A gay story: By-Chance Voyeur If it hadn’t been for irregularities necessarily taken for a renovation project, Nick Osbourne quite likely would have had to go longer getting me laid than he did. Maybe or maybe not. We were getting there anyway, him a vice president at the bank pressuring me and showing that he could do little favors for me, a lowly loan officer at the bank, in getting ahead because he wanted me to give him head and he knew I was a submissive who had done and would do that for other men.
Osbourne had been sent to Wilmington, Delaware, to attend an international banking conference. He was permitted to take a junior officer along as a “gofer” assistant and to give that officer experience in the business.
“This is your lucky day,” he had told me when I was informed it was me. “Think it’s about time you made it my lucky day,” he added before wafting off. Osbourne wasn’t anything if not self-confident and arrogant. It so happened he was a hunk and a half too.
He didn’t stay around for my response, although I called out a “Thanks for including me in the trip” in his wake. He knew enough about the sexual harassment policies of the bank not to push me too hard and to engineer me into taking the initiative, and I was making it just hard enough to leave him uncertain of his powers over me. I think we both knew I would give in to him eventually–he was a handsome dude and in great shape for his age, and I liked taking cock. I also liked taking it from older men.
Osbourne liked traveling in style and the bank indulged him. He was just a vice president now, but there had been Osbournes at the top of the bank’s management for over a century and no one doubted that Nick was headed in that direction. That’s probably why those who could tell that he was a sexual predator of young men tolerated him putting selected young men in good positions at the bank. I had become one of those young men. We were still in the pursuit phase, though. He booked us in a boutique hotel near Wilmington, the Inn at Hadley Mills. Hadley Mills was the gunpowder manufacturing enterprise that had made the French-origin DuPont family’s fortune from the time of the American Revolution and put them into the top drawer of American entrepreneur families.
In the mid-nineteenth century, manufacturers like the DuPonts established villages near their mills and factories for their workers to live in. Thus the workers were within walking distance of their work. Hadley Mills had such a village consisting of two streets of cottages. The cottages weren’t built at one time to one plan, but had evolved over time as the workforce expanded. The mill was gone, now a museum, but a boutique hotel chain had bought up the village and renovated it into a hodge-podge of rooms and suites. They weren’t able to unify the interior plans beyond meeting the needs of hotel suites–and they didn’t want to, the differences being key to the charm and appeal of the hotel–but they did cover all of the exteriors in ochre-colored plaster and hang the windows with dark green shutters, both of which were favorite motifs of the DuPonts.
The result was that there were some irregularities in floor plans that would not have happened in a purpose-built project. It was just such an irregularity that got me in bed, at last, with Nick Osbourne. We had a grueling trip up the East Coast on I-95 from Richmond and Nick barely had time to show me to the two-story cottage he was in, living room and kitchenette down and bedroom, with, he pointed out, a queen-sized bed, and bath above when it was getting dark and time for dinner. We had reservations at the inn’s restaurant, The Forge, and were seated in front of a large window overlooking a line of two-story renovated cottages. I was overlooking the window; Nick was facing me.
He was prattling at me about this and that after we’d ordered, and I was half paying attention to him and half to darkness descending on the line of cottages beyond the window. The lights were on in a second-floor room of one of the cottages and the blinds were down on a window that reached nearly to the floor of the room. It took me several minutes to realize that the room was a bathroom and that the side of a toilet was next to the window, the bottom edge of which reached nearly to the floor, and the stall of shower could be seen beyond that. This was where the quirkiness of reconverting old cottages into modern hotel suites came in–that there would be a toilet beside a nearly full-length window.
I was only sure what I was seeing was the front half of a white porcelain toilet–I mean who, I thought, would put a toilet in front of a deep window?–when a naked man appeared, stood in front of it, and began to piss in the toilet. What struck me was the crazy half-thought that the man was Nick Osbourne. From this distance I thought the two could be twins–middle aged, but trim and in fit condition, graying at the top and more so at the temples. I hadn’t seen Nick in the altogether, and looking at his double increased my interest in Nick. The man was well endowed and his chest had an interesting pattern of salt-and-pepper hair swirling on it. He was thin but hard bodied. He actually was quite fit looking.
