I couldn’t believe my neighbors had done this to me. I had a
guy tied to my bed when the doorbell rang. I ignored it. I
wasn’t interested in those tasty peanut butter sandwich
cookies with little girls in uniform sell. I’d buy some from
the office. The bell rang again. I ignored it. A few minutes
later, the phone rang, “This is Cecile, your next door
neighbor?” I heard come through the answering machine. “I
just thought you should know they’re coming tomorrow and I
know we’re supposed to leave you alone, but we’ve run into a
little snag…” They’d signed up for one of those decorating
shows where she goes next door and he goes next door and
they decorate each room, or rooms, or…
Anyway the show’s producer’s asked me if it would be okay if
they set up some stuff in my backyard. I should explain. The
part of town I live in wasn’t part of the original town. The
town grew out to it, so I have a barn, carriage house and
other outbuildings on a large lot between the 2 neighbors’
houses. To avoid setting up on the street, which is also a
highway, I consented to letting the crew set up in my
backyard, on one condition: they left me alone. “…and
anyway, the hotel messed up the reservations and we need a
room for one of the crew.” I rolled my eyes and smacked the
boy’s ass tied spread eagle to my bed. Having 40 people
running around my property was one thing, but they wanted me
to put up a crew member? Cecile left her phone number, and 3
hours later I returned the call. “Cecile, I understand your
dilemma, but no,” I said. “Please? We’ve maxed out the guest
rooms in both our houses and the other neighbors. He can
even sleep on the couch,” she pleaded. “He who?” I asked.
“He” had piqued my curiosity. Eye candy might make up for
the 2-day stay of people on my land. “The carpenter. The one
that’s not annoying,” she answered. “I can’t remember his
name.” “And when’s he arriving?” I asked. “Well, they’re
supposed to be here tonight and we start filming in the
morning.”
Cecile had that tone of voice that told me there
was a difference between “supposed” and reality. I glanced
out the window and saw trucks pulling into my lane. “Yes,
send him over when he’s ready.” I hung up. I was glad I’d
sent the guy home before I returned the call. A brunette
police officer leaving my property as a television show is
arriving would have generated a lot of unwanted questions. I
finished up my things and waited to see if indeed it was the
UN-annoying carpenter. Both are nice upon which to gaze, but
the one’s personality…let’s just say if he was this guy
and like he was in person as he was on television, I’d
probably have to tie him up and gag him just to be able to
avoid killing him. I noticed it was getting dark outside
when the doorbell rang. It was the producer from the several
months before when she’d visited to scout the location and
Michael was standing behind her. He looked even better in
person, tall, jet-black hair and a shit-eating grin. Well, I
imagined it was a shit-eating grin. I was only a bit
surprised to find out his name was Michael. “Stage names and
all that,” the producer had said before heading across the
street to another room. I showed Michael around the place
and showed him the couch, which I’d already made up into a
bed. The couch folds down into a bed, and full bed sheets
and other bedding fit it perfectly. I’ve had guests tell me
it’s more comfortable than a bed, and I can’t argue with
that.
Michael said he had an early morning and hoped it
wouldn’t be a problem to “hit the sheets”. I don’t have a
guest bedroom. It is a large, old house, but each room has a
function, and none are for overnight guest; well, at least
not the guests that would need their own room. “Exactly how
early are you starting in the morning?” I asked. “Before the
sun comes up,” he smiled. I knew there had to be personality
in there, but he was kind of being all business. “Make
yourself at home,” I said, and he started stripping down,
grabbed a small bag and headed to the bathroom. I’d see him
tomorrow night, and then figured he’d be gone. I went to my
bedroom and pulled a book from the case, flicked on the bed-
light and started reading. Around midnight, I got tired and
decided to hit the frig for something to drink before
turning in for the night. Michael had taken me very
seriously when I told him to make himself at home. The tall
carpenter was stretched out naked on the couch/bed and
didn’t have a sheet over him. I like my men hairy and his
fur was hitting all the right buttons, and his
dick…..let’s just say it’s a nice dick on a hot body
attached to a handsome mug with a shit-eating grin. Well, I
imagined it was a shit-eating grin. I was tempted to grab my
camera, but I headed to the frig and got my drink, then
headed to bed. Pre-dawn would come early.
I awoke to the sound of a table saw catching on a piece of
wood. It’s a loud, loud, unpleasant sound. Then there was
screaming, arguing and I quickly became annoyed. “What do
you mean the nearest store is more than an hour away?” I
heard as I headed to the shower. I made a mental note to
shut the windows and doors and turn on the air conditioner.
The previous days had been comfortable, but it was already
warm for 10 a.m. I’d barely dried and dressed when the
doorbell rang. It was Cecile and the producer, both bearing
looks that had tired puppy-dog-eyes. “Just ask,” I said. I’m
not psychic. Cecile knows I have a key to the theater and
the theater has a very nice table saw (which Cecile knew;
she’d donated it). The producer sent 3 crew members and a
truck and me, and away we went. The temperature was climbing
up and up. By the time we got back, the sun was high and the
temperature was topping 80. I started closing windows and
doors, then jotted down the cute crewman’s cell phone
number. I’d get rid of the carpenter and have the cute
crewman over.
