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Hands on the Handyman is a fictional erotic story for adult readers.
I'm still new to writing erotic work so feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome! You can send comments to thenextdoorpornographer@gmail.com
"Ride's here," I mumbled into the phone. "Gotta go." Maddy sighed heavily but didn't protest so I snapped the phone shut and hung up. Part of me grimaced a bit, even such a small gesture felt aggressive after our argument - another damn argument - but the more dominant part of me, the relieved part of me, smirked instead.
There was always such finality to flipping the phone closed on her when she was in a mood.
My smirk widened into a grin as the window of the black Escalade rolled down. I hinged forward awkwardly to greet the driver, my patron for the evening's repair work.
"Paul?" I asked, putting on my warmest handyman welcome.
"Sure am," he replied, his smile pushing back his aged cheeks into soft, wrinkled dimples. "You must be Dan." He took his hand off the wheel and leaned across the cream seats to extend it to me. I reached inside and shook, being careful not to scratch the door with the buttons of my worn denim jacket.
"Why don't you toss your stuff in the back and climb in?" Paul flipped a switch and I heard the doors unlock. I glanced in the back as I opened the door and paused. The seats were nice - inexpensive leather, sure, and the model was a few years old, but nicer than anything I'd ridden in since I was young and running errands with my grandpa. I didn't want to ruin the interior with my rusted tool box and work bag; both had seen a lot of action and were meant for the kinds of sloppy worksites I normally found myself on.
Paul noticed my hesitation and chuckled.
"I'm not precious," he said, turning half around in his seat to give me a reassuring smile. "If you're worried, you can set your stuff on the floor. Lord knows I've cleaned worse out of those mats than a bit of dirt." Satisfied, I put my stuff on the floor, shut the door, and climbed into the front seat next to Paul. A huff of relief escaped my lips as I slid into the plush seat. I sat up again almost right away when I felt heat on my ass.
"Oh, sorry," Paul flipped a switch on the control panel as he put the truck into gear and drove on. "It's cool out there so I thought you'd like the seat warmer on."
"Uh, thanks," I mumbled, easing back in. "I've just never had that in a car before." Paul smiled at that and I relaxed a bit more.
We chatted as we drove away from the 22nd Street skytrain station and onto the highway. Paul asked how I got into doing handy work--picking up odd skills from helping my dad on the farm and assisting my step-dad around the house and garage--and I asked him about what he does.
"Retired," he beamed; it clearly suited him. "I did IT most of my career, actually, you young guys didn't invent computers you know." We both laughed at that.
"Oh I know," I sighed. "But you guys must have carved them out of stone."
Paul roared at that one.
"Just how old do you think I am?" I took him in for a moment before responding. He was older than my 35 years by far, but just how much was hard to say. He was lithe but his skin showed signs of aging, gentle laugh lines and wrinkles creased his handsome face, and his silver hair was thinning despite his attempts to mask it with a more modern fade
"I'd say late 60s," I glanced out the window, suddenly shy and unwilling to see his reaction. What if I've offended him?
"Ha! Not bad," he slapped my shoulder and gave it a light squeeze and a shake. "71 - what gave it away?"
I looked from the hand on my shoulder to his gentle face. Something passed between us then and I snapped my eyes back to the road ahead. Paul must have sensed my discomfort and slid his hand back to the steering wheel, guiding us off the highway and down the long stretch of road towards Queensborough.
"It's the hands," I said after a long silence.
"Hmm?"
"The hands give away your age," I nodded towards the wheel. "You've got a firm grip but the skin is thin and soft." Like my grandfather's...
"Well, I guess those pretty eyes don't miss a beat." Paul chuckled and I cracked a grin too. I wasn't used to being hit on, let alone by an older man, but something about Paul's demeanor made me feel at ease.
Our casual chatter resumed as we wound our way along the Fraser River and out to the condos Paul called home.
"The bathroom is in through here," I was directed to a quaint room with a shower, sink and toilet, all of above-standard quality. The shower was black stone tiles and encased in glass, beautiful work, and I didn't miss that it had a clear line of sight to the walkthrough closet and bedroom beyond on the other side of the room.
