A gay story: Good Neighbor John Ch. 02 At 4:45 I decided to go out onto the balcony and wait for Sam to get home from work. I don’t like face-to-face confrontations so I generally avoid them, but his snub of me this morning was eating away at my heart.
I wore navy blue nylon gym shorts and a matching cut-off tee shirt. Powder blue string bikini briefs underneath the shorts completed my outfit.
I screwed-up enough courage to sit on the chair directly in front of his glass door. There was no way he wouldn’t be able to see me when he arrived home.
I sniffed my armpits. They were still fresh. Whatever happened with Sam, I would still have plenty of time to soak in a bubble bath before my seven o’clock in apartment 640.
4:50 — no Sam. 4:55 no Sam. 5:00 — no Sam. 5:05 — no Sam. 5:10 — no Sam. 5:15 — no Sam. 5:20 — no Sam. 5:25 — no Sam. 5:30 — no Sam.
I gave up at 5:35 and went inside with a heavy heart. Whatever I did to make him mad was bad enough for him to change his routine. He always comes home around five. Since I began doing it for him, he’s never missed his five o’clock handy.
I sat at the computer and deleted many emails. To pick up my spirits, I opened ‘Nicky and Daniel’s Wedding Reception’ file again and scrolled thru the photos.
My job had been cocktail server and my uniform consisted solely of a pink bowtie and a very tiny pink thong. It brought a smile to my face when I remembered how uncomfortable and agitated I became with that darn string between my asscheeks rubbing against my anus all night long.
There were actually quite a few photos of me serving the guests so I was able to follow the progression of my unruly prick that evening. Mister Halifax had been the wedding photographer so I guess it made sense he kept an eye on me.
The night started out normal enough. I went from table-to-table delivering tray loads of champagne. Many of the men couldn’t resist patting and stroking my exposed buttocks but I was able to concentrate enough so my prick stayed flaccid.
Once the guests were finished with the light appetizers and snacks and I began delivering shots of Fireball, that was when things sort of spiraled out of control.
Many of the guests insisted I drink a shot of the cinnamon-tasting whiskey with them and they became very handsy — boldly squeezing my butt and stroking my smooth thighs. Soon, my prick was at half-mast and the head was poking out the top of the thong.
That cunt, Little Timmy, was the one who did the most to embarrass me. He took advantage of my vulnerability every time I had a full tray of drinks and had to use both hands to carry it.
First, he rolled and pinched my nipples until they were hard — a full inch in length. That caused my prick to stiffen further, but most of it was still tucked inside the thong.
I was becoming slightly inebriated and the next time around with the tray he stopped me and kissed me full on the lips ramming his tongue in and out of my mouth.
Well, that did it — French kissing always does. My boner sprang to life and popped out into the open and I heard cheers and applause from the nearby tables.
I was going to set down the tray and adjust my hard-on back into the thong when Little Timmy whispered in my ear, “Don’t you dare — you’re gonna walk around like that the rest of the night!”
So there I was with my prick jutting straight out bobbing ahead of me and my hairless balls swinging between my legs while I delivered drinks. Now the men kneaded and stroked my flesh in earnest.
The next time around when the last shot glass was gone from the tray, I had to sit next to a man, reach under the table and stroke his cock until it exploded. At some point, someone ripped the flimsy thong off me and I was totally nude the rest of the night. All pretense of civility was now gone.
I don’t know how many under-the-table handjobs I gave that night. It seemed like every man there wanted at least one. Sometimes I was tightly sandwiched between two men and gave them double-fisted handjobs.
All I remember is when I got home, my hands, wrists and most of my legs were sticky with dried or drying sperm and semen and I never once shot a load of my own.
Of course, I took care of that problem the moment I went inside my apartment and went to bed.
***
I hadn’t heard Sam come home so I decided to run a bath.
I carefully measured a cup of the special bubble bath liquid into the water. Not only did it have a nice fragrance, but it also contained a solution that removed my body hair. Two birds with one stone.
I carefully put on the shower cap. I certainly do not want to lose the hair on my head.
I flipped over the sand hour-glass and stepped into the tub. Mister Alderson had given me the hour glass, which was really a half-hour. He insists I sit in the sudsy water until the sand runs out.
After thirty-minutes, I pull the plug, and while the water is draining I stand under the hot shower rinsing the soap off my soft and smooth body.
In the bedroom I slide a clean white jockstrap up my legs. I stand before the mirror, pose with my hands on hips, and admire my bulge in the crotch of the jock. The small pouch gives me the illusion I have a ‘manly package’ and it makes me feel better about myself.
I slip into my standard work uniform: pink short-shorts, and the short pink tee shirt that exposes my flat, lower tummy and navel. I decide against wearing the pink socks. I’m sure Timmy the Cunt will strip me naked when I get there anyway. I slide the pink flip-flops on my feet and go back to the computer.
I fight the urge to go out on the balcony to see if Sam had come home while I was in the bathroom. I don’t want to appear too desperate and needy.
I update my work schedule to include the new woman, ‘Mistress Marcia’ two nights from now.
