Date: Fri, 17 Mar 2017 15:50:33 +0000 (GMT)
From: "rampage938@btinternet.com" <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: THE JUDAS EFFECT 3

Chapter 3

Shane left the cadets in due course and was snapped up by the RAF for
recruit training some ten months after the party in the Community Hall. He
had been promoted to Cadet Corporal and had his picture published in RAF
News a couple of times for being "an outstanding Air Cadet who has received
several awards." He had also been an efficient and cheerful right hand man
- and secret bum boy - to CWO Lambert, who was still waiting for his papers
to come through. Before Shane left, he and Matt gave each other departing
gifts that their bum holes remembered for days afterwards.

Life in the real RAF was just what Shane had hoped it would be. He needed
the ordered ways of military life to bring out his real potential. In the
first few days he did commit a few inevitable minor breaches of military
etiquette, the worst being a failure to salute an officer as he was walking
briskly to the Station HQ on some kind of admin business. He and the
officer were both wearing uniform and he should have thrown up a smart
salute as they passed each other and said, "Good morning, Sir" in a loud,
clear voice. The officer, of course, would have returned the salute but on
this occasion stopped and bellowed, "You, airman, do you not recognise an
officer in uniform?" Shane jumped to attention, saluted and stuttered an
apology, which the officer accepted but warned Shane he would have to
report the offence to the officer in command of his Flight. Shane got away
with a ticking off from the Flying Officer (who had come to enjoy Shane
playing sexy tunes on his skin flute) and for the rest of his career Shane
was never to commit an offence against military etiquette again. To the
surprise of a lot of people, including his parents and his buddy down the
road Matt Muldoon, he had decided to become a clerk in Air Force
Intelligence, at least to start with. He was not discouraged when he learnt
from the Education Officer at his last interview as a recruit that he would
have to undergo a further nine months of instruction and
preparation. Curbing any intention of indulging his secret, burgeoning
desire for sex with men, he became a model airman and student, close to the
top of his class. Much to his surprise, he had discovered during those
months of self-denial that he seemed to have a natural aptitude for
'intelligence' work - what Matt called "nosey parkering."

He was made to realise how much he might be valued after completing the
nine months Trade Training course (with distinction) then sent home on
fourteen days disembarkation leave. He had been notified completely out of
the blue that his first posting as a fully paid up member of the RAF would
not be in the UK but abroad. It was not until he was ready to go home for
his leave that he was told where his first posting would take him. It was a
huge NATO air base somewhere in West Germany. His Dad, who had been in the
Army for a while, could not quite grasp the significance of his son's
posting. It was normal practice to send newly qualified military men to a
quiet sort of place on home ground to get used to working and living in a
military milieu and to gain some experience of what military life was like,
before being sent on to more responsible duties at a larger operational
unit. Certainly no inexperienced new boy would normally be sent straight
off to a posting overseas. Shane was under instructions that he must never,
ever tell anyone, even his family, where exactly he would be located. They
would find out soon enough.

There was another rat in his cellar: since 1948, Germany had been
partitioned between the Western and Soviet powers. The respective armed
forces of the nations and their allies seemed to delight in continual
eyeball to eyeball scrutiny of each other. It was a perilous deadly game of
chess. The centrepiece holding everything together and stopping any actual
hostile action from either side was down to the efficiency of their
intelligence set-ups. The result was that surveillance aircraft were
airborne 24 hours every day keeping an eye on what the other side was
doing; on land, whilst there had not yet been an actual physical
confrontation they literally gazed at each other across No Man's Land
threateningly toting high powered guns. At sea, every time an unfriendly
ship came too close to national waters, submarines suddenly appeared from
the depths and destroyers and frigates dotted the surface waters in large
numbers. "Dare you to be the first to press that nuke button!" was the
silent message constantly being sent to and fro between each other.