I complimented Paul on the setup, going so far as to tell him flat out it was my dream place. His kitchen was streamlined with chrome appliances, the living room and bedroom had exposed brick, and everything else was black tile, rich wood, and a high ceiling.The apartment was a bit of a box, Paul's words, but it was a beautiful one.
"Check this out," I followed Paul through to the living room as he pulled back the curtains to reveal a clear view of the Fraser River. The fall sun had set and lights from passing boats shimmered in the dark waters. The whole area was a peninsula of civilization, seemingly thrust into the middle of a commercial waterway and surrounded by shipping crates.
A soft gasp escaped my lips and Paul snorted from behind me.
"You're just like a kid," he chuckled before clapping me on the shoulder again. I felt my cheeks warm from his quip, then no doubt turn a deeper red from his touch. What has gotten into me?
I cleared my throat, mumbled "I should get to work," and made my way quickly to the bathroom, grateful my auburn beard hid most of the blushing.
"Yes, to business," Paul followed me to point out what needed to be done. He explained the sink was acting up, slow to drain and leaking from near the trap.
"No problem," I said after kneeling down to examine the leak. "Should be a quick enough fix." It occurred to me then that I must have looked like a kid now, kneeling as I was and looking up at him. Standing, my six-foot-three frame loomed over him, but in this position our roles were more than reversed.
"Good boy," Paul said softly, almost as if he wasn't sure he wanted me to hear. The phrase slinked through my ears though and my mouth suddenly went dry. "I'll be in here, doing a bit of work." He gestured back over his shoulder towards the kitchen. "Retirement is nice, but a little consulting keeps me young." With a wink he was gone and for a moment the bathroom felt empty. And I felt alone.
The work passed quickly enough and I found myself humming along throughout. Somehow, speaking with Paul had unlocked a levity in me that was both long buried and uncharacteristic to fixing people's household issues. It wasn't that I hated the work--I loved working with my hands and I liked doing something that helped folks out--but working for yourself is hard, especially when I try to be available on a wide schedule. You never know when folks will need stuff done around the place, and I wasn't exactly in a position to turn down work.
That last point was something Maddy liked to remind me of, and often. Sure, she was a sweet enough girl, and she always seemed to know how to make me feel special and important. But she also knew just what to say to cut me down.
My phone buzzed as if on queue and I didn't have to flip it open to know it was a text from Maddy.
"I'm going to bed."
That was always her way, curt and direct. I sighed and snapped the phone shut again, tossing it into my open bag before returning to remove the trap.
I cleared the brown-gray water and rumagged about in the pipe, eventually producing the culprit of the slow drain - a wad of matted, coiled gray hair. I didn't have long to guess where it came from before I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
Paul was undressing in his walkthrough closet, lit by the soft white recessed lighting. Seeing him there, gently tanned skin draped over a lithe frame, made my mouth go dry again. His physique wasn't perfect, but age had been overly kind to him. His legs were thin but firm, his ass not nearly as saggy as my own, and his torso still had some youthful fitness clinging to his ribs.
He half turned to hang his slacks and I gulped as his penis, a shy but well formed cock, and low-hanging balls crested into view. I knew at once where the hair in my hand had come from: his pubes were trimmed back like a man a third his age and his torso faded near-seamlessly into his groin.
"Jogging," he offered, and I blinked in confusion. It was clear he'd said this more than once, but I'd only just heard him. "My body. I can see you're wondering how I maintain it; jogging."
"Oh," I stammered and looked down, desperately trying to hide the heat welling in my cheeks. "Ah, yes."
"Pardon?" He stepped closer, to the edge of the doorway.
"Yes," I stammered, raising my head and my voice, but I found it hard to meet his gaze. My eyes caught on his penis. The skin--not a full foreskin, but not closely cut--wrinkled a bit at the head. It looks warm...inviting...
