This is the third part of the story of my encounters in the 90s with a gay man about 15 years older than me who saw me as a near-reincarnation of his first boyfriend. These are getting a little longer each time as I’m enjoying reliving these adventures. Check my post history for earlier installments of the story of an older man’s hetero toy.
Over the first six months I’d been working for the newspaper my older friend Blaise and I had been spending more and more time together.
Of course, we kept it more or less professional at work, as much as any other friends did. What the others at work didn’t know was that for the last couple months I was his private exotic dancer — sort of; I didn’t really dance — that let him jack me off two or three times each month.
It wasn’t a bad arrangement. I wasn’t so lonely; I was getting some sexual contact — though not what I was used to; and I had some extra cash each month. And, Blaise always seemed to love our time together. But, I guess I was starting to feel a little guilty taking his money when I was the one getting the happy ending.
Knowing he liked watching me around the office, one Monday at work I mentioned I wouldn’t mind doing a few things around his house – y’know, to better legitimize our financial arrangement. He was quick to completely dismiss the suggestion. What I wasn’t telling him was that I planned on turning it into a show for his viewing pleasure.
He didn’t say much. I could tell he was thinking about it, though.
“I don’t want you working for me,” he said, finally. “You know what a bad idea it is for management to fraternize with labor. I don’t want to be your boss.”
“In a lot of ways you already are,” I said. “You’re the one calling the shots here. Or, at least, most of them. I don’t know what I’m doing or what you want me to do.”
“You’re doing a damn good job,” he came back. “You seem to know exactly how to pull my chain and lead me around like a puppy.”
“I’m just playing by ear. I’m just guessing at what you might like to see. And, that’s why I thought you might want to see me do more than just sit on your couch. Although, pulling chains sounds interesting.”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head and, apparently, let my off-hand suggestion drop. “It just seems weird.
“I don’t want it to be like ‘work.’ Y’know? Something you feel like you have to do.”
“I definitely don’t feel that way,” I assured him.
“I mean, I love just having you around,” he said, darting his eyes around the office. “Especially, when I’ve got you all to myself for an extended period. We only get a few minutes here and there at work.”
“What are you doing Saturday?” I asked. “Let’s give it a try. If it’s too weird, it’s too weird.”
“Well, I’m not planning anything. But – .”
“I’ll come over some time Saturday,” I cut him off. “We can do something. Whether it’s housework or whatever, it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure something out.”
After his mention of wanting to spend time with me alone, I asked him to join me for lunch Wednesday. He jumped at the chance. It was nothing special. We just spent 45 minutes eating a couple slices of pizza across the street from the newspaper office. I noticed he was in a very good mood the rest of the day.
I confirmed my Saturday “work schedule” again Friday afternoon before I left the office. He still didn’t think I needed to be “working” for him. But, he couldn’t deny he wanted me to come over.
Knowing from past conversations that he slept until about 9 or so on weekends, I arrived promptly at 8:45. After a couple minutes he finally opened the door wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, squinting in the sunlight.
“Hey.” In spite of his obvious grogginess, he seemed genuinely happy — and surprised — to see me.
“I didn’t really think you’d be this early,” he said letting me in. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yeah. It’s time for you to take a shower while I fix you something for breakfast.” I set my hand on his arm as I walked by.
“Breakfast?”
“What do you want? Or, should I ask, what do you have?” I asked, heading toward the kitchen.
“Uh. There’s probably some Eggos in there. You know how to make coffee?”
“I got this,” I said as he disappeared.
About 10 minutes later he walked into the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a polo. I was pouring his coffee wearing only a pair of loose boxers and a white tank.
“Now, that’s the best part of waking up,” he said.
He pulled out a chair and sat at the table as I set his mug in front of him. The waffles already were on the table.
As he started eating I leaned back on the counter facing him.
“So, what do you want me to do today?” I asked.
“You really don’t have to – .”
“I’m going to, anyway. What do you need me to do? Vacuum? Dust? I’ll get these dishes, too.”
“Well, yeah. If you insist. I guess you can vacuum the living room,” he finally gave in.
“Then I’ll start with the living room and work my way back in here,” I said.
When he finished eating I stacked the handful of dishes in the sink and asked him where he kept his vacuum. He got it out of a closet for me and excused himself to the bathroom. After I took the vacuum to the living room I took off my tank top. I dusted over his tables before firing up the vacuum. By the time he returned from the bathroom I was pushing his upright around the floor in nothing but my boxers. They were loose, but I had another surprise under them that kept my dick and balls from swinging around very much.
I couldn’t hear if he said anything when he walked in. I motioned for him to sit on the couch. He watched my every move. The few times I glanced over at him I could see a hungry look in his eyes as he stared at my body.