That means I’ll be working for Mistress Bernice tomorrow night and the new woman the following night. I am positive Mistress Bernice told the new woman about my distaste for going down on women which means for sure I’ll have to eat cunt two nights in a row. YUCK!!
The job I am looking forward to the most is the ‘modeling’ shoot with Mister Halifax on Sunday. He said he found a cute, new boy named Manolo, and he and I have a lot in common, whatever that means.
***
At 6:50 I check myself in the mirror one last time then leave the apartment. As I walk up the stairs to the sixth floor my dick begins twitching inside the jock. It’s like it has a mind of its own whenever I have a job in apartment 640.
Little Timmy is two-inches shorter than me heighth-wise, but two-inches longer than me dick-wise. He has a dominating personality that excites me, but I will never admit that to him or anyone else.
I rap three times on the door and soon am face-to-face with him. He is wearing simply black boxer briefs and his prick is tenting-out the crotch. He and Mister Hanson must have been making out on the sofa. I guess I stared too long at his bulge.
He laughed and said, “You be an obedient little boy tonight, Johnny, and I just might let you slide your pussy back-and-forth on my cock!”
I don’t embarrass easily, but he has a knack for putting me in my place.
I see Mister Hanson smiling at me from the sofa. He is dressed only in a red thong and the purple head of his hard cock has escaped the waistband and laying flat against his firm belly. More than once I have wondered who the real bottom is in their relationship.
Once the door closes behind me, Timmy takes me in his arms and we kiss. I never resist him. An important aspect of my work is to appear to be an eager and willing participant no matter how distasteful I may find the job.
As usual, the French-kissing gives me a stone-hard boner. Timmy strips me between kisses and I stand there with a hard-on in my tiny white jock. With his tongue in my mouth, I feel his hands on my hips. He pushes the jockstrap to the floor. He breaks the kiss and joins Mister Hanson on the sofa. I am left standing naked and aroused, and out of breath gasping for air.
“Time for inspection — come over here, boy!” he orders.
I am two-years older than him but he always calls me ‘boy.’
“Yes, Timmy,” I dutifully reply.
I stand naked before them with my hands on my head, and feet spread wide apart. I am completely exposed and at their mercy.
Timmy always takes his time when he runs his hands over my soft and smooth flesh searching for a stray hair or two. He, of course, won’t find any but by the time he is done, my body will tingle and my prick will be throbbing.
“Good boy,” he says then adds: “Now turn around and display your pussy to us!”
“Yes, Timmy,” I reply and immediately turn my backside to them.
I know what they expect. With my legs spread as wide as possible, I bend over at the waist, reach back with my hands and pull apart my buttocks so they have a closeup and very personal view of my boypussy.
This is the most vulnerable and embarrassing aspect of my job. It also reminds me of the first time one of my sponsors, Mister Alderson had me bend over for him. He likes to hear me beg so I said, “Please fuck me in the ass, pleeeezzzzzzzz!”
He slapped my buttcheeks hard and admonished me, “Only real men have assholes — boys like you have pussies!”
Timmy gives my erection a few hard strokes then I feel the soft leather of the scrotum strap as he cinches my balls. My heart sinks. The longer Timmy denies me a climax, the more excited I get.
I become so desperate to orgasm I turn into a mindless, lust-crazed sex boy eagerly obeying Timmy’s increasingly humiliating demands. My balls become so swollen and full, their isn’t any act of oral and anal sodomy I won’t perform for Timmy and Mister Hanson.
“Get on your knees between his legs, boy, and suck his cock!” Timmy says firmly.
“Yes, Timmy,” I reply and immediately obey his command.
***
Two-hours later I am stumbling down the stairwell. Mind shrouded in haze, legs weak and wobbly. The afterglow of my orgasm is overwhelming. I don’t even realize I am wearing only the tiny jockstrap and carrying the rest of my clothes.
I somehow concentrate hard enough to open my front door. I go straight for the recliner and plop down on it. The sweet ache I feel in my boypussy reminds me how well Timmy and Mister Hanson fucked me tonight.
I must have given them three orgasms each but the one Timmy allowed me to have was so powerful and satisfying it made the entire night a major success.
A crashing noise on the balcony startles me. I go to the glass door and see a chair had been tipped over. I flip on the outside light and OH MY GOD — I see Sam laying face down on the concrete. I turn off the light and hurry out to him.
As I kneel down to attend to him a very strong odor of alcohol assaults my nose. I gently turn him onto his back.
“Sam — Sam, are you alright?” I frantically ask him.
I hear a deep groan then “Johnny, is that you?”
“Yes, I’m here for you…are you okay?” I ask again.
“Noooo…” he moans. “I’m not okay…I’m a…Johnny, I’m a faggot just like you!”
His words are slightly slurred. He is drunk.
“What are you talking about?” I ask him.
“I sucked your cock the other night — that makes me a cocksucking faggot like you!” he said.
His words hurt, but I was more concerned with whether he had injured himself.
“That doesn’t mean a thing,” I said. “You were experimenting…a lot of guys experiment!”
“Noooooo…” he groaned. “I liked it too much…I loved having your dick in my mouth — so hot and so smooth…I loved it when you came in my mouth — it tasted great…I’m nothing but a worthless, cocksucking cum-eating faggot!”
