The following events actually happened. This is a true story which occurred years ago.
I lived with an immigrant European family for several years. They needed the income and since I was of the same ethnicity, it seemed a good fit. There was a mother, father and several children. I was forty-two years old and their oldest child was nineteen years younger than I was.
The two elder siblings, brothers, had adjoining bedrooms in a separate wing of the house. The mother allocated one of those rooms to me and the brothers now had to share the other one. We all had single twin beds. The rent was reasonable and included meals. In a very short time, I became a de facto family member.
This family was impressed with the fact that I spoke their language. My ear for it had been developed as a child listening to my birth family speak. I was soon able to pick up their dialect.
The father was especially happy with this since he disliked speaking English and thought most Americans were assholes. He had ten years on me and began to treat me like a brother. He was macho, very tactile and enjoyed engaging me physically, especially if we were alone. The two oldest boys soon began to emulate their father.
It needs to be pointed out that the two older brothers were very close in age and carbon copies of the father in every way. There was an definite age gap between them and their younger siblings, who were of a different character. One day, the mother explained that she was the second wife and the birth mother of the younger children. The first wife had died when the two older boys were quite young. She admitted to raising them as her own along with the children she actually bore.
It was a shock to hear this as there was no discernible difference in the way the two older boys treated their younger siblings and the woman they called, "Mama." I suspected the father would never have tolerated it any other way.
The door to the single large bathroom in the house had no lock. The male family members had no qualms about doubling up as long as it was unoccupied by a female. Of course, the father thought nothing of walking in on his wife. There were occasions when I heard banging against the wall and muted moans coming through the closed door.
One unusual morning, the oldest brother walked in on me while I was shaving. His tighty whities were tented and he removed them before stepping into the shower. He paused to display himself in the most shameless way in the reflection of the mirror. His hard on had partially pulled the foreskin back revealing the piss slit which immediately drew me in. I wanted to probe it with my tongue.
The two older brothers never closed the door between our adjoining rooms. If I shut the door to my room, they would immediately open it and look to see if I was there. As time progressed and we grew closer, I no longer felt the need for a closed door.
They were nonchalant about strolling into my room in various states of undress and even completely naked. They also delighted in holding me down and stripping me of my clothes. Then they would usually proceeded to spank my butt, manhandle my genitals or do both. My ensuing hard on was often evident, especially if we were all nude. It was never addressed but they could not have failed to notice.
Such episodes usually occurred after dinner, before the boys were off to their girlfriends and the father headed out to his circle of friends at the neighborhood mens' club. He would walk into these melees and merely laugh heartily as his sons tormented me. While the father always intervened when they were roughhousing me, he never interfered when they were holding me down naked and slapping my hard dick back and forth. It always seemed to pique his interest.
The oldest brother usually spent the entire evening with his girlfriend, often into the wee hours, and his alarm clock would go off very early in the morning. He would immediately jump out of bed. Sometimes, he would walk into my room in his underwear, crawl into bed with me and spoon. This happened fairly often. At times, I would turn the tables by spooning him. He savored this by moaning appreciatively. I knew he could feel my morning hard on pressing against his body but he never said a word about it.
He once commented, "I know you've had sex with men but that's not what I want." Yet, he never stopped me from rubbing his muscular chest and hard belly or grazing my hand over his bulging tighty whities. His large nipples were sensitive and he liked when I gave them attention. We never had outright sex but I was also not discouraged from touching or caressing him. He always told me I was a very loving person.
There was one hot, humid summer morning when I slept naked in my bed. He woke me by coming in wearing only his tighty whities. Then he jumped on me, belly to belly, straddled my groin and held my hands above my head in a very strong grip. We struggled and perspired heavily. Lowering his head to my chest, he repeatedly sucked my nipples, going from one to the other. I wrapped my legs around his butt and humped him, which stopped him in his tracks. Raising my head, I attacked his male teats with my mouth as he had done to me, until he disengaged and said he needed to get to work.