I could hear him exhale loudly when I turned off the vacuum and used my tank to wipe the sweat off my hairy chest.
I walked into his small dining room to dust. Blaise followed me but said, “I can’t just follow you around and watch you do all this work by yourself. As much I want to.”
“I’m going to go start a load of laundry,” he said as he left the room.
By the time I saw him again, I had finished the dining room. He found me in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes. But, I had removed the loose boxers and was wearing a pair of what in the 90s was sometimes called Australian rowing shorts or swim trunks. They were basically the same as today’s short boxer briefs. They were like Speedos with very short legs and so tight, not only could you see every wrinkle in my dick and balls, you could practically count the hairs. I had bought them through a mail-order catalog not long after we started our “arrangement,” knowing they would drive Blaise crazy. I got a white pair in spite of my own light skin because I knew every lump and bulge would be more clearly visible.
“Hmm, I haven’t seen those,” he said.
“I got them a couple weeks ago,” I said. “Just for you. I thought I should – uh – re-invest the money you’ve been paying me.”
“Well, I’d say that’s a good investme – .” He stopped cold as I put his coffee mug in the drying rack and turned around to face him.
“Oh, my god!” he exclaimed when he saw just how tight they were in the front. But, he got a little more of a thrill as I’d been rubbing my dick against the counter while washing the dishes and was aroused enough that the glans was visible out of the bottom of the left leg.
“It’s time for a break,” he said, reaching out to rub over my package through the spandex. My cock jumped at his touch.
I used my tank to wipe off more sweat as we sat on the couch with a couple cold beers. I intentionally sat on the opposite end and put one leg on the couch to start rubbing his leg with my bare foot. He looked down almost surprised.
I reached down and straightened my now very hard dick. I kept it in the shorts, but they just barely contained it, forcing it to point straight at my left hip. As Blaise watched I rubbed the cold, wet beer bottle along the length of my shaft. My sweat already was making the white fabric nearly transparent. The condensation from the bottle finished the job.
My eyes darted between my crotch and his face.
He stared and moaned a little. I looked up at him just as his eyes traced up my chest to my face. Our eyes met and I could see he was on fire.
“Do you want to take them off me?” I asked.
His eyes popped wide.
“Can I?” He sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. I giggled a little.
I stood in front of him on the couch. His fingers were a little cold as they snaked between the fabric and my hot, sweaty skin. As he released my cock from the shorts I held it up out of the way so he could finish pushing them down my legs. At just the right moment I let it go so it dropped heavily on to the back of his head. Somehow that was a new thrill.
“Sorry about the sweat,” I said. “And clubbing you in the back of the head.”
“You can beat me with that club all day,” he said. “And, I don’t care about your sweat. But, I might need something besides my spit for lubricant. My mouth’s dry as it can be.”
He disappeared and I sat back down.
Blaise returned with a small bottle of lube and filled one palm after dropping his knees on the floor. I leaned back while he warmed it up between his hands. He gently lifted my meat with the fingers of one hand and started a slow caress with the other.
The sensation made me catch my breath. I closed my eyes and spread my legs, putting one on the couch to give him plenty of access. And, he made the most of it.
One hand was riding up and down my shaft while the other cupped and kneaded my balls. I tried to watch but my head instinctively went back onto the couch and my eyes squeezed shut again. I could feel his hot breath blowing over my bare skin. His face was much closer to me than I had imagined.
For an instant I thought his mouth was the only thing that might feel better than this. I banished that thought. I wasn’t ready for that. Letting another man “massage” me was one thing. Full-on oral sex was something else entirely.
I couldn’t think long. The sensations he raised in me clouded my thoughts again. It seemed I had succeeded in teasing myself almost as much as I had been teasing my friend. Between his masterful touch, hot breath and my own horniness, I didn’t last more than a few minutes. And, once again, he got me with that roll of his palm over my red, swollen head.
One hand had found the back of his head and I grabbed and pulled a handful of my friend’s hair as I started to convulse. The blast started before he was able to capture it like he normally did and a couple spurts of cum ended up on my stomach. It was Blaise’s turn to catch his breath when the first long stream of white cum shot out. He was able to catch most of it by again cupping his hands over me. But, I was turned on even more by the sight of my cum running over his fingers and down my shaft below his hands. My entire body jumped when he slid his hands over my glans.
I grabbed my tank to wipe my sperm off my skin as he got up. Again, he refused to let me clean myself. He grabbed my tank out of my hand before he left the room.
I was sweating and still breathing heavily when he returned with the usual wash cloth and towel.
“My turn to do some cleaning,” he said his eyes glued to my softening organ. “Damn! This just keeps getting better!”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/km6nwz/enticed_pt_3