I cleared my throat loudly, "You keep in shape." Paul chuckled and walked through the bathroom and into the kitchen behind me.
"That I do, boy," the word danced down my spine and tickled at something deep. "You've been working hard, come grab a beer." I felt like I was in a haze. I stood and followed him out to the living room where a seat and a bottle of beer awaited me at the couch.
I took several long gulps before Paul broke the silence.
"So it looks like you're making some headway."
"Yes," I took another big gulp. I couldn't deny something was off now, I'd felt a shift inside me and I wanted to drown it. "Just some, er, hair, caught in the drain. The leak is probably just a seal that needs replacing. I think I've got all I need in my sack, quick enough."
"Ha! Well I'm sorry I dragged you out here for something so small." Paul slapped my thigh, his hand lingered on my worn work jeans before sliding back to his own bare leg. My eyes were fixated on his hand as he did so, then to his cock again.
"Does it bother you," Paul asked, sipping his beer. His dick twitched a bit. I felt my own respond in kind. Yes it does; this is weird.
"No," I said. I finished my beer and stared hard at the bottle.
"Oh good," Paul relaxed back and widened and narrowed his legs a bit, before stretching his legs out and resting his feet on a large ottoman. His balls bounced with each movement. "I'm much more comfortable being naked around home. Aren't you?"
"Ah, no," I mumbled. "My girl doesn't really like me being naked on the furniture." I jumped suddenly as Paul poked a finger through a growing hole in my work shirt and grazed my stomach.
"She prefers the uniform?"
"No," I cleared my throat again and shuffled. Paul retracted his finger and took another sip of his beer. "She's always complaining I come home dirty, won't let me rest for five minutes after walking in the door before she's on me to get changed."
"Well, come to think of it, you are soiling my couch." My head snapped to the side and I glowered at Paul. I melted as I looked into his brown eyes; they practically sparked with humor and charm.
He smiled and I felt my insides flip. What is that?
I stood and crossed to a shelf lined with photos. I was likely past the point of being able to hide my blushing from him now, but I wasn't past trying.
"Who're these," I said pointing at a trio of kids, posed with big grins in a pile of leaves.
"My grandchildren," I heard him stand up and walk behind me. He stood close enough that his hip brushed my ass. I shuddered involuntarily.
"And these?" I moved down the line to a black and white photo: three men clinked glasses and smiled in a booth.
"Those are my boys," Paul reached past me and pointed them out. "Chris, Charley, and Ted. This was Ted's going away party, he's over in Toronto now, or just outside." His finger lingered on the photo.
"And these guys?" The last photo was a small group of guys in suits, probably at a wedding.
"The two on the end are my sons, Larry and Steven. The others were in Steve's wedding party."
"Your sons?" I looked back and forth between the two photos to make sure none of the folks were the same. "But these--"
"Are my boys," I turned around to look at Paul. The intonation in his voice tweaked that same deep something in me. I met his eyes this time, and though I was looking down at him, I felt small. Just like in the bathroom.
"Another?" He reached out to take the empty beer bottle from my hand, his fingers brushing over mine, resting above--pinky to index--as he clasped the neck of the bottle.
The whole moment was smooth and quick, but it felt slow and drawn out as I processed it. The touch sent ripples through me, that deep hidden thing stirred and rumbled, like a beast shaking free its chains. No.
"Sure," I said, releasing the bottle, though I knew at once I didn't want his touch to end.
Paul, the gentlemanly host, refreshed our drinks and rejoined me on the couch. My palms, wet with sweat, were pressed flat against my jeans and I wiped them more than once before taking the offered bottle.
Paul exhaled gruffly as he flopped down next to me and we clinked a cheer then drank.
The beast within me though could not--would not-- be drowned. Instead, it surged.
I was caught off guard by my own sudden move, slipping in behind Paul's bottle as it left his lips. First it was a quick peck, and then another, and by the third kiss man and beast were one. The thing within me hungered and it found sustenance in those kisses.
Paul didn't miss a beat. He pressed back and matched my hunger. Passionate, but soft, his lips gently parted and beckoned my tongue.