It’s a very large house and the day had gotten hot by the
time the table saw was hooked up and in operation. It would
take at least 3-4 hours before the house cooled down. I
decided to take a siesta, sleep away the hot temperatures
and enjoy a cooled house when I awoke. I set the alarm and
drifted off to sleep. I was shook gently awake by a strong
hand, attached to a nice hairy body with a handsome face
that sported a shit-eating grin. Well, I imagined it was a
shit-eating grin. Past his face I noticed the dark outside
and glanced at my clock, blinking the song of the “your
electricity has been cut off” lyric. “Sorry, sir, but I
think I may have broken your shower,” he said. “Exactly what
time is it?” I asked, annoyed by several things. “It’s about
10 p.m. We got behind and I worked late to finish some
projects,” he explained. I gestured to the blinking clock.
“Oh, and we had some electrical problems.”
He tried the grin, but couldn’t quite do it.
“The show will cover that,” I stated. Not a question. Now I was pissed.
Then I noticed his attire. A towel. “What about the shower?”
“Well, I turned it on and I got soaped up and rinsed and
right as I was reaching for the shampoo, the water stopped,”
he said. “You turn the faucets off?” I asked. “Yeah,”
he answered. “Good,” I said, rolling out of bed and
heading toward the bathroom. “You sleep naked, too. Cool,”
he grinned. If he’d said “nice ass” right then, he would
have been cutting wood the hard way the next day. As it was,
I stopped outside the bathroom and opened the electric panel.
It is an old house, and sure enough, the breaker for the
water system was thrown, as were about half the breakers.
“What the hell did you guys do, anyway?” I demanded,
flipping switches. “Dueling designers,” he kind of whined.
“Let’s just say there’s a good reason I was working late.”
“You should be fine now,” I sighed. “If you want,
I’ll give you a relaxing massage when you’re done and
you can drift right off to sleep.” “Thanks, but I need
to finish and sleep. The moment we have daylight,
I need to be out there.” By 10:30, he was snoozing, naked again,
on the couch/bed, and I was regretting I didn’t push the massage.
He was sleeping on his stomach. He didn’t shave his ass.
Well, you can’t fuck them all.
The 2×4 flying through my kitchen window woke me up at 8
a.m. At 8:15 a.m. I was making it very clear to the producer
that I would need an electrician and cash before the end of
the day. Apologies are good, but cash is better; I would be
getting both. And a new window. By the “reveal” I was sure
this would be billed as the most messed up episode ever. In
addition to the electric problems and the windows, I now
needed siding, 2 doors and a new front porch (don’t ask;
they’re still trying to figure it out). The neighbors had
faired better, but only because they had newly decorated
rooms. One was minus a garage and the other received a visit
from the fire department. At least my buildings were still
standing, not counting the porch. I happily watched the show
trucks and vehicles leave, but noticed Michael had left his
stuff in the house. I wasn’t in the mood to flag down the
last truck leaving and figured they could send a courier. A
minute later there was a knock at the back door. It had to
be the back door. You couldn’t get to the front one. “What!”
I exclaimed in frustration. I looked up at that shit-eating
grin. Well, I imagined it was a shit-eating grin. “Sorry.”
“Oh, you’re still here. Good, you left your bags,” I said,
gesturing to the living room and walking away. “No, I’m
staying the night,” he stated, as if I was confused.
“Pardon? I don’t think the house can take any more,” I
chided. “Seriously.” “No, the show’s over. I have some time,
so I volunteered to stay behind and fix your window and
porch,” Michael said. “And I wanted to take you up on that
massage.” I stopped in my tracks. “The last 2 days have done
a number on the muscles.” The tone was straight-guy serious,
playful but not interested in anything beyond a massage.
“Why don’t you shower up and I’ll get a massage ready,” I
said. “On the second floor?” he asked through that
trademarked shit-eating grin. I now had an idea it might
actually be a shit-eating grin. One room on the second floor
was a kind of steam room/play room. It was specially built
with a table in the center. One of my boys liked to be
fisted, a lot, and we’d found steam really opened him up. “I
don’t believe I showed you any rooms on the second floor
beyond the guest bathroom,” I stated. “I thought I had the
bathroom, but obviously had the wrong door,” he said,
sheepishly. “The massage table looked comfortable in that
room.” “Go wash up and I’ll get the room ready,” I smiled,
slapping his ass. An eye twinkled. I started the steam room
and picked out a couple of my favorite, edible massage oils.
Michael was about to receive a very memorable full body
massage. The mango oil warmed and I closed the steam room
door. Michael stepped out of the bathroom, not having dried.
“Enter,” I said. I still wasn’t sure where this was going.
