My Tuesday afternoons each week are spent surreptitiously peering out one window or another while the guy who mows my lawn moves back and forth across the grass. Jason -- tall, lean, and muscular, not to mention handsome -- is a college student earning room and board plus expense money over the summer for next year. When he came to my door soliciting business, wearing a tight T-shirt and jeans just snug enough in the crotch to reveal a longish bulge, it was a no-brainer to call my regular lawn service to cancel our long-time arrangement. Part of the reason was that Jason was physically so hot, but another was that during our brief interview he was so much easier to talk to than the scruffy, gruff boys employed by the landscaping service. Maybe he was less wary than they, maybe just more polite, but also maybe savvy enough to be willing to deal with situations as they arise.
My decision was rewarded with increasing dividends, for as the summer grew warmer my hours of furtive observation became more and more enjoyable as Jason adopted cutoffs and shed his T. The work boots and heavy wool socks, by contrast, together with the red bandana sweatband around his head, only heightened the effect. After about half an hour of his exertions his body glistened with sweat, dripping profusely into his cutoffs, which gradually turned dark blue at the crotch as they absorbed the runoff. This made me speculate -- as if I hadn't already -- about what was concealed inside. The mystery was all the more intriguing because the cutoffs hugged so low on his hips, revealing about six inches of light treasure trail that extended south from his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband.
Well, that was just the spying part. On a recent Tuesday when he rang the doorbell to get paid, I invited him into my air-conditioned interior, making excuses of having to find my wallet. I asked would he like something to drink -- water, lemonade, a beer -- hoping he'd choose the last. I remarked that maybe he needed a pickup and would stay a moment to relax. He accepted the beer. That, I thought, was most encouraging. After a certain amount of searching around, to give him time to take several swigs, I brought out my wallet and gave him the amount I knew was due. "There's the possibility of earning more if you'd like to do more."
"Like doing what?" he inquired, then added, "For how much more?"
"Well. It's like this . . ."
"Yeah?" he arched a brow warily.
It was a risk to say it, I knew, but then nothing ventured nothing gained. "I'd really like to see you naked, if you'd drop your cutoffs."
"Yeah, I saw you watching me out of your windows, so I figured you're into guys. So, how much if I drop them?"
"Twenty bucks to let me see."
"Right, and after that? I'm not a queer, you know. But what the hell: OK, hand over the twenty and I'll drop 'em."
So, I did. And he unbuttoned and unzipped and let them slide to the floor. Jesus fucking Christ! I expected something good, but not what I saw: more than 8" of man tool, deliciously wrapped in an all-covering foreskin. I gasped, staring. This cock was long enough that it meandered through more than one bend and then ended in an enticing little pucker around what was clearly an ultra-long cock head.
He laughed at my response. "So does this do it for you?"
The little devil fucking well knew he had set off a twenty-alarm explosion in my brain. After a moment of hesitation, I ventured, "It does it alright, but that's not all I want. You know damn well it's not."
"So you wanna suck it? "
The fucker knew he had me cornered. "Yes, damn it, I do."
"So how much is it worth to you?"
I hate being taken for a ride, but I also know that at my age you don't get cock like this every day. The very possibility of deep-throating this fuck tool was driving me to distraction. It was worth whatever it would take. But it was also a matter of proportion, namely what he as an undergraduate earning college expenses could expect for a blowjob. After all, it would be he who'd get the physical benefits as well as the money.
So I ventured. "Fifty bucks?" This, of course, already on top of the twenty I gave him just to get him to drop trou.
He laughed and stared me in the eye. "You old cock sucker! You really need this, don't you? You wanna kneel and worship this fuck tool, don't you, you old fag?" Little did he know how turned on I get when verbally abused by a virile stud. "Well, it's gonna cost you more." He was taking a chance that the negotiation would instead come to a grinding halt.
"Thirty more to make the total an even hundred, but no more; I also have my limits."
Smart enough to leave well enough alone, he consented and came forward to receive the extra money. He stood over me, his cock swinging over my face. I could smell the spicy aroma of his sweaty body and then the acrid fragrance of fertility issuing from the tip of his foreskin. He was sooooo much man I was beside myself with desire.
I reached up and cupped his buns while I leaned my head forward to explore the tip of his foreskin with my tongue. I stuck it inside and ran my tongue round and round over his smooth cock head. The taste was, shall we say, exotic to say the least, but exciting, never the less. Then before full erection set in, I went down on his shaft to the hilt, burying my nose in his bush. His cock filled my mouth and easily passed into my throat. I suppressed the gag response and allowed his male organ to swell to complete engorgement. I was thrilled to have him possessing me totally, without reservation on my part.
He clasped the back of my head with both hands and thrust forward. I was sucking his shaft as hard as I could and licking his cock head when that alone was in my mouth, but the fact is that he was fucking my face. A small cock in this situation is no big deal, but this organ posed a serious challenge. He was grunting with male satisfaction and I moaned to encourage whatever he'd do next. Not to put too fine a point on it, I absolutely love losing control, letting the man I am servicing use me as he wishes, regardless of what that means for me.
What we are talking about at this point, though, was merely the beginning. In the event this gig lasted nearly three quarters of an hour. I sucked, I bobbed my head up and down on his shaft as fast as I knew how, moaning and groaning to give him the sense that he was fully satisfying. That encouraged him to redouble efforts in humping my pussy mouth, sweating some more from his exertions, and to grunt and growl with dominant male lust. He got quite carried away, and although there were scary moments when I feared he might actually injure me, I willingly succumbed to whatever he wanted to do.
He thrust and thrust and I sucked and sucked, it seemed like half of forever. Then he began to tremble and I recognized that he was on the verge of cumming. He gasped and then yelped as he exploded inside my mouth. His cum, warm and creamy, spurted over and over -- one of the nice things about a virile young man. The taste was not unpleasant, but not wholly sweet. However, I happily sucked him dry and delighted in the substantial load spilling onto my tongue. As I like to do, I squished it around in my mouth and through my teeth before swallowing it all down. Much as I like to do that, it still takes some will power to imbibe a man's sperm, but it always gives me a lift to know that I have done it, in part because I know it gives the guy who's just cum in me satisfaction to know that a submissive guy has taken his load and swallowed.
He laughed at my obvious enjoyment, pulled up his cutoffs, and said, "Well, I better be off before I do something really bad."
I wondered what that could be -- more sex, or maybe something violent. "Will I see you same time next week?" I asked.
"For the lawn, sure. But do you want the extra service every week?"
"We'll see." I replied. And then I thought to myself, Has a cat got an ass? Is the pope a Catholic? For you, stud, you fuckin'-A I want the extra, even if I have to eat oatmeal to afford it.
I cannot tell you how many times I've jacked off between last Tuesday and the one coming up tomorrow.