While Shane was at home on his leave, he found that he had little time to
himself as Mum and Dad insisted on showing him off in his brand new, shiny
uniform to almost every relative he could remember. Several of Mum's female
friends had to have a go at ogling this good looking shy young man (with a
conspicuous bulge and a well-formed arse) about to go abroad. As Bronwen,
Mum's best mate, said in her lilting Welsh accent, "There's brave of you."
Matt Muldoon came over a couple of times, doubtless hoping for another
sleep over - not that they would have enjoyed much sleep! - but at first
they did not have sufficient time to do anything other than jerk each other
off in any spare moments. Shane did manage to lick some of Matt's jism off
his fingers on one occasion. This was Shane's first taste of a man's sex
juice. It tasted salty but really good - and left him hungry for
more. Then, in the middle of his fortnight, Mum and Dad announced they had
to visit an aunt who had not been feeling well and they would be staying
overnight at her place. He caught up with Matt at their favourite coffee
bar in town and told him they had a chance for a good session. They
arranged for Matt to come over as soon as the coast was clear. Shane did
not expect anything more than resuming their mutual incomplete blowjobs;
however, they were going to be alone in the house that night. It all began
as usual but things were destined to go much further than either of them
had expected. They lay on Shane's bed in their accustomed sixty-nine
positions. Frantically sucking on Matt's dick, Shane felt Matt's finger
gently probing and stroking his arsehole. Shane freaked.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he growled, leaving his throbbing rigid cock
waving in the air.

"Aw, go on mate, let me stroke it for you. You'll love it."

Matt did not have to do a lot of persuading to get Shane to take his mate's
dick back into his mouth and resume his ministrations. Shane felt Matt
tense beneath him. "Oh, fucking hell! I'm nearly there!" panted Matt. He
clutched a handful of Shane's hair, tugging it hard to get him to release
his cock. Shane raised his head as Matt slid out from beneath him, leaving
Shane lying on his belly with his steely hard dick, the veins of which
stood out like knotted ropes. His cock head was a burning purplish red,
leaking sticky clear pre-seminal fluid and before Shane knew what Matt was
about to do, an agonising shaft of pain shot through him as Matt plunged
his weapon into his buddy's arsehole. Shane yelped as that burning knob
tore into him.

"Relax, you tight arsed faggot! I'm gonna give you what you know you've
always wanted!" declared Matt. With that, he plunged deep into Shane's body
and fired off a seemingly never ending salvo after just three or four
vigorous thrusts. Shane felt Matt's load crash against the walls of his
anal passageway, hearing himself yelling, "Yess! More! Gimme more!" Shane
knew he was turning now, the signs obvious: he was to spend the remainder
of his leave lying on his back on the back seat of his car on dark, country
roads, perfecting his oral and anal skills. Both young men got better and
better at it and the days passed quickly in a series of sexual couplings,
whenever and wherever they could find privacy.

But soon - too soon - duty called and Shane found himself flying across the
North Sea towards West Germany. He learnt later that the plane he had
travelled in had followed exactly the same flight path as a Lancaster on
one of Bomber Harris's 1,000 bomber raids during the War. Unfortunately,
the omen was not a good one - the plane and all its crew were lost
somewhere over Occupied France on its return flight.

* * * * *

West Germany! What an eye opener for a twenty-year-old horny young man from
a sleepy, conservative town who had never travelled far, apart from a
couple of school trips to London. Here, everything seemed to be for sale -
and the price was cheap. Shane's work in the department he had been
assigned to was mind numbing and the hours were the strangest he had ever
encountered. Back home, his had been a straightforward nine to five job at
the timber yard. Here, his shift pattern was evening-day-midnight with two
and a half days off after that. His rest days quickly turned into an orgy
of drinking and anonymous, gratuitous sex with prostitutes, bar girls and
street girls - even on his meagre pay everything was affordable. He had
been seduced back to fuck women, but he never truly enjoyed it with
them. He always felt there was something missing. Even so, it was six
months before his "alternative" desires could even think of reappearing,
but reappear they did and he found himself thinking about men, more and
more.

Once more, Shane found alcohol was his magical relaxant. He found his
sexual yearnings came out more strongly the more he drank. After a few
clumsy attempts at seducing some German cab drivers, with nothing more from
them than a dismissive "Leck mich am Arsch!" or "Fuck off!", his Dutch
courage was easily stifled. Then it finally happened. He had been in town
alone one dark and drunken night, so he decided to take a cab back to the
base. He was feeling as horny as a goat from hell so . . . he tried another
come-on. This time, instead of waving him off as another drunken queer,
this cabby drove to a deserted hollow close to the farthest boundary of the
airfield. He parked in the dark, cavernous area amongst a stand of
whispering pine trees and motioned to Shane to get in the back of his
cab. While the cabby whispered words of encouragement in German, Shane
knelt on the back floor and drunkenly swallowed the vibrant cock offered to
him. He was so drunk and so hot for sex, he did not notice at first that
the cabby filled his greedily sucking mouth with cum or that he had
swallowed it. On the silent ride back to base, Shane remembered thinking,
"Hell, I've just eaten spunk for the second time in my life!"