Was Nick like this? I wondered, looking across the table at him again, with renewed interest. Yes, I could go under a man as fit-bodied as that at Nick’s age–especially if he had a cock as long as the man pissing into the toilet did. Also, of course, at the back of my mind was embarrassment of seeing a man doing that who must have thought he wasn’t on display as he was. I was being a voyeur by chance. I shouldn’t look.
But then it wasn’t my fault he hadn’t pulled down the shades in his bathroom. It was hotel. He probably had no idea what perspective had a line of sight on the bathroom. He probably was as unwitting as anyone else that builders would put a window there. He just needed to take a piss.
But then I discovered that he needed–or wanted–more than that. When I looked back at the window, there now was another man, also naked, in the bathroom. He was a bit taller than the guy at the toilet and a whole lot younger and more muscular. He had the body of a god–a blond god. He had long, blond hair, the fell at least to his shoulder blades. His body was perfect–muscular and perfect. He was in erection. That was thick and long–perfect too.
He had come in behind the man at the toilet as I was looking away at Nick, who was talking–shop I think–but perfectly fine that I just appeared to be looking. I caught enough to get the gist of what he was saying and to respond appropriately.
The young, golden god was embracing the other man closely from behind. He’d reached around the man’s right hip–the hip that was away from my perspective–had grasped the older man’s cock in his hand, and was holding the man’s shaft as it pissed into the toilet bowl. Strangely, that gave me a little surge of arousal, and the look I turned then and gave to Nick must have conveyed that. He smiled at me and put his hand on my knee under the table. I imagined him naked, looking like the man standing at the toilet, and I suddenly wanted Nick like I never had wanted him before.
I looked back at the scene beyond the bathroom window. The man had finished pissing. The golden god was stroking the man’s cock now and the man was arching his back, pressing the back of his head into the younger man’s chest. He turned his face to the younger man’s and they kissed passionately.
Was I really seeing this in actual life or was this a porn movie I could see through a window, or was this me fantasizing being with Nick Osbourne this week–at last–knowing he’d wanted to cover me for some time but being stymied by the bank’s policy on fraternizing with subordinates and sexual harassment issues? It wasn’t the same, though. In the action in the bathroom, the older man was being the submissive. It was clear in what was building between me and Nick that I was the submissive. And if Nick had a cock anything like either one of those guys did…
I turned my attention back to Nick Osbourne.
“So, I was wondering what you would think about me finding you a job that was as good or better than the one you have here–at another bank,” he was asking.
“I like my job at this bank,” I said. I knew what he was saying. This was his problem as a manager, not mine. I was willing for him to bed me–increasingly so. I wasn’t going to file a sexual harassment suit if things went bad–no, when they went bad. I was a realist. I was in to casual sex, and he was a future president of the bank. Any sexual harassment suit would be dealt with in his favor. In fact, given his behavior, that probably had been the case more than once. That was fine with me. I wasn’t a victim in sexual pursuits.
“Well, Citi Bank has a good upward mobile program in its Richmond operations,” he said.
I tuned him out a bit and turned my attention back to the lit-up bathroom window in the cottage the restaurant overlooked. The men were fucking now. They were in the shower stall, which was clearly in view beyond the toilet. The younger guy had the older one back up against the shower wall tiles. What I could see was the muscular backside of the blond god, his hair cascading down to his shoulder blades. What I could see of the older man were his forearms wrapped around the blond god’s waist and his knees, hooked on the younger one’s hips and his calves, wrapped under the younger one’s bulbous butt orbs. The Muscular butt cheeks were clutching and expanding, thrusting forward and pulling back.
They were fucking.
I went nearly fully hard, gave an audible low moan that had Nick look at me sharply. He had removed his hand from my knee, but I grabbed it and returned it–higher, so he could feel I was going hard.