Did I ever answer; wet and desperate, wildly unchained, my tongue dove forward. Maddy didn't kiss like this, she hated it, but Paul received me willingly and openly. His tongue met mine and with the firm and caring nature of a teacher, guided me in a ravening dance.
And what lessons he had to share!
When our lips parted I was drenched in sweat and spit, and panting like a mutt. Fuck, what was that?
Paul's eyes searched mine: for answers, for assurances. To answer, I pulled my shirt over my head. I had so many questions of my own, but tossed them aside with the tee. Something wild and old and deep had awakened in me, and I didn't have the time or care to question how Paul had brought it out.
I pounced forward, diving in again to kiss Paul. His chin and cheek stubble was coarse when it rubbed against my beard and it stood in sharp contrast to Maddy's smooth skin.
Our chests were warm and rough as well, and the feel of his skin against mine felt like fire. A need burned within me now, one that had simmered softly for decades; a wisp of a flame I'd tried to snuff out with sweet words to Maddy, or Jane, or Bev, or any one of the others. Now it burned bright with a vengeance.
I recoiled with a start when Paul softly grazed my stomach, pulling back to see his mischievous grin, which faded as his hands ran up and down my torso.
"You don't have to suck it in," he said, his hands rubbing across my stomach before gripping my love handles. I wasn't even aware I was holding my breath.
"Sorry," I said exhaling and hating the sight of my belly growing out before me. "Maddy's always on me--"
"I'm not her," his cock throbbed against my own bulging crotch to accentuate his point. "And you never have to hide from me, boy."
That erased every last ounce of resistance in me. A lifetime of repression, confusion, and frustration melted and I sank into him. We kissed tenderly until he held my face in his hands and said, "take off your pants."
I slid off Paul's lap and stood, a little unsteadily, before him. He nudged aside the large ottoman to give me space, then grinned and sipped his beer.
I felt giddy and awkward and sexy and foolish and many other things as I tugged my belt loose and undid my button fly. Paul let out a low growl as my pants parted and he caught sight of the white briefs beneath. That made me feel good, and I instinctively slowed down. I gave in to those goofy sexy feelings and turned slowly, letting the jeans slide down my thick, hairy thighs to pool at my ankles.
I bent at the waist, reached down to shake them loose and gave Paul a good look at the worn-thin fabric covering my ass. Maddy always complained about how stretched and hole-filled my underwear had gotten, but I knew Paul wouldn't mind. And was keenly aware that I needed him to see me; I wanted to be seen as much as he wanted to see.
When I turned back around, my briefs obscenely tented by my six-inch erection, Paul was milking drops of precum from his dick. He smiled at me and winked, his eyes full of lust and hunger.
I swallowed hard and ran my thumbs along my waistband, then hooked them in and pushed my briefs down. Paul sucked in his breath as my unkempt pubes spilled out, followed close behind by the root of my dick.
His masturbating slowed and stopped; he reached forward to place his hands on mine as the underwear reached the tip of my cock. He held them there, my dick all but bear before him, trapped by a half inch of fabric and throbbing in a plea for freedom.
He pulled me a bit closer then pressed his nose against my dick and inhaled. We both shuddered.
Paul eased my briefs down and smiled widely as my cock sprang out. I sighed in relief as my penis curved gently upright, now free to throb and flex.
Paul eased back again and looked up at me. He took his dick in hand again and masturbated slowly. The red-purple head glistened with precum now and his eyes drifted up and down my body seemingly in time with his strokes.
I was transfixed. I had seen naked men before; growing up with dad on the farm or my step-dad in the city, gym class in school, the occasional swim with buddies, but never before had I seen another guy's boner, not in real life anyways. Paul took control of the moment.
He sat forward and reached out, cupping my balls in his hand and pulling gently to ease me forward. He kissed the tip of my cut penis softly, sending shivers through my whole body, and proceeded to kiss and peck his way down and back up the shaft. When he reached the tip again, he slipped the head inside his warm mouth, lapping lazily at my piss slit first with the tip of his tongue, then alternating quick flicks along the underside ridge. All the while, he held me in place by my furry balls, which he began to gently massage and gently roll in his hand.
