[MF] Military Academy Handjob with a Little Cleanup

I apologize for this being a long story. There’s not much actual sex in it, but it’s an (I hope) interesting look into what it was like in a slightly different environment than most people are subject to. There’s a short tl;dr at the end, so if you want a synopsis scroll way way down. The title is the real tl;dr though.

A long time ago in an America far far away, I was a West Point cadet. The only real reason that’s relevant is that sex was pretty much prohibited. Even getting caught jacking off could get you a big round of punishment tours- which you had to “walk off” by marching back and forth in Dress Gray “under arms” (i.e. with your rifle on your shoulder.)

As luck would have it, both I and the female cadet who was my first serious girlfriend were virgins when we entered the Academy. This wasn’t all that uncommon, actually. The type of person who gets into West Point has put an extraordinary amount of effort into their academic, athletic, and extra-curricular high school career. When you’re trying to maintain a 4.0+ GPA, be the captain of the lacrosse team, get your Eagle Scout rank, and serve on student body leadership, there’s not a lot of time leftover for girlfriends or boyfriends.

When I met Jennifer, she was a bit of a stick in the mud. Well, stuck in the mud was more like it. Our new cadet companies were bivouacked next to each other at Camp Buckner at the end of “new cadet basic training” aka “Beast Barracks.” The rain was apparently record-breaking that year, and we spent that week almost entirely sodden. The field where we had our tents looked like Woodstock after the concert was over. But her tent was near mine, and somehow we managed to find each other attractive, witty, and funny despite not being able to see each other through all the mud. We spent every second of our minuscule free time talking to each other and laughing about how bad we must smell to the upperclassmen who came in each morning freshly showered.

After Beast was over, we managed to see each other occasionally despite the horrifically busy schedule of a West Point plebe. It wasn’t *much* of a romance, but we managed to sneak the odd hour here or there, and we spent as much of every weekend together as we could. Before long, it was pretty much official. We were a couple. We were actually THE couple. The ones who everyone just *knew* would be together forever. Joined at the hip, or at least whenever the Academy let us be.

But like I said before, sex was out of the question. On post, anyway. Getting caught having sex was a thousand times worse than getting caught merely flogging the bishop. Or polishing your sabre, as it were. We were basically limited to occasionally walking with her arm in mine (in limited circumstances involving full-dress events), slow dancing at Eisenhower Hall (our version of a student union), and sneaking kisses on Flirtation Walk, something of an Academy tradition.

It wasn’t all that satisfying, though. We found ourselves taking more and more risks, usually in her barracks room because it was at the far end of the hall and had a buffer of two empty rooms that meant we could break off a make-out session before someone could surprise us. It was there that I got to see (and play with) my first non-imaginary boobs. Jennifer was 5’2″ and in tip-top athletic shape. She’d been a nationally-ranked rhythmic gymnast, and her body was absurdly perky. I will never have my mouth on breasts that perfect ever again in my life.

But even second base gets old after a while. Scratch that. It never gets old- it just makes you more and more hungry for everything else. But remember, getting caught with your hands (or mouth) on your girlfriend’s boobs was enough to put you in the Central Area quad, marching up and down for hours with your rifle on your shoulder- and repeat offenders were given a one-way ticket home. It’s easy to unhand your girlfriend’s boobs when you hear someone coming down the hall. Other stuff isn’t quite as easy to disengage from.

What the Academy didn’t account for when it allowed women in back in 1976 was the incredible resourcefulness that accompanied the sexual drive of these very intelligent and extremely horny young men and women. Life, Jeff Goldblume likes to say, finds a way.

In our case, “the way” was a 1940s vintage elevator in Washington Hall, an enormous granite building that housed the cadet dining hall as well as some classrooms. It was open after lights-out because it also had the only computer terminal lab that directly connected to any of the barracks (other barracks had small dedicated areas for the same thing, but they were just converted dorm rooms). Jennifer and I both lived in cadet companies whose barracks connected to Washington Hall via hallways. So meeting there after hours was much easier than it might have been otherwise. But that’s all we could do- you couldn’t really make out in the hallways of an academic area. It was way too risky.

But back to the elevator- The one I’m talking about ran from the basement kitchen area all the way to the top floor. It was slow, prone to failure, and often offline. But after 10pm or so, it was rarely used, which made it perfect for getting down and getting dirty. I mean actually dirty. The floors on that elevator were just plain filthy.

What nobody in the Academy but me knew was that you could stop that elevator between floors without setting off the alarm. Well, the cooks knew it, and that’s how I found out. You see, if you pulled out the “emergency stop” button just a tiny amount, the elevator would just stay put. Pull it out just a smidge more, and alarm bells would ring, and I assume also some kind of monitoring would be activated.

The cooks used it so they could keep the door open while loading trays and such onto it. I happened to notice them doing it one day. I mentioned it to the guy hauling the trays and he showed me the little notch that was the threshold between “stop” and “stop+alarm.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. Basically it was just a interesting little trick.

It took a raging hard-on and a pent-up frustrated girlfriend to make me realize just HOW interesting that little trick was.

I think it was around Halloween that I finally had my inspiration. “I think I know we can get some privacy,” I told Jennifer one night while we were studying. She’d been teasing me all night, wearing an Army athletics t-shirt with no bra underneath and tweaking her nipples hard whenever I sneaked a peek at them.

“How is that even possible?” she asked.

“I know how to stop the elevator in Washington hall between floors without making the alarm go off.”

She was much smarter. She realized what that meant right away. “So as long as we don’t keep it stuck very long, we can do whatever we want?”

“Exactly.”