Again, the words hurt but I pressed on.
“Sammy, do you think I’m ‘worthless’?” I asked him.
“No, Johnny, noooo…I think I understand you better now,” he said. “I know why you like to do it…I loved hearing you moan when I was doing it for you…and when you shot in my mouth it was so exhilarating that I was able to give you all that pleasure – in fact, it gave me a hard-on…my dick got sooo hard when I was swallowing your cum as soon as I went inside I had to jack-off…and I thought about your cock the whole time!”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so I took his confession as words from a guy out-of-his-mind drunk. I decided to change the subject.
“How was it at work? I’ll bet you were pretty hungover,” I said.
“I haven’t gone to work — I’ve been drinking for two-days!” he exclaimed.
“Sam, you have to go to work — you have to take care of yourself!” I scolded.
“I’ll prove it to you, Johnny — take out your cock and I’ll go down on you right now!” he said forcefully. “That’s what faggots do, right? C’mon Johnny, whip it out — I want to make you cum in my mouth again!”
“You need to get some sleep – I’m going to help you inside,” I said softly.
He was dead-weight when I tried to help him stand.
“Sam, listen to me — you have to give me some help — take my hand and try to stand up!” I pleaded with him.
He grunted and groaned as he fought to get up and stand on his uncertain legs.
He fell against me but I managed to keep him upright. I opened his sliding door and almost had to carry him inside. I didn’t think I could get him to his bedroom so I laid him down on his back on the sofa.
I went in search for a blanket to cover him. All I found were extra sheets so I laid one over him. It was warm in the apartment and I figured the sheet would be enough.
All I heard was his breathing so I thought he was asleep as I spread the sheet over him. He slightly shifted his body and I swear I heard him say very softly, “Johnny, I love you” then he passed-out.
I stood over him a long time listening to his snoring. I didn’t know if I should be happy for me or sad for my confused, straight friend.
***
I woke up before the alarm went off and slid into orange gym shorts and plain white t-shirt. I went to check on Sam. The purpose was to wake him and get him off to work. I knew he was living on a very tight budget and couldn’t afford to lose his job.
He wasn’t on the sofa so I thought he may have made it to the bedroom sometime in the night. Surprise! He was nowhere to be found. There was a wet towel in the bathroom.
Amazing! As drunk as he’d been, he somehow managed to wake-up before me, take a shower and go to work. He had to have a one, wicked headache!
Went back to my place, made a cup of instant coffee, and brought my phone with me out on the balcony. I saw right away a text from the photographer, Mister Halifax.
“Moved up shoot — this a.m. at 10.”
Uh-oh, this screws-up my schedule. I went inside, fired-up the laptop and studied the days agenda. I shifted around a couple jobs. It was too early to call them about the changes but I did have to start sooner than originally planned so I took a quick shower then ate some toast with another cup of coffee, and was out the door at 8:00am.
***
I always find giving an early morning massage to be more difficult. While the coffee clears my head, my body isn’t quite awake yet.
No matter, I tell myself, Peter the Perv isn’t really interested in the massage itself. No, to him it’s all about the happy-ending. As I enter one of the massage rooms next to the gym I wonder if today will be oral or the use of my hands.
True to form, Peter is already laying on his stomach on the table. Also true to form, he never has the decency to cover himself with at least a small towel. He is naked and his fat-ass pretty much takes up most of the table. A small towel wouldn’t cover much anyhow.
As usual, the first thing out of his mouth is “You’re late!” and I give him my usual reply “I’m right on time, sir!”
I don’t bother stripping off my clothes with him. He doesn’t care about looking at my body, and I don’t get the least bit aroused massaging his flabby flesh so I never have to worry about pre-cum leakage staining my undies.
My hands go to work on his back but quickly move to the mud-flaps of his ass. He’s only interested in feeling my hands on his huge butt and his stubby dick anyway.
After ten-minutes or so he says “Kiss my ass, boy!”
That’s when I know he is ready to turn-over and have me work on his dick so I reply “Yes, sir!” and I plant a loud, wet kiss on the closest, shakes-like-jello ass-cheek.
He grunts with effort as he shifts on the table to his back. I have to restrain myself from giggling when I catch sight of his short, fat, stubby prick.
I massage his breasts for thirty-seconds then squeeze and knead his upper thighs.
I guess I kinda play a game with him. I won’t move on from his thighs until he gets agitated enough to say “What are you waiting on, boy — get to it!”
“Yes, sir,” I reply and begin squeezing and stroking his pathetic dick with one hand while I massage his heavy scrotum with the other.
I always stare at his dick and wonder if he’s ever fucked a woman with it and I always come to the same conclusion: No way — no how — not possible!
I massage his dick and balls and wait for his breathing to intensify. Only then will he tell me what type of happy-ending he wants.
He suddenly blurts out “I’m going to finish in your mouth, boy!”
I say to him “Yes, sir!” but my mind is screaming YUCK.
I wet my lips, slide them over his fat glans and begin using my tongue. I work feverishly on him. I always give him my ‘Express BJ’ to make him cum as soon as possible.