Whereas the oldest brother was "up and at 'em" in the morning, the younger brother was a very heavy sleeper who rarely heard the alarm clock. It did not help that this younger one went to bed even later than his older brother. Before I lived with them, it had been the older brother's responsibility before he left for work to make sure his brother was awake. But time ran out once we began spooning in the mornings. So now it fell to me to wake the younger one. He would beg me repeatedly for just five more minutes each time I shook him awake.
He was exhausted from spending the nights until the wee hours coaxing his girlfriend to have sex with him. This left him sleep deprived. I didn't know it initially but his romantic maneuvers were often unsuccessful.
He was even beefier than his older brother and I wanted to put my hands on him too. One morning, instead of repeating my ineffectual attempts to rouse him, I began massaging his shoulders and back. He was soon moaning appreciatively. After a short while, he flipped over on his back, revealing a fat hard on which had popped out over the waistband of his tighty whities.
My attention immediately turned from massaging him to wanting to suck his succulent his dick. I quickly pulled the waistband of his underwear under his hefty balls and before he could react, in one fell swoop, I lodged his cock in my throat. When I began to swallow he grunted and grabbed my head with both hands. He rammed his dick into me and after just a few strokes, shot his load with a groan from the depths of his being.
This began ongoing covert blowjobs whenever his girlfriend would not put out or when he just felt the need to relieve his horniness. He always told me, "You give the best head!" But I could tell, deep down he was conflicted.
The father was a macho, alpha male, handsome and sexy like his two oldest sons. The mother was an opinionated women who ruled the house with an iron fist and tried to dominate him. Obviously, this led to many arguments which were heated and often loud. There were many nights when he slept in the basement.
A section of it had a game console, TV, VCR and some old upholstered furniture. It was not a finished room by any means but it seemed to serve as the family's "man cave." There was Cable TV which included a subscription to the European channels. I spent many hours there watching football (soccer) with the male members of the family.
The household was tee total. Although wine and liqueurs were sometimes used in cooking, I never saw anyone imbibe during my time there. Beer never made an appearance at any meal or during any football match.
This did not mean the men in the family were sedate. They were often riotous especially during key football plays. The testosterone level was palpable. Physicality was the norm so roughhousing was always the order of the day. During a football match on TV it escalated and was often directed at me since I was perceived as the delicate one.
Being rescued by the father from his sons' shenanigans was always the highlight of the game for me. He would lead me over to his large recliner so I could be protected by sitting next to him. The fact that his meaty arm was draped over my shoulder the entire time didn't hurt at all!
Since physical contact between the male family members was constant, no eyebrows were ever raised. He often told me, "I like you the best of anyone here." This is a literal translation of what he said in his language. Colloquially, he meant: of all the people he had met in the US, he liked me the best.
As time went on, because of the father's affection for me, it became clear I was the object of jealously from the two eldest brothers. I never flaunted this and always insisted they were deeply treasured by him. Still, they often took their revenge by manhandling me. This was usually when they showered after dinner and would kill time in our shared bedrooms clad only in their tighty whities. It was also before they headed out to see their girlfriends.
This was when they were most frisky, probably due to the prospect of having sex with their girlfriends. I would protest the liberties they took with me but secretly relished them. The father often came to witness his older sons stripping me and having their way with my naked body. They would drive me into a sexual frenzy and then just walk away. I was left to my own devices, masturbating myself to a shattering orgasm behind the closed door of my bedroom.
This was a very active family and their motto could have been: "Saturdays are for the boys." The male members were either working outdoors or out with their friends. The female members were usually occupied with food shopping for the week or cooking. If there were no outside projects, the father would relax in the basement.
His job involved intense physical work and he injured his back. If he retreated to the "man cave" before dinner, I would follow discretely and massage him. At first he resisted, saying he was sweaty and had not yet had his after dinner shower. Telling him I took pleasure in his manly scent brought a twinkle to his eye. The wheels began to turn in his head.
If we were alone, it was an opportunity to massage him. Initially, I began rubbing him through his white T-shirt. It progressed to pulling the shirt up to expose his back and eventually to removing it entirely. He was very compliant, offering no resistance and telling me how good it felt.
