.


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