REGULAR MAINTENANCE By John Candu I spent a day shooting pictures for a hospital's advertising campaign and annual report. I arrived early that morning carrying an aluminum Haliburton camera case which held my RB-67 and accessories. The administrator and I were going over the shooting schedule when Tony, the chief maintenance man, joined us. Tony would be my escort for the day; he had master keys and could provide access to anyplace I needed to go. Tony looked like Mr. Clean, the tall muscular character gracing the bottles of cleaning solution. He was at least six feet of pure muscle and had a nice basket. I forced my eyes away, hoping he hadn't caught me looking. He wore bright white uniform pants and a white shirt that highlighted his well-defined chest. Even his hair and mustache were white. He might have been 50, but he was in such good shape he probably looked younger than he really was. Tony didn't talk much as we went from one location to another, but he kept looking at me with a bold gaze. I caught him looking at my crotch, and his eyes lifted to mine unabashedly. As I got into the swing of things, I momentarily forgot about him. By mid-morning I was kneeling on the floor repacking equipment to move to another location. Tony was just a step away watching me intently. He was facing me, leaning against a wall with his arms folded. "I've been noticing your equipment. You can tell a lot about a person by the way he takes care of his equipment." It was the most he had said all morning. A regular chatterbox. "I'll bet you have your hands full with equipment in this place," I replied, just searching for something to say. "Yeah, but the secret is regular maintenance. If you keep everything lubed and slicked up on a regular schedule, you're not going to have equipment going down or wearing out from friction at a crucial time. You want it to stay up, you gotta attend to it all along. Regular maintenance is the thing." Was I imagining that our conversation had taken on double meaning? As if to confirm my suspicions, Tony's hand drifted to his crotch and slowly adjusted his basket. I finished packing in front of him. My mouth went dry as his fingers dug in and shifted his balls. Was he getting an erection? I rose and we set out for the roof for some bird's-eye landscape shots. At the end of the hall, Tony unlocked a door marked "No Admittance" that led up a short flight of stairs to the roof exit. I was half-way up the steps when I felt his finger push against my hole, stretching the fabric of my pants. Startled, I stopped for a moment wondering how I should react. His finger pushed harder, pressing the fabric even further between my cheeks. I reached back to slap away his hand, but he caught my wrist and pulled my hand to his crotch. He was so hard that my own dick jumped to attention. I turned around and put both hands on his tent and began unzipping him. He was so hard I couldn't get it out, so I unbuckled his pants and tugged them down. Tony was at least nine inches of thick man-meat. His veined, cut organ lumbered under it's own weight. I took a seat on the steps and swallowed his head. Tony gasped and said, "Yeah, that's it, take that dick, suck it!" I got it wet with spit, and my head began bobbing back and forth on his prick as he held the back of my neck and pulled my face-cunt further onto his rod. I made a fist around his shaft to keep him from ramming it too far down my throat. "Suck it! Yeah, that's it, suck it! Suck it good!" I began to taste salty pre-cum and face-fucked him even faster. But he pulled back and said, "Let's move to the top of the steps." Tony began pulling my pants down and fingering my hole. I stroked my dick as I fished into the aluminum case and found a tube of oil I used on the cameras. I squirted some onto my fingers and slicked up my chute. I stepped out of my pants and draped them over the railing. Because Tony was so much taller than me, I closed the case and sat on all fours on top of it, offering my hole for easy access. In a steady motion, he pressed his fat head through my portal and shoved his shaft all the way to the hilt. I'd never felt so full or stretched. I wondered if I would bleed. I was so damn horny I didn't care if I did. I bucked against him and he began pumping my ass while holding me around the waist. His hairy balls slapped against my own as he rammed his tool home in a strong steady rhythm. His breathing got louder and he began a staccato "Uh!" with each stroke. "Uh!" "Uh!" "Uh!" He was plunging deeper and pulling me back against him harder and harder. I was in ecstasy. The hard fucking made me lose control; I shot my load. It blasted the aluminum case in thick white splatters. "Oh, yeah! Fuck my hole! Fuck it!! Harder!! Fuck my cunt!! Yeah!" Tony pulled me more roughly than ever against his abdomen, slamming his cock into my hole. He held my waist tightly as he erupted, sending gush after gush of man-juice into my cunt. He began pumping slower as he finished. He finally began to go limp and then let it slide out. As I rose from the case, I noticed the huge dent on the camera case. My cum was pooling there. "Oh, shit. Your case got banged up," he said. I turned around and played with his dripping tool. "Speaking of dents, I really like the one your cock just put in my ass! I could use regular maintenance like that!" "Yeah? Well, my dick could use regular maintenance, too, just to keep it up and running, ya know," he grinned. "It needs attention a little attention all the time to keep it running." And from that day on we were on a regular maintenance schedule for many years to cum.