“Enough of this beating around the bush, Nick. I’ll take the initiative. You won’t be hitting on a subordinate. I’m hitting on you. You won’t be guilty of sexual harassment. I begged for it. Take me to your room and fuck my lights out.”
* * * *
I left no doubt that having sex with Nick Osbourne was neither at his instigation nor any form of a bank manager’s sexual harassment with a lower-ranked employee. I jumped his bones as soon as we got to his rooms after dinner. I took the full initiative the first time and even set up my smart phone to capture the takedown.
We fucked on his bed, me on top for the first rush to ejaculation. I knelt between his knees and sucked his cock, with him, in awe of how quickly this now was going down after the weeks of indecision and half seduction he’d put into it. He sat there, dreamy-eyed as I moved my teeth and tongue down his shaft, which I don’t think was as impressive as those of either of the guys I’d seen fucking in the lighted window, teased his piss slit with my tongue, and gave him what I’m proud to claim is professional service. I even showed him–and the cellphone video–my expertise in rolling a condom on a man’s cock with my mouth.
I was a slut for him.
Then I laid on him stretched out on his back on the bed, his arms raised above his head, clutching the brass rail of the headboard until I gave him permission to lower them to my hips and help in the rhythm of the fuck. I saddled myself on his erection and rode his joy stick cowboy style like I was a rodeo star on a prize bucking horse. I went on to show him the position of the crab, him still on his back and me plastered to him, facing the ceiling, planting my fists and feet outside his chest and thighs, and rising and falling on his cock.
I caught it all on video and sent the video to him, assuring him that he could use it as evidence of my having initiated it all if the question ever arose at the bank.
Then in subsequent fuckings, I let him take charge however he wanted to do and we continued the relationship when we got back to Richmond, me never letting him show me favoritism at work, or tolerating any whining when he discovered I was letting other men fuck me too. I did take his money and let him buy nice things for me. We both got a bit of kick out of him being my Daddy and me being a male whore.
Did I ever tell him what had set it all off–that I’d seen a man who looked like Nick would look naked being fucked in the lighted window of a boutique hotel cottage bathroom? No, I did not. But he largely was as sexy in my view as the man in the window–albeit not as hung–and that was, in fact, what had cut the ice with me.
The main thing was that Nick Osbourne could have me, but he couldn’t own me or tell me who else to fuck or not to fuck.
* * * *
I reestablished this freedom, at least in my own mind, the next day of our stay at the Inn of Hadley Mills. Nick wasn’t taking me to the first-day meetings of the conference, which left me to get up early, go back to my own room to shower and dress, and then go over to The Forge for breakfast. The waiter there flirted with me, and I, in turn, flirted with him. But we both saw that the other was a submissive, so it didn’t go further than each of us practicing our flirt and admiring the attractiveness of the other.
Still, it left me horny again. I could assuage that feeling in one of three ways. I could wait for Nick to return and jump his bones again, but that would leave me simmering and shimmering all day until he returned. It also would start giving him ideas about how dependent I’d be on him.
Otherwise, I could either exercise it off or find a man to fuck me silly, In the end, I did both of these.
The inn had a well-equipped gym, which was attached to a spa for women. Most of them ignored the gym, but there were separate sections for the separate genders anyway. What they shared were three personal trainers–one woman and two men. The golden-blond god from the previous night turned out to be one of them. His name was Jonas. He picked up on me immediately when I entered the gym in my silky athletic shorts and stringer tank top the drooped so loosely that it accentuated the cut definition of my pecs. I dressed for in case there was an acceptable man already at the gym. I was in aching sexual need. Being delighted to see Jonas there, I quickly got rid of the tank top while I started to go through the machines. I was athletic and in great shape. I knew how to use all of the machines and kept my body well honed.
We both pretended I needed help, Jonas and I. It wasn’t long until he was down to just athletic shorts too and very shortly after that, as we went through the machines, me using them and him spotting me, making full use of his hands, we both were hardening up–and we both knew the other one was. When we came close to each other, breast to breast, when he was helping me lower a barbell, we went over the top. He came in for a kiss, which lingered, and we both knew this would end in a fuck.