Within two-minutes his body begins shaking and I ready myself to receive my punishment.
I have to mentally prepare myself for the worst so I don’t gag and choke on his awful gruel. I’m not sure what he stores in his balls but it is not normal sperm and semen. It’s a thin and mucous-like liquid that has the flavor and consistency of smelly swamp water.
Oh well…a boys gotta do what a boys gotta do.
***
I rush home and run to the bathroom to use mouthwash. I have to gargle and spit three times before his taste is gone.
The only good thing about doing a job for Peter the Perv is it doesn’t take much time. I have thirty-minutes until my next appointment so I make another cup of coffee.
I become aware of something in my peripheral vision. My eyes dart to the balcony and — oh my God — Sam is sitting out there! What the hell is he doing home so early?
I casually join him on the balcony and say “Hi Sam, why are you home already?”
“Hi” he replies. “Apparently, I got fired yesterday…”
“What are you talking about?” I ask him in surprise.
“Well…I must have had a blackout when I was drinking…” he said in a far-off voice.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means I don’t remember my boss calling me and me telling him to fuck-off…he was pretty angry when I showed up today….”
“Oh my God, Sam, that’s terrible!” I said.
I didn’t know what else to say so I blurted out, “I’m surprised you were able to get up and go to work today at all…you were pretty wasted last night.”
“Oh, did I see you last night?” he asked.
My heart became so heavy all I could say is, “Yeah, we talked for awhile.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “I gotta cut down on the booze…the blackouts are getting worse and worse….”
Wow, he doesn’t remember telling me “I love you!” Now what? Should I say something? Nah, it wouldn’t do any good. In fact, it might push him over the edge and he could start drinking again!
I moved next to him on the love seat and placed my hand on his upper thigh, smiled and said, “Want me to make you feel better?”
My heart took another painful blow when he pushed my hand away and replied, “No, that’s okay, I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh…uh, alright, I have a job at nine,” I said and abruptly stood. “I’ll be out here at five…if you want to, uh, talk.”
“We’ll see….” were his last words before I went inside heartbroken.
***
Old Man Donelly lives directly below my apartment. I go there four times a week to give him a thorough scrubbing, literally.
He greeted me at the door wearing his bathrobe. He patiently waited while I stripped to my jockstrap then I followed him to the bathroom where he took off his robe. The hot water had steamed-up the room and I watched him gingerly step into the tub and sit down.
I took up the soap and wash cloth and began to gently clean his wrinkled old skin.
During the bath, he always regales me with stories of his youth. He’s kinda forgetful so I’ve heard several of the same stories over-and-over. Today was no different.
“Let me tell you, Johnny, when I was your age I was just like you,” he began. “Cute, smart and and very personable – the older guys wouldn’t leave me alone — not that I wanted them to, hahaha…the summer of ’68 is when I found out I was a homo…I worked for a guy named Mister McBeevy, he was older than dirt and had been a widower for years…now back in those days there were no convenience stores – no Circle K’s or Seven Eleven’s…instead, every neighborhood had a small store attached to a house — usually in the basement…one day my buddy, Chuck, said he was quitting his job at Mister McBeevy’s store to work in the new mall and wondered if I wanted to take his job….”
I smiled when I recognized the story. I liked this story.
“…so I jumped at the chance to earn some spending money and began working for Mister McBeevy…now Chuck had warned me that the old man was very friendly…a lot of touching — he liked to give back rubs and shoulder massages…I didn’t care, I didn’t give it a second thought…back then nobody talked about queers much less suspecting someone they knew might be one…now let me tell you something about those little stores: everything was crammed into such a small space there wasn’t much room to move around…my first week there I literally ran into or brushed-up against the old man so many times it became an inside joke to both of us and his famous ‘back rub’s’ would turn into ‘chest rubs’ as well…”
It was at this point I began to fantasize I was the boy in the story and my dick instantly stiffened.
“…now mind you I was at that stage in my life where I would spring a boner if there was the slightest breeze so Mister McBeevy’s ‘hands-on’ approach gave me a dozen hard-ons every single day — hell, every day I got home I had to go to my bedroom and jerk-off until my dick was sore…well, he didn’t seem to notice my boners until my second week there…he had come up behind me, wrapped his arms around me and brazenly massaged my chest thru my thin shirt – needless to say I popped wood…this time he looked down over my shoulder and couldn’t miss my dick tenting out the crotch of my shorts…’Yes, just what I thought,’ he whispered in my ear, but instead of backing away from me, his hands grew bolder – they kneaded my breasts and his fingers pinched my nipples into hard little points…I became so dizzy I fell back against him…that’s when I first noticed his hard dick…it was big and it felt like a baseball bat was poking me in the back….”
I purposely moved my soapy hand under the water between Mister Donelly’s legs and found his cock, sure enough, it was hard as a rock. He gets just as aroused as I do whenever he tells me a story.