Much discussion followed. Remember, these are (we were) very meticulous and detail-oriented horny young men and women. Just barging in and banging away in a stuck elevator wasn’t a viable plan. So we did some re-con, figured out best times and days, and made plans that would optimize the amount of raunch we could pack into a short amount of time.

We started with simple stuff. Ten to fifteen seconds worth of hand-in-pants stuff. Wearing sweats with athletic shorts underneath but no undies worked the best. We’d go from floor to floor, stopping halfway for some fooling around. Then we’d release the emergency stop and go to the next floor. If someone was there when the doors opened, we’d exit and cede the elevator to them. If not, we’d let the doors close and then pause for a bit. If the elevator didn’t continue on its own, we’d punch in the next floor, stop, diddle, go, … and repeat.

The next time would be a Saturday night, the night the building was least traveled. And somehow Jennifer had decided that she’d like to try giving me a full handjob, not just a couple of randy tugs while making out. We’d allow a max of one minute per stop. The ancient elevator had a rep for slowness, so there was very little risk of raising anyone’s suspicions.

The night finally arrived. We nodded at each other in the hallway at the designated time. Per our standard operating procedure, I took the stairs all the way down and called the elevator from the bottom floor. Punching in the floor that Jennifer was waiting on, it would appear as if our meeting was unplanned. It was late, and the building was even more deserted than usual, so there was nobody in the elevator.

We took the elevator to the top floor, waited for the doors to re-close, and then pressed the button for the next floor down. As soon as we got started, I eased the emergency stop button out enough to halt the car. Normally, this would have been the start of a hot-and-heavy makeout session, but time was of the essence. Jennifer wasted none of it. She pulled down the front of my sweats and shorts and exposed my already hard cock.

There was some initial confusion. I’d tried to explain the whys and hows of jacking a guy off to her, but there’s only so much you can learn in the classroom. Field work is essential, kids. Plus, I’d neglected to consider the fact that she’d be oriented differently with respect to Mr. Happy. But to be honest, none of that really mattered. A girl had her hand on my penis and was doing her darndest to make things happen to it. All was right with the world.

That one-minute time limit was reached way too soon. Gasping in frustration, I composed myself while Jennifer plunged in the stop button and let the car descend to an empty floor. We pressed the top-floor button, and repeated our earlier actions.

It wasn’t going to take another floor. In hardly no time at all, I warned Jennifer that I was about to come. Per our agreed strategy, she knelt down and unzipped her sweat jacket to expose her small firm breasts in a tiny lace bra. Seeing her perfect little nipples through the sheer fabric was all it took for me to start shooting glob after glob of hot come on her tits.

And then Jennifer did something so remarkable that the image of it is still etched on gold plates and set on a pedestal of finest marble in the most revered niche of my spank bank: She leaned forward and captured the head of my cock in her mouth. It felt amazing. I’d already shot most of my wad on her tits, but she got enough for a good first taste of it. I think the intensity of the flavor and texture caught her a little off-guard, but she kept me in her mouth until I stopped shooting.

She amazed me even more by closing her eyes and swallowing my come without even taking my cock out of her mouth. I think my exact words were “wow.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure I could do it,” she said. “But I figured, you know, your first time and all. I wanted to make it special.”

We’d already overstayed our time limit, and we needed to get going before someone noticed that the elevator was stalled and decided to do something about it. There was a brief moment of panic when we realized that merely zipping up a porous sweatshirt over a come-splattered chest would NOT be effective cover for sexual activity. The come merely soaked through in a pattern that screamed “pearl necklace!” I quickly pulled my own hoodie off, used hers to mop up, and exchanged mine for hers. It was a little too big on her, but at least it didn’t look like it had been used to cover a freshly painted Jackson Pollock. We wadded up her sweatshirt, come stains inside-out, and then eased back in the emergency stop button.

We really needn’t have worried. There was nobody there when the elevator opened. Stealing a risky kiss, I said thanks & goodnight and promised to stop by her barracks room to re-exchange sweatshirts the next day.

That elevator sparked a life-long love of having my come swallowed by a beautiful woman. Hand-jobs (and reciprocal finger-banging sessions) were about all we ever had time for in that thing. We did try a couple of full-on blowjobs, but they took to long to really be worth the risk. Either way, though, the safest and most efficient way of “cleanup” was for me to come in her mouth. In our following years at West Point, we had more opportunities to go to hotels off-post, so we needed the little rickety elevator less and less. But even as “firsties” (seniors), we managed to “do the nasty” up there once or twice.

We were together all four years at the Academy, marrying in the Cadet Chapel a few days after graduation. Sadly, the pressures of Army life did a number on our marriage, and we separated and divorced after just under five years. But we remain friends, and I hope she remembers that elevator as fondly as I do.

tl;dr: My sex-starved, virgin girlfriend I, both cadets at West Point, discovered an elevator that could be stopped between floors without setting off an alarm. We used that elevator for mutual sexual gratification many many times during our cadet careers. This was the story of the first time, a hand-job that she turned into a last-minute abbreviated blowjob and the first time anyone swallowed my come.

EDIT: I should have mentioned that the elevator was just OUR story. Since graduating, I’ve heard other West Pointers tell me about the nooks and crannies they discovered and used to have covert sex. There were apparently some dressing rooms in the backstage area of Eisenhower hall that saw heavy action, and one former classmate told me about how he discovered that it was possible to break in to the gymnasium after hours via a emergency exit that was neither alarmed nor locked. There was also a place where two buildings had been constructed just few feet apart but not abutting each other. The space between had been bricked over, but could be accessed through a small covered panel, into which one horny couple escaped for nights of sweaty dusty passion. For Jennifer and myself, that dirty old elevator was more than enough to take the edge off between weekends away from the Academy.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/98ic1t/mf_military_academy_handjob_with_a_little_cleanup