For all I knew, he’d seen the set up and presumed I did
massage from my house. Well, I did…. Michael stretched out
on the table, face down in the well for the head. I smiled,
admittedly lewdly, at the muscled, hairy ass. I coated my
palms with warmed mango oil and applied it to his shoulder
blades. He sighed and relaxed. I started kneading the
muscles. I worked methodically, applying proper and my own
techniques, working down the back, grazing over the ass and
then paying attention to each leg and foot. I worked back up
to the butt, doing a legitimate ass massage, then spreading
his legs, opening a view to his hole, hidden among swirling
dark hairs. I then did an illegitimate massage. “If anything
doesn’t feel right, let me know,” I instructed. Massage,
like sex, requires communication, even if it’s only the most
basic of communication. “Yes, sir,” he sighed. I drizzled
mango oil into the top of his ass crack and watched at the
oil oozed through the labyrinth of ass hairs until it pooled
in the creases of his asshole. I then slowly massaged 2
fingers up and down that ass crack, applying pressure so his
hole would be accustomed to some pressure. “Wow, that feels
great. You should teach the California masseurs some time,”
he complimented. “Thanks,” I grinned, gently nudging his
scrotum while massaging his taint. While I had massaged most
of the oils away elsewhere, I left a good portion on his
hairy ass. “Turn over,” I said. “Oh. I’m done,” he coughed.
“Thanks.” “No, you’re only half down. A full body massage
does front and back,” I clarified. “You’ve done a wonderful
job. Where’s the towel?” He appeared to ignore my comment.
“Roll over for the front side.” Silence has its place, but
here it was starting to annoy me greatly. “Michael, roll
over.” He slowly complied, and I immediately saw why he’d
not wanted to roll over. “Damn, Michael. I’m glad you did
that slow. You could have taken an eye out,” I snickered. He
was obviously embarrassed by his stiffened penis, but just
as obviously had enjoyed my massage. I had noticed him
shifting a few times when I’d started working on his ass.
“Sorry. I…” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, applying some
warm peach massage oil to the top of his feet. “It happens.”
I continued his front, but noticed his dick barely went
down. I left it alone as I worked up his torso and did his
chest, then arms, then face. As I worked his ears, I leaned
down. “Enjoying this, Michael?” I asked. “Yeah, man. This is
wonderful,” he grinned. “You always get an erection when you
get a massage, Michael?” “No.” His eyes popped open. “Um, I
mean…” I cut him off. “Don’t worry. I’m very discreet,
boy.” “Boy?” “Sorry. Let me finish the massage.” I kneaded
down his abs and worked his inner thighs briefly, then
started a massage that instantly made him groan. I circled
one hand around his nuts and dick, and the other hand
massaged his balls, then started stroking his dick, but just
up. He’d sigh and his eyes closed. I leaned down into the
massage and tasted precum and peaches, and heard a kind of
purring sound a cat makes when it’s perfectly contented. I
just licked the very tip of his cock. The hand around his
dick released and started massage the mango oil on his ass.
His back arched and I used the opportunity to raise his
legs. I licked down his shaft, tasting more precum and
peaches, then licked his balls, going lower. “Roll over,” I
instructed. This time, he didn’t hesitate a second. “On all
fours,” I added. I leaned in and tongued his shit hole,
tasting mango and musk. “Oh, wow!!!” My tongue tip swirled
around the creases of his shit hole, bringing each nerve to
life and making Michael’s legs quiver. I saw a strand of
precum flow from his pecker. I had my fill of his ass, and I
didn’t think his legs and arms could take more. “Roll over,”
I said again. “There’s more?” his eyes got large. “Much
more, but we’ll only touch the tip of the fuckstick
tonight,” I joked. I milked his carpenter’s cock as I
climbed atop the table and him, lowering my ass on his face.
Time to see if that grin would really eat shit, or at least
my shitter. I hand-nuzzled his nuts and 2-fingered massaged
across his ass pucker to the point it was grabbing those
dual digits. “Taste,” I said. I felt a tongue tentatively
scrape across my pucker. I’d oiled it with the peach, giving
him a pleasant taste to help in his instruction.
I rubbed
his left nipple while I increased the pressure on his
shitter. He didn’t take long to be eating my shit hole with
a hunger I’d seldom experienced from the novice. “Been
eating ass long?” I smiled “No. First time,” he laughed
through his true shit-eating grin. No more imagining on my
part. I slipped a finger up his shit hole and cum began
shooting from his endowment, spraying his hairy torso and
chest with jism. His ass clamped down on my finger, and I
started a finger fuck as his ejaculation subsided. I hit his
prostate and his back arched powerfully and he came again.
As the second wave ended, I withdrew the finger and
dismounted his face and the table. He lay there, panting.
“Like that, Michael?” I asked, knowing the answer. “Yes,” he
said. “You can call me `sir’, Michael,” I offered. “Yes,
sir.” “Well, you can’t sleep here,” I said. “You know where
my room is. I’ll be there is a few minutes.”
The End