“…by now I had the worst case of ‘blue balls’ I ever had — they were swollen and hurt like hell…all of a sudden, Mister McBeevy’s hand squeezed my prick thru the shorts and gave it two-three strokes and I started shooting inside my undies…my body was jerking and shaking so violently he had to physically hold me to keep me from falling…when I was done, I’d never felt so embarrassed in my life but all Mister McBeevy said was ‘We better get you cleaned-up, boy, wait for me in the bathroom’ — ‘Yes, sir, I said’…he locked the door of the store and joined me in the small room…he nonchalantly said ‘Open your pants, boy, and push them down to your knees’ — remarkably I just said ‘Yes, sir’ and did what I was told…he used a warm wash cloth on me for a long time — longer than was necessary — he kept running the cloth over my dick and balls…suddenly, I felt a finger between my butt cheeks and it went straight to my anus — the dirty old man massaged my butt-hole with his finger until I sprung another boner…he laughed and said ‘Yeah, you’re a homo, aren’t you boy? Only homo’s like someone touching their assholes!'”
The story was making me hot and dizzy but I was thinking about my ten o’clock photo shoot with Mister Halifax. My dick needed to be fresh and ready for action. I began feverishly stroking Mister Donelly’s sudsy hard-on.
He continued: “I wanted to shout ‘NO-I’M NOT A HOMO’ but I couldn’t form any words. I watched in horror as he opened his slacks and pushed them and his boxers to his knees. OH-MY-GOD, I’d never seen a grown man’s cock before and it was huge! He said: ‘My turn, boy, take it in your hand and jerk me off!’ I was in shock. He became impatient and took my hand and wrapped my fingers around his manly cock. OH-MY-HELL, I can’t describe the excitement I felt from having his hot and hard cock in my hand…”
And suddenly Mister Donelly cried out: “Oh-God—Oh-God—yes-yes-yes-YESSSSSSSSSSS” and his body thrashed about in the bath water as I emptied his balls for him.
When he came to rest he finished the story.
“Well, John, the old man and me gave each other at least three handjobs every day that week…the next week, well, he shocked me when he went to his knees and took my dick in his mouth and sucked me off — he had me cum in his mouth and I’ll be damned if he didn’t swallow it all too…of course, he expected me to do the same for him…I have to laugh about it now, the front door of the store was locked so many times a day it was no surprise he went out of business in less than a year!”
I laughed and said, “Did he have a cumming-out-of-business sale?”
He ignored my joke and continued: “Before working there, I remember going to his store as a customer only to discover the door was locked at odd times every day — now I knew why…then it occurred to me HOLY CRAP — my friend, Chuck, worked there before me — did he do these things with Mister McBeevy too? Well, he and I worked different shifts for a few weeks and I never saw him…when he moved to days, he finally called and we went out one night…we were parked in his car drinking beer — he looked old enough to buy beer at one of those Mom & Pop stores…anyway, he asked me how I liked my job, and I didn’t know what to say…it was dark and I heard him laughing. I asked what was so funny and he said, ‘Mister McBeevy tells me you’re darn good at what you do’ and I blushed in the dark. Then he said, ‘You know, it doesn’t seem right’…’What doesn’t seem right? I asked him…he said point blank: ‘You go down on some old guy, but you’ve never gone down on your best friend! That’s not fair!’…well, to make a long story short, for the rest of that summer I’d go down on Mister McBeevy three times during the day and Chuck had me suck him off at least three times every night we went out.”
I helped the old man to his feet and dried him off. His story had gotten me so excited the pouch of my jock was soaked with pre-cum, but I was proud of myself for not giving in to my urges to masturbate. I’d be able to give the photographer a nice, explosive ‘cum-shot’ on-camera.
***
Mister Halifax hurried me into his apartment and led me to the sofa where a ‘uniform’ had been laid out for me to wear.
“I’ll explain the part you’ll be playing while you change clothes,” he said.
As soon as I was naked he stopped me and handed me a leather scrotum strap and said, “Here, put this on.”
“Darn,” I muttered under my breath as I tightly cinched my already swollen balls. I knew it would be awhile before he would let me climax.
He then gave me a pair of sheer, pink panties and I wriggled them up my legs into place. He chuckled when my prick stiffened the moment it was encased by the wickedly smooth material. He certainly knows all my weaknesses.
I slip into the faded gray work shirt and button it. The logo reads ‘Anderson Landscaping.’ I pull up the worn blue jeans, sit down and put on the socks and work boots.
All the time he is explaining my role. I am a son of the owner of the landscaping business. I have a two-man crew consisting of two Mexicans: Javier and his son, Manolo.
Javier is the actual gardener for the building. He and I had done a photo shoot together a couple months ago. I was glad to be working with him again – he has a nice cock.
Manolo is the boy’s real name too. Mister Halifax recently ‘discovered’ him and raved to me about his telegenic good-looks.
The plot of the story is I am their boss. Insufferably arrogant and mean. I constantly berate the two while they’re working and I just stand around and watch. The father has a plan to get revenge for how I treat him and his son. He is going to spike my drink with the infamous aphrodisiac ‘Spanish Fly’ and they’ll take me to their house where I will have to suck both of their cocks and other assorted nastiness.
The grand finale will be the boy fucking the boss. The son, Manolo, is a virgin. Javier’s plan is to force the ‘mean boss’ to bend over so his son can break his cherry in the bosses ass.