There was a deep furrow down the middle of his back with slabs of muscle on either side. They did not have the definition of a bodybuilder but he had been bulked up by hard physical labor. He even had lats which I enjoyed grabbing and kneading. His muscles were hard. The more I worked the injured area of his lower back, the more he seemed to relax.
It was my opinion that he had sciatica. When he was quiet or in a bad mood, I would inquire why. Often he would say his butt hurt. So one day, while massaging his lower back, I slid a hand under the waistband of his pants and began to massage a glute. He moaned.
Encouraged, I tugged the pants down to his knees and went to work kneading his ass. He sighed appreciatively. I said, "I'd like to put my face in your butt."
He raised his head and said, "I never try." This is a literal translation of what he said. What it meant was he had never experienced that. However, the way he said it meant his ass was a no go zone.
Soon, after moving down to massage his beefy thighs, the pants came totally off. I wasn't sure how he would react to being completely naked in front of me but he never said a word.
So I worked the calves of his legs and eventually pulled off his socks to rub his feet. They seemed hypersensitive at first but when I grabbed one in each hand and repeatedly pressed my thumbs hard into the ball of each foot, he relaxed. Pressing and twisting my knuckles into his heels made him gasp. He twitched when I ran my fingers between his toes.
Concentrating my efforts on his big toes, I proceeded to knead both at the same time. Then I put my mouth on one, sucking it up and down, while continuing to manipulate the other one. He began to squirm and then suddenly flipped over. He presented me with a big hard on which he wagged expectantly.
I wasted no time in taking it all the way into my throat and swallowing it. It was no more than ten passes with my mouth when he began to cum. His orgasm produced an extension of his pelvis which literally lifted the both of us up off the couch with the power in his legs. I reached under him and groped one of his hard glutes as it was suspended in the air. My fingers massaged his perineum and I felt it quivering as he came. He grunted and growled like an animal.
He lay panting with eyes closed. When he opened them, he smiled, reached over onto the floor to grab his T-shirt and held it up to my mouth. I shook my head no and told him I had swallowed his load. It tasted unusually sweet for such a mature man. He laughed and called me a slut. This was the start of giving him a blowjob whenever he wanted one.
One time during our play, he grabbed me and sat me on his lap and humped me. Then rolled me over and stuck his hand down the back of my pants to rub a finger over my hole.
"You ever try?" He asked.
When I said yes, his eyes lit up. He asked for a condom and away we went. He was gentle at first but then proceeded to show me what he could really do. He preferred to vigorously fuck me but if time was short, a blowjob would often suffice.
Eventually, the number two son, who seemed conflicted from the beginning about me sucking his dick, reached a tipping point. It was my fault. I persuaded him to get up on all fours and then I rimmed him. He stiffened and gasped but did not stop me. Then I pulled his cock back through his legs and blew him while sticking two fingers in his ass to massage his prostate. His body shivered and shook as he came, whining uncontrollably. He literally collapsed onto his belly from the force of his orgasm.
When he raised himself up to stand, he looked at me coldly before walking away without saying a word. He avoided me for two days, then came to me and calmly said, without any emotion, "I have to ask you to leave this house." I sighed and sadly said that I would comply. Within a few days, I was gone.
My cover story of the need to be on my own saddened the mother. I felt guilty because I knew she would miss the rent money and the help I gave her and the girls around the house. The male family members never lifted a finger to perform any housework.
The father was typically blase, shrugging and saying, "You want to stay, you stay, you want to go, you go..." I think he may have surmised what was going on between me and his two older sons but with his European sensibility, he never approached it in any way.
The real surprise was the younger son confronting me the day I left.
"You know, my mother asked what I did that made you want to leave," he said in an accusatory tone, "and I had to stand there taking the blame without saying anything."
His eyes were on fire. Looking into them, I apologized sincerely. Overcome with sadness, because I had fallen in love with him, I now had to leave. Deep down, I knew all along it would never work but my heart was breaking. I wanted to hug him but knew he would rebuff me.
My last words were: "I'm sorry for it all. If I knew how it would end, I would never have done the things I did. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm doing what you asked of me: I'm leaving."
And I walked out of that house for the last time with tears in my eyes. I thought about the hard lesson I was learning: this is what happens when you think with the "little head."
The End