Instinct soon took over and I wanted more. I thrust a bit to push more of my cock into his wet mouth, gagging him a bit and forcing him to pull away. He looked up at me, an uncharacteristic tear in his now fierce eyes, but his scowl turned quickly into a grin.
"I know just how to handle you, boy," he turned and rummaged through an end table drawer, producing a small brown bottle. He unscrewed the cap and brought it to his nose, sniffing deeply while keeping eye contact with me the whole time. I watched in silence and curiosity as he recapped the bottle and set it on the floor, then pulled me in again.
This time, he maintained eye contact with me as he slicked and kissed and slobbered on my cock. My heart thrummed in my dick with each bit of contact, and I desperately wanted to back forward and plunge into his waiting mouth. Paul's steely look held me to the spot however, my cock and pleasure fully under his control.
I watched a change come over him. His eyes glazed a bit as he lapped at my cock and in a sudden move he slurped my flesh deep into his mouth. A moan, deep and primal, rumbled up from my chest as I felt all six inches of my cock bury down into Paul's throat. His own moan vibrated around my turgid flesh, and the sensation milked a gob of precum out the slit.
We stayed like that for a while, Paul alternating nursing my cock and enthusiastically swallowing it deep, while I groaned and panted and praised his name in breathless gasps as he milked out the purest pleasure I had ever felt. It wasn't just that he was a great cocksucker--and the man was fantastic--but it was that it was him, a man, something I never knew I so desperately needed.
Just as I thought I was about to cum, Paul pulled away, wiping spit and slick from his face and humming with deep satisfaction. "Turn around, boy."
I shuffled and turned on the spot, still dazed by what was happening. I'm actually doing this... "Get down, boy." Paul's voice was firm, but kind. I looked down at the ottoman and knelt on it. "Lower, boy." I eased forward until I was down on all fours, staring at my hazy reflection in Paul's dark tv screen.
"Come're," he got down on his knees behind me and pulled my thighs close. I started to protest but my words turned into a sudden yelp and guttural moan as Paul dug his face and tongue into my crack.
"Fuuuuck," I sighed, my head lolling down as the gentle lapping at my hole mixed with the scrape of his stubble. Both were new and wonderful sensations and my whole body sung with their discovery. "Paul, this feels so good..."
He responded with a wide-palmed smack on my ass and a gasp for air. I glanced back over my shoulder to see his face slick with spit; his eyes glowered with hunger. He picked up the small brown bottle again, twisted off its cap and huffed.
"You're not ready for this yet," he said, drawing in another breath of the bottle's fumes. "But fuck I love eating ass on poppers." To accentuate his point, he dove back at my ass, licked deep, then pulled out again. He screwed the cap on after another quick sniff, tossed the bottle aside, and returned to eating my hole. We groaned and growled in unison as his wet tongue lapped at my hole, edging in now and again to tease me open.
I found myself pushing back to meet his assault, desperate to feel that wet tip slip in again and again. I quivered with delight each time he stopped for breath, holding my cheeks apart and letting my virgin, hairy, hole wink in the air. Each time he returned to eating my hole, I made eye contact with my reflection. I was delirious with lust and pleasure, a state I'd never seen myself in. I looked at this man: eyes glazed and mind spun in new found eroticism, down on his hands and knees like a dog, mouth agape and set to drool... I looked at him in awe.
Where have you been? I wondered. Where has this wonderful pleasure pig been?
Then a new sensation, wet and firm, rubbed along my crack. Paul let my cheeks go as I heard him taking another huff of poppers. I saw his reflection gently gyrating his hips against my ass, his cock--thick and hard with need--rubbing along my crack. A new need grew in me, a deep desire to be filled, to feel his dick press its way inside me; to thrust deep into my hole and mark me with his seed.