Mister Halifax assures me I’ll have no problem taking Manolo’s cock in my boypussy.
***
We ride the elevator down in silence. Mister Halifax carries one camera and I am holding another.
Outside, we walk around the building and I see the two of them actually working. Javier and Manolo are digging a hole to plant the bush I see near them.
As we get closer, I see the sweat dripping down their somewhat dirty faces.
Good Lord, I thought, Mister Halifax sure tries to make every scene as realistic as possible!
I stare at the boy’s smooth young face and it startles me.
“Mister Halifax,” I say, “are you sure the boy is old enough to do this? He doesn’t look eighteen to me!”
“He is a little cutie, isn’t he?” he replies.
When I am standing beside Manolo I become suspicious again. I am only 5′ 6″ but I towered over the boy by at least five-inches.
“I dunno, Mister Halifax, he looks sixteen at the most!” I protest.
“Johnny, he is Javier’s nephew — he swears the boy is eighteen…the boy signed a waiver stating he is eighteen…what more can I do? It’s not like he has a drivers license or birth certificate I can check….”
Well, okay, I thought to myself. Javier is as honest a man I’ve met. If he says the boy is old enough that’s good by me. Besides, this was going to be a heckuva payday so I didn’t want to do anything to spoil it.
***
It took Mister Halifax an hour to ‘shoot the exteriors’ he wanted. I had to use every ounce of acting talent I had.
I don’t have a mean bone in my body but the outdoor scenes required me to be a huge douchebag – yelling and screaming at the hard working men. Calling them nasty names while I stayed cool in the shade as they sweated in the heat of the sun.
In the final outdoor scene, I relented and allowed them to take a short break.
Javier filled their water cups then offered to fill mine. When I gave it to him, Manolo distracted my attention away from Javier. The camera focused on Javier reaching into a pocket and bringing out a small vial of liquid which he poured into my water cup. This was supposed to be the legendary ‘Spanish Fly’ aphrodisiac, or hahaha, the original Viagra.
The men returned to work and all the while glanced at me with evil grins on their faces waiting for the potion to take effect.
“And CUT,” shouted Mister Halifax.
I thought we’d be going upstairs to Mister Halifax’s apartment but no, we walked to the parking lot directly to a thirty-year-old, battered pickup truck where Javier and Manolo were filmed placing their tools in the bed of the truck.
“Okay, John,” said Mister Halifax, “…you are now under the spell of the ‘Spanish Fly’ and become very agreeable to Javier’s suggestions…you sit between them in the front seat…they begin to fondle and caress your chest and thighs and you like it — close your eyes and sit back…”
I did as I was told. I hear Javier purring to me in Spanish. Their hands squeezing and stroking me. It felt wonderful and I sprung a boner.
“Okay guys, look down at the bulge in his pants then look at each other and smile…you may have to pretend you see an actual bulge,” said the director.
OUCH — that hurt!
“That’s good…okay CUT!” said the director.
“Okay, let’s go to your house now, Javier,” said Mister Halifax. “It’s only about two-minutes from here, John.”
Javier’s house? I didn’t expect that!
It was actually a four-minute walk but who’s complaining?
When you’re in the apartment building or walking amongst the lush, green grass, bushes and shrubbery, you’d never know the neighborhood surrounding it was rather sketchy and shabby.
Javier lived in a small house in serious need of a paint job. The living room consisted of an old, long sofa, with the cloth torn in several places. There was an equally old cloth recliner that I doubted reclined anymore.
The opening scene we shot I was standing in the middle of the room. Javier holding my hands behind my back. Manolo unbuttoning my shirt. Both men smiling and speaking soft words of encouragement in Spanish.
When I’d asked Mister Hailfax about the language barrier he told me, “This might be a first — a gay porn video with subtitles!”
I looked down at little Manolo in front of me. When he removed my shirt his soft and smooth hands caressed my breasts and pinched my nipples until they hardened.
I thought: ‘My God, he might be the cutest boy I’ve ever seen,’ and my prick began oozing pre-cum. Luckily, the scrotum strap fastened tightly around my balls prevented me from shooting a load right then and there!
When Manolo began opening my belt I feigned to struggle with Javier.
“No-no-no” I cried out but of course, Javier was too strong for me and I couldn’t break free from his grip.
When Manolo lowered my zipper and saw the pink of my underwear, he exclaimed, “Que es esto?” (“What is this?”)
He quickly pushed my jeans down to my knees exposing my pink panties to their view.
“Dios mio, lleva bragas de mujer” (“Oh my God, he’s wearing women’s panties”), Manola said loudly. “Quiere ser una chica!” (“He wants to be a girl”).
Javier answered, “Buena, lo usaremos como una chica!” (“Good, we will use him like a girl”)
Mister Halifax shouted instructions and Manolo smiled and licked his lips as he slowly undressed.
I stared at the large bulge in his white, jockey briefs with wide-eyed surprise. I was only half-acting. I really was surprised how big it was.
I gasped when he pushed his briefs to the floor. Manolo was five-inches shorter than me in height but his erection seemed to be twice the size of my own.
He held it in one hand and sneered at me. “Como lo que ves nina?” (“Like what you see little girl?”)