In the days that followed he would think about that cab ride over and over,
jerking off two or three times a day. By the time of his next pay-day he
was out on the town again, drinking with his buddies, but always finding an
excuse to take a cab back to base on his own. Shane believed he had dipped
out twice before an understanding cabby took him up on his offer to suck
his dick. The cabby accepted the offer in broken English with a lot of
visual aids. He backed his cab into a darkened alley in a section of the
town that was off limits to Allied forces, letting Shane kneel on the front
floor while the cabby humped Shane's mouth until he shot his load down
Shane's throat. Shane went to sleep that night with the smell of semen on
his breath and its taste in his mouth. To him it was the most stimulating
odour ever. "Jeez!" Shane said to himself that night, "I'm in danger of
becoming a cum junkie!" He'd learnt that phrase from an American chap in
the office who was a notoriously horny guy who never stopped shooting his
load and who had been trying to put the make on Shane since Day One but
without success - so far. Within a week Shane had scored again: this time
he showed the cabby the dark hollow and the young driver obediently pulled
in to the murky interior. He sat tensely behind the wheel while Shane
stretched out on the seat and took the man's rigid leaky cock in his mouth,
moving up and down on it until he filled his mouth with the appetising sex
cream he was becoming addicted to. On the ride back to base, the driver
became friendlier, more talkative, suggesting they meet again, promising
Shane he would take him to a hotel - and a bed. Shane agreed immediately
and they planned to meet outside the Main Gate when Shane's next rotation
ended in three days time. It was all Shane could do to function normally -
or as close to normal as possible - for those three days. He repeatedly
jerked off just thinking about it. Nevertheless, Time while not exactly
flying by, did eventually give way; true to his word the cabby was waiting
for Shane outside the Main Gate at the appointed time. Shane literally flew
into his cab, pushing past several others waiting in line, not wanting
someone else to beat him to it. The cabby was all smiles and explained that
the hotel, again in an off-limits part of the town, would hold a room for
him all night. Shane did not know what to say. The thought of a man wanting
to spend the entire night with him made Shane feel great - and hornier than
he'd felt for some time. He thought, "Fuck the off-limits regulations!"

The concierge gave Shane a knowing smile as he checked in and paid for the
room. They had agreed that Shane would go first and the cabby would arrive
later that evening when his shift was over. Shane had beer and sauerkraut
for dinner, then more beer, then some more. One or two whores cruising the
hotel bar tried picking him up - he overheard one of them say something
about a fine arse and look at that bulge! - but he obviously had no
interest in them and they soon left him alone. "Englische schwule!" one of
them contemptuously spat at him. By nine o'clock, he was feeling slightly
the worse for the wait but went up to their room, ordering more beer as he
went. The concierge brought the drink to the room and he settled down to
continue waiting.

He was slowly becoming pissed and was beginning to think he had been stood
up when a soft knock on the door came at 22.30. He staggered over to the
door, clad only in a white T-shirt, the rest of his clothes having found
their way long ago to the floor. The T-shirt barely reached his midriff,
his equipment swung between his legs for all the world to goggle at, but he
had passed caring. The beer he had consumed had worked its usual magic on
his self-control and he could hardly wait to open the door. The cabby
crashed into the room, pushing Shane backwards a few feet and then
indicating, none too gently, that he wanted him on his knees by pushing
down on his shoulders. As he obeyed this reasonable request, he caught
sight of him exposed in front of his face. Shane was never able to work out
how the cabby unzipped and got his substantial dick out so fast but then,
his mind was not concerned with such matters at that moment. Spontaneously
Shane lunged forward until the head of the cabby's cock was planted firmly
between his lips.

Bringing his hand to the base of the cabby's shaft, Shane slowly tried to
force more of the rigid penis into his mouth. From the corner of his
half-open eyes he noticed that the door had been left ajar and he dimly
remembered later seeing a couple of whores from downstairs watching the
action. Roughly three nanoseconds later a blinding flash illuminated
everyone and every thing in its glare. Shane froze in terror, the dick was
violently pulled from his mouth as the cabby withdrew and beat a hasty
retreat, stuffing his rapidly deflating cock back into his pants. Three
burly men burst through the open door.

Next: Chapter 4

Laurie, 15/03/17