Paul knew what I needed, and his thrusting and humping increased as he set the bottle down. His hands gripped my love handles tightly and he rubbed and humped his dong up and down my crack.
Sometimes, it would seem as though he was about to press inside, but his head would meet with resistance and slip past. Other times, he would thrust too soon, and slide his cock along my taint, nudging pleasurably--but frustratingly--against my balls.
"You want me to fuck you boy," he said, slowing his pace to tease my hole. "You want this daddy dong inside your hole?" Something inside me wanted to run suddenly, to reject what was happening. I dreamed of this for so long and had hidden it away - but now that it was here, could I really...
"Yes," I gasped, feeling his cock head slip past my hole again. "I want it. I need it."
"Oh yes you do, boy," he growled and pumped twice in quick succession. I whimpered as each inch rumbled along my hole, now slimy with spit and precum.
"Please..."
"Please, what, boy?" I made eye contact with that slobbering bottom reflected in the tv. "What do you want, boy?"
"Please fuck me, daddy." Paul growled and laughed, then spit at my hole, now intensely focused. I tried to concentrate on relaxing, on feeling the tip of his dick press against my hungry, needy hole.
But it slid by again. I sighed in disappointment and dismay. Now the need was growing and I was desperate for his cock. Paul tried again, urging me to breathe and relax. I focused on my hole, how he was teasing and rubbing the rim with his dick head, easing it in and out to gently stretch my virgin ass lips. I tried breathing out, relaxing and pushing back on the head, hungry to feel Paul inside me.
He rubbed and pushed forward again, but slipped up and past my hole, eliciting a groan of disappointment from us both.
"Get up," he said, slapping my ass and using the couch to ease himself up. I followed him to the kitchen island where I instantly knew what to do. I hinged forward at the waist while Paul took another couple deep huffs of poppers behind me and knelt down. I gasped as his tongue returned to lapping then fully fucking my hole, kneading it open and making me sloppy and near-to dripping. My short, shallow breaths and moans filled the kitchen and my hips bucked back against Paul's face. I was in heat, and loving every second of our sex, but still I felt something holding me back. A last vestige of my thin hetero veneer.
Paul stood and lined up his dick with one hand, grabbing my shoulder with his other, and pressed ahead. We made eye contact as I looked back over my shoulder, both of us seeing the need and desire in each other's eyes.
Paul went slower this time though, caressing my hole with the tip of his cock, painting the rim with his precum. The tip slipped forward and nearly got inside then, and I groaned from the stimulation. Paul's cock head had been nearly as deep as his tongue, but so much wider, and though I felt he was just as frustrated as I was, just as desperate to fuck my hole, it was as though he was teasing me on purpose.
It was then I saw the bottle on the island, easily within reach, and I remembered how his throat had opened up. Half-mad with desire and unwilling to let this moment slip away, I snatched it up and mirrored what I'd seen Paul do.
The smell was sweet, if a bit acrid, like the rotting petals of the magnolia tree in my boyhood neighbourhood. I inhaled deeply in my left nostril, then pressed the bottle to my right and repeated another sniff. To be sure, I repeated the process again, greedily huffing up the fumes before replacing the cap.
Even as I did, my head began to swim. I felt flush, and light headed, and my pulse drummed in my ears. My eyelids were suddenly heavy, and as they fluttered closed a black-yellow ring appeared in my vision. I felt warmth and relaxation wash through my body, and as I did I felt as though that ring was my asshole. In my drugged state, I saw the ring expand and felt my hole do the same, eased open by Paul's gentle prodding.
"Good boy," he cooed as his cock finally penetrated me, sliding up into my ass and filling my insides. I eased my chest down on to the island and groaned distantly as he began to fuck me. Deep and slow, alternatingly quick and shallow, and all combinations thereof; Paul was a master of his cock and very quickly, of my hole.
All resistance and inhibitions were pushed out if me as Paul pushed in. With each thrust of his manhood, I felt my will dissolve, cast out in pants and gasps of pleasure. His dick worked me open from the inside, gently but insistently stretching my quickly loosening hole until he was rooted in me to the hilt. His trimmed pubes sent new tingling sensations through my body as they rubbed against my spread and tender cheeks, and his balls--oh god his balls!--patted softly against my cheeks as he ground his dick against my prostate.