He crooked a finger at me and said, “Chupar mi polla, chica!” (“Suck my cock, girl”)
Javier forced me to my knees and Manola pushed his hard cock to my lips and forcefully ordered, “Chupa perra!” (“Suck it, bitch”)
Yes, I knew we were play-acting, but I was completely caught up in the excitement of being a weak man forced to suck a stronger man’s hard cock. It was a familiar fantasy of mine coming true one more time.
When he was nearing his climax, Manolo forcefully fucked my mouth. Suddenly, Mister Halifax called out, “Pull out and cum on his face, Manny!”
Of course, it’s called ‘the money-shot’ — a close-up with the camera on his hard cock ejaculating all over my face. I should have expected it.
Two-seconds after Manolo covered my face with his sperm and semen, Javier stood naked before me. The tip of his hard-on was oozing pre-cum and I lapped it up before I slid my cum-slick lips over his cockhead.
He growled at me, “Sosten mis pelotas, puta!” (“Hold my balls, bitch”) and I immediately obeyed him.
I heard Manolo bark at me, “Sostén mis pelotas también, puta!” (“Hold my balls too, bitch”)
I had to blink away the rivulets of cum trying to run into my eyes as I furiously bobbed my head back-and-forth over Javier’s manly cock.
***
Forty-five minutes later I remained bent over the sofa holding my butt cheeks open so the camera could get a closeup of Manolo’s cum oozing out of my widely-stretched boypussy.
I was too weak to stand anyway. The force of my own orgasm drained all the strength out of me and I was gasping for air.
When Mister Halifax shouted “CUT” I stayed bent over for a half-minute or so. Finally, Javier helped me stand. He and Manolo were already dressed.
My macho Mexican buddies had shot so much jizz I had to use several tissues to wipe myself dry between my butt-cheeks and down my legs. My boypussy was sore, but it was that delicious soreness I always experience after a wonderfully thorough fucking.
I dressed slowly. I watched Mister Halifax hand each of them a few hundred dollar bills each. When I was fully clothed, he reached out to shake my hand. I took hold of it and felt the money in his hand. I coyly slipped the bills into a pocket and went to the front door. Javier and Manolo were helping Mister Halifax with his photography equipment.
“Adios, amigos!” I called out as I left the house.
On the short walk home, I counted the money Mister Halifax had given me.
A wide smile crossed my face and I loudly exclaimed, “Dios mio.” (“Oh my God”)
I not only earned a great payday, but gained an exciting new mastabatory fantasy as well. I couldn’t shake the image of a naked Manolo, standing before me with hands on hips, his gorgeous erection pointing straight out, ordering me to my knees to service his magnificent cock.
***
The rest of the day was spent performing standard cleaning and laundry jobs. I pride myself on the work I do. Not only are my neighbors grateful, but the time always seems to go by much faster too.
The only unscheduled job was when I accidentally ran into Mister Alderson near the gym. We exchanged pleasantries, then an odd smile crossed his face and he pulled me into a nearby janitor’s closet and pushed me to my knees.
While I was fastening his slacks back in place, he looked down at me and snarkily quipped, “Have fun eating cunt tonight, sweetie!”
I made my EWWW—YUCKY face and he laughed and laughed and laughed.
At 4:45 I went out on the balcony and laid back on a lounge chair. I wasn’t sure if Sam was going to join me or not. I didn’t even peek into his apartment to see if he was home.
I was on the verge of dozing off when a loud noise from below made me flinch. I stood and looked over the railing at the street below five stories down. Sure enough, on the corner to the right of me there had been a car accident.
It appeared a car had stopped at the light and another car hit it from behind. I watched the drivers gesticulating wildly with their hands and arms.
Suddenly, I was in a tight bear hug from behind. Warm lips kissed the back of my neck and I heard, “Hey cutie, you sure look sexy today!”
It was Sam. I became awash with a warm glow and my heart quickened. When I turned to face him, he immediately took me in his arms and before I could react, he kissed me full on the lips.
I didn’t fight him. In fact, I kissed him back and before the kiss ended our tongues briefly danced together which caused my prick to stiffen inside my briefs.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked him. “This isn’t like you — you’re not even gay!”
He stared into my eyes and softly said, “I don’t know what I am anymore…I haven’t told you but since we met a lot of crazy thoughts have been going thru my head.”
He kept running his hands over my chest massaging my breasts and pinching my nipples. My hard prick began to throb inside the undies.
Why is he doing this? I wondered.
He forcefully pulled my head to his and this time our kiss was so long and passionate it left me breathless. During the kiss his hand lightly stroked the bulge in my shorts.
He said, “Johnny, I’ve been reading about queers….”
I couldn’t help it — I abruptly gave out an amused snort.
“It’s not funny,” he scolded. “Being queer is serious business…”
“Oh, uh, okay, yes it is,” I agreed, deciding to play along with him to see where this was going.
“You know, from what I’ve read, scientists claim queers are born that way — that it’s in their genes…but like a lot of other people – I always thought that guys intentionally chose to become faggots — a lot of religious people think that, you know!”