As a bonus, the other man I’d seen through the bathroom window the previous night showed up too and, although Jonas paid some attention to the man’s workout, he didn’t stop working with–and flirting with–me. The other man’s name was Walt. He showed interest in me too, and, certainly with Jonas.
They both could tell I was in heat–I was panting and I was hard. When I was on my back on a padded bench, lifting barbells, Jonas crouched beside me, his eyes capturing mine. We’d already kissed. He had become more intimate from that point. His hand was palming my belly, his instruction to me to keep my abdominals relaxed as I lifted the barbells–not to lift entirely from my belly. His hand moved slowly down to my crotch and covered me there, his fingers tracing my erection through the material of my athletic shorts. Walt came closer too, watching. My gaze went from one of them to the other and I could see that the both were looking at Jonas maintaining touch with my shaft through the material and at the precum moistening the material.
“I saw you last night,” I said, setting the barbell into its stand but remaining on my back, letting Jonas feel me up. He was a gorgeous hunk. He had his hair in a ponytail.
“Saw me last night?” he asked, not comprehending.
“Both of you. In a bathroom in one of the cottages. I couldn’t avoid seeing you. The light was on in the bathroom and the blinds on a window were down. I was eating at the restaurant.”
“Eating with the older banker guy?” Jonas asked.
“Yes, so you’ve been watching me too.”
“Yes. Is the guy I saw you with your Daddy? Does he fuck you?”
“Yes, he fucks me,” I answered. There was no reason for this blond god to know how recently that had begun. “But I don’t have a Daddy. I freelance. I let whoever I want to fuck me have me. He’s just one.”
“Well, what do we do with you?” Jonas asked. Walt was still there, watching and licking his lips. Jonas had moved his hand under the waistline of my shorts and jock and was gripping and stroking my cock. And I was letting him. I gasped and jerked a bit when Walt’s hand went under there too, but I let him play with my erection too.
“Whatever you want to do with me,” I said. “What I’d really like you to do is what you did with Walt in that hotel room bathroom last night.”
“That can happen,” Jonas said. “And I have a nice surprise for you.”
“What?”
“You saw me fuck Walt, but he’s versatile. He likes top as well as bottom.”
I began to hyperventilate as Jonas leaned over me and took my mouth with his–and Walt leaned over me as well and, freeing my shaft from the confines of the jock and shorts, took it in his mouth. I found the band holding Jonas’s ponytail together, released his hair, running my fingers through the golden curls as they cascaded down his back.
“You ever had two dicks inside you at the same time?” Jonas whispered.
“No,” I answered through a pant.
“Will you–?”
“We can try.” That was Walt speaking, but I didn’t object.
They then fucked me. And after that they fucked me again.
Jonas put my ankles on his shoulders as I lay there on the padded bench, under the barbells, and he pulled on a condom and fucked me. As he came, Walt was pulling on a condom, and almost without missing a beat, the two exchanged positions and Walt hooked my knees on his hips and he fucked me too.
Later, they took me to the showers, and Jonas fucked me in the same position I’d seen him fuck Walt the evening before–he backed me against the tiles of the shower walls, lifted me and lowered me on his cock, put my knees on his hips and my arms around his neck, and he fucked me under the running water, moving my back up and down the slick tiles with the power of his thrusts.
Walt watched for a while, but then he got into the act, putting his hands on us and coaxing Jonas to turn me, side to the wall. Walt saddled up behind me. I gasped, let out a little cry, and panted hard as I struggled to sheath both cocks. I did manage to stretch enough to take them both together and they played me like a calliope to the end of the total, glorious fuck.
I never told Nick Osbourne that I went to that extreme with other men, but I made clear to him that I would do as I pleased. And as long as I let him fuck me, he didn’t press the point. Since then, I’d become totally aware of my surroundings whenever I went out to eat. There was no telling when I might become a by-chance voyeur as I did at the Inn at Hadley Mill.