"Good fucking boy," he growled behind me as I felt both hands reach up and hold my shoulders. "Thank your daddy." He thrust hard and deep.
"Thank you daddy!" I moaned as he bottomed out in me.
"Again, boy," he ploughed rough and deep again.
"Thank you da-da-daddy!" I stuttered with each long-dick thrust as our bodies began to clap out a rhythm.
"Louder, boy! Let me hear how much you love this daddy dick!"
"Thank you daddy!" I cried, head swimming, hole singing, and heart racing. His pelvis pounded into me, spanking out a rhythm on my wide ass cheeks, the slap-clap of our bodies mixing with our grunts and my deep, animal bellows. Fuck, this is so good!
Paul picked up the pace, drilling me hard and fast against the counter. He slowed only momentarily to huff the poppers again, then handed me the bottle.
"One deep huff for daddy, boy," he said. "Huff `em deep and I'll flood your guts." He didn't have to ask twice. I pressed the bottle to my nose and inhaled, deeply, filling my lungs with the fumes and letting the warmth flood through me all over again.
My cock had splattered precum on my pubes and thighs as Paul had fucked me. Even without touching my cock, it was oozing and dripping precum. But now I was a beast again, an animal hungry for the rut and eager to spray my seed. If Paul was going to blast my insides with cum, I wanted to shoot too.
I began to jerk my cock furiously, my tongue lolling out of my mouth as I panted and drooled, lost in lust and sex and pleasure. Paul hammered my ass with the fury of a younger man. He began to growl and grunt, joining my own chorus of moans and together our voices reverberated off the kitchen walls and tiled floors. The apartment smelled of sweat and sex, and the sweet-acrid odour of poppers that I now associated with this unbridled carnal delight.
I felt my orgasm build, and could almost see it in the popper-induced rings before my eyes. My hole tensed and spasmed, so well used but trying hard to grip Paul's cock tightly, to milk his cum from him like a calf desperate for its mother's milk.
My moans became I roar as my cock exploded, and Paul soon followed, his own dick locked in my hole's vice-like grip. I saw stars and the world spun. My whole body convulsed with each spurt and my breath caught, trapped by wave upon wave of ecstasy from my cock, my cum-flooded hole, and Paul's rapid breathing on my back.
I stood up and half collapsed back, but Paul was there to catch me. My legs were wobbly as I came down off the orgasm, Paul's embrace steadying me. I don't know how long I stood there, trembling as much from the last throes of my orgasm as from the assault my hitherto-straightness had just taken, but Paul held me the whole while, kissing me softly and smiling sweetly.
Some time later, as I was pulling on my shirt, I remembered I'd left the job half done. I looked at Paul, lounging naked in his bed now, and smiled. I don't think he minds that I ran behind.
"I guess I should finish cleaning your pipe," I said, turning to head back through the kitchen.
"I think you did," Paul quipped. From the sight of my cum still running down the island, and a pool of his on the floor, dripped from my gape-fucked hole, I couldn't disagree.
"All the same," I said, now through the kitchen and kneeling back where this had started. "I don't like to leave a job unfinished." Paul watched me from his bed on the far end of the walkthrough closet. My eyes lingered on his body as my hands went through the motions of affixing the new seal and reattaching the trap, guided by feel and muscle memory.
"Something on your mind," Paul asked with a smirk. His dick had started to puff up again and I was suddenly aware of a new hunger welling up within me.
"I've never given a blow job," I said, finishing the pipework and standing to test the sink. The water drained quickly without leaks.
"Well, you're a talented handyman," said Paul, leaning back in bed, his dad dick throbbing and beckoning me over. "I'm sure no job is beyond your skills."
Thank you for reading! If you are interested in sharing thoughts or feedback, please feel free to email me at thenextdoorpornographer@gmail.com