“Yes, I understand that,” I was able to say without smiling. “Since God is perfect and doesn’t make mistakes, there is no way he created homosexuals, therefore all fags are sinners who choose to live a deviant lifestyle…”
“That’s wrong though…” he said, his voice trailing off. Suddenly, his hand firmly took hold of my erection thru the shorts, and he added: “…I lived a lie…I pretended I liked women because that’s what my friends and family expected of me…”
He kissed me again then said, “Johnny, I’m tired of living a lie” and dropped to his knees and tugged down my shorts and undies.
His eyes stared hungrily at my nearly four-inch boner and in a soft, and raspy voice said, “Johnny, please teach me how to be a cocksucking faggot like you — pleeeeezzzzzzzzzz!”
I patted his head and said, “Look at me, Sammy” and his big, beautiful brown eyes locked onto mine.
“First off, we don’t call ourselves ‘cocksucking faggots’!”
“We don’t? Ohhhh, okay….” he sighed.
And before I could say another word his lips closed over my glans and he greedily took my entire cock into his warm and wet mouth.
I told him to gently massage my balls with one hand while his other hand stroked the base of my cock in time with the back and forth motion of his bobbing head.
He obeyed my suggestion and moaned into my flesh, “Mmmmmmmmm….”
“…and always keep your tongue moving on the cock in your mouth!”
“Mmmmmmmmmm….” he groaned and again obeyed my suggestion.
Dio mios, I thought. He was so good with his lips and tongue, so natural, it didn’t take long for him to convince me that he’d been playing for the wrong team all along.
When the pressure in my balls became so great I couldn’t hold back much longer, I said, “It’s easier to swallow your man’s load if you plant your tongue on his slit and lap up and swallow his cum while he’s shooting in your mouth!”
“Mmmmmmmmm….” It was a low, throaty, animal-like groan.
He was so enthusiastic and convincing while sucking my prick, I had a strong feeling if he let me climax in his mouth and he willingly gulped it all down he would forever be a cocksucking faggot like me, err, I mean, gay.
***
I got home from Mistress Bernice’s apartment a little after nine and poured a glass of red wine and sat out on the balcony. Sammy’s apartment was dark. I hoped he had gone to bed and wasn’t out drinking somewhere.
My night with Mistress Bernice and Gerald was as predictable as always. She’s not very creative when it comes to sex. She gets her jollies more from embarrassing Gerald and me than from the actual sex itself. Gerald and I are so accustomed to her games we sometimes feel compelled to fake our humiliation. In the next chapter of this series I may give more details of what she has Gerald and I do for her, but for now all I want to do is drink wine and get her godawful taste out of my mouth.
My thoughts turned to Sammy and the bizarre twist our relationship had taken.
A large part of my attraction to him is because of his forceful dominance of me. Men with strong wills and personalities excite the heck out of me. I have always loved being a total bottom. It feels natural.
Don’t get me wrong — I love having my dick sucked like every red-blooded man, but it almost never happens except when I’m doing a threesome and the man orders his boy to suck me off in front of him. That is super-exciting!
But the way Sammy was today, I dunno….
He reminded me too much of myself. So submissive and eager to please…is it possible for two bottoms to have a satisfying sex life?
Well, maybe, but a large part of my satisfaction is emotional. The thrill of obeying a strong man’s every command; and the inner peace I feel when I know my man is happy, and his balls are empty.
I drain the last of the wine and decide I do not need another glass – the taste of cunt is gone.
Inside, I wash the glass then fire-up the computer to read my emails. I check the jobs I have for tomorrow and frown when I see the name of Mistress Marcia. My only encounter with her so far was rather demeaning. I immediately pegged her as another man-hating shrew.
Oh well, a boy’s gotta do what a boy’s gotta do.
I shut down the computer and turn out the lights and make my way to the bedroom in the dark. The light switch is to my right when I enter the room and I flick it on. I am briefly confused at what I see.
Oh my hell, that’s Sammy on the bed on top of the bedspread! I hear him gently snoring as I walk closer.
When I recognize what I’m staring at a huge grin spreads across my face.
He’s lying on his back; his shirt unbuttoned and open; his slacks and undies down to his knees; his hand holding his limp dick in the folds of my favorite sheer, pink panties.
I lean over and can not only see the huge mess he has made inside the panties, but I can smell it too.
He must have sensed my presence because his body suddenly started and his eyelids fluttered open. The look of abject horror and shame I saw in his beautiful eyes was priceless!
I sat beside him on the bed, smiled down at him and asked, “Did you have fun, sweetie?”
He turned so many different shades of red I hoped he wasn’t having a stroke.
“Johnny, I uh, well you know, uhhhh….”
He looked so helpless and vulnerable my heart went out to him so I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. He tried to break away but I held his head still.
I glowered down at him and with all the fake seriousness I could muster, said to him, “Never pull away from me again!”
His eyes went wide as saucers and he feebly responded, “I’m sorry — I’m sorry — I’m sorry!”
His pitiful apology sent a rush of adrenaline racing throughout my body. My prick stiffened and began to throb.
I thought to myself: You know, John, it might be fun to have your own bitch for a while!
Chapter Three to follow.