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This is a work of pure fiction intended for adult readers of legal adult age, at least 18 years-old and older and, in some jurisdictions 21 years-old or more. Anyone younger should leave now. My stories involve sex in various forms between consenting persons and should not be construed as a guideline for living anyone's everyday life.
THE BEST POLICY
By
Greylock Writer
Sandy was different from most folks. Very different. Most folks don't like to see me or hear me. If I'm lucky enough to convince them to talk with me, they squirm. But I've only got their best interests at heart. Really.
I deal in death. Or, at least, death benefits. I sell life insurance and people don't like thinking much about the future, especially in these tough times. They think about getting by. They think about the day-to-day. They live in the here and now and have a hard time planning past next Wednesday.
But Sandy had a plan. That's what he told me on the phone. He was managing a chain of exercise "boutiques." His gym trainers used some highly specialized aerobics techniques he'd developed. They were coordinated with all the top-dollar machines sited around his gyms.
It was obvious he was doing something to keep in shape. When I came in he pulled off his sweat marked shirt. His body was bulked with cascading muscles, but toned. His pecs were massive and etched almost beyond belief. His abs were stretched into long, rippling cords. The thin sheen of perspiration made him look hot and made me feel hotter. He moved with confidence, a sureness that was very sensual. His mane of sandy hair was long and silky. He was tanned and he was cocky. He'd be perfect on the cover of a romance novel about a tender man-brute.
Sandy was saving half his annual income and wanted a combo insurance policy annuity so he could retire early. Very early. Like at 35. "By then, I'll be over the hill," he smiled. What a smile! Even the light off his teeth seemed to glint just for me. "So, help me take it easy in my old age, huh?"
If you sock away enough, you can take out your cash reserves, borrow against the policy without nasty tax repercussions, and live well for the rest of your life. Sandy had it figured right. And he was just looking for the man with the best plan.
I called him first. He had sent in a postcard asking for information on insurance. You know, the kind of card that flutters out of magazines. Most folks now try to buy their policies on line. Maybe Sandy didn't trust putting his financial details on the internet. Anyway, I called and he asked me if I could stop by his flagship gym on Tuesday about 10, just as he was closing. Fine with me, I said.
Most times, I had to work evenings. Just about everybody works during the day now and can't take time at work to listen to an insurance pitch. Those that say it's OK are always watching for the boss, and can't remember a damn thing you tell them. It's a shit job, but I do all right at it. And, it's a damn sight better than lifting and dumping garbage cans overnight for three years which I did to help put myself through college.
Sandy met me at the door and led me to the gym's break area, what he called the "cool-down zone." He offered something to drink and I declined. Then he was all business as he looked over the papers very carefully, leaning over the table as he read so that his pecs jumped like they were having a riot all by themselves. The dancing in his muscles seemed off-handed, like they had a life of their own. It was so natural that he probably stopped having to think about it consciously to get that movement down.
"Looks good," he said as we made eye contact again. "Looks very, very good." He licked his bottom lip, then bit it ever so slightly. "Will I have to take a physical?"
I nodded. "This is a big policy. We'll pay for the exam. But you'll need a pretty good workup."
"I don't think I'll have any trouble passing," he said, standing and flexing. "Do you?" His thighs rippled under his skimpy shorts. A big cock bounced and its tip snaked out the opening of his left leg. I could feel my eyes pop. Did he notice my reaction?
"Probably not," I admitted. "It's just routine before we can issue the policy."
He moved close to my side of the table. He leaned against it and put a hand on my shoulder. "Frankly, I'm going with the man who can give me the best service. Contracts are just pieces of paper, after all. Can you give me the best service?"
"Service with a smile."
"Oh, you all say that," he laughed.
"Service is my business," I told him. I was more serious and more emphatic. I wanted all his business, everything he could give me.
"Do you make house calls?"
"House calls?"
"When I was little, I remember that the insurance man always came calling for his payment," he said. "We didn't have to bother with nasty old envelopes or anything."
"Well, most folks today use automatic payments or pay each month on line," I told him.
"But I like the real thing," he said. "Hard copy."
"We've got a slot in our lobby. You can make a night deposit any time you want to."
"And I say no deposit, no return!" Was he for real? His voice signaled innocence. His words said whatever you wanted to hear. His body language issued invitations. And, his smile and eyes asked what I was waiting for.
I thought he wanted me. I definitely wanted him. But I wanted that commission even more. The policy would be paying dividends long after a quick wick dipping would be wiped from my memory bank. Then again, I don't think a good time with Sandy could be wiped from anyone's memory bank.
Still confused, I sat there grinning.
"I like those straight white teeth," he laughed. "But what about the tongue. Can it do more than bullshit?"
"It's got personality plus," I said. I demonstrated by licking my lips, then stuck it straight out and wiggled it around. Slowly.
"Versatility, too," he growled as he sat on the break room table. "Let's put it to the test."
First, his massive hands played across his wide chest. His nipples were large and dark. The tips stood up long and hard. He pinched them hard and they almost doubled in size, still sticking straight out. Then, he eased back and slowly grabbed onto his shorts. Taking his time, he slid them down in one lazy, enticing tease. They went down in a pull and a yank, a bit down, then back up and a slow slide down again. What a cock tease! What an obvious show. How many times had he performed it, I wondered.
Finally, his shorts rolled off and crumpled to the floor. He motioned me closer. I didn't need encouraging. Evidently, his games were over. Or were they just beginning?
He spread his legs, grabbed my head and pulled it into him until my face hit his pulsing target. His love muscle was as big as the rest of him. His prick already was filled with blood and stood challenging me to go to battle with it.
"Tongue, please!" It sounded like an order to a waiter. And I wanted to wait on him.
But I wasn't waiting. I licked his dickhead. I tried being tender, licking and nibbling at the soft folds of the foreskin covering the crown. But I was taking too long. "Tongue, I said." He grabbed my ears and pulled me to him roughly. "Get on with it, fucker," he ordered. "Be my little lap dog and lap up whatever I send down to you."
I pushed my tongue inside, savoring the sweet mixture of juices already bubbling up. The heavy scent of sex filled my head, flowing in by taste and smell and touch as I slurped a steady stream of love milk.
"Can your tongue spell love, fucker?" he demanded. "Show me how many languages it speaks."
I plunged my mouth over his rock hard cock and swirled my tongue along the length of his prick. Back at the top, I washed out his piss slit with spit and vigor. I worked so hard I thought I'd give my mouth a hernia. My tongue curled around every vein, every ridge, every surface it could reach. His pre-cum flowed in heavy strings.
He rocked back and forth and his nuts wiggled out of hiding and demanded attention. I was gentle yet firm as I sucked and licked and I nipped at them. His balls were full and bounced in reaction to the tongue bath I was giving them.
"What about my ass, man? Use that tongue and throw your weight behind it!" I was willing to obey, but first I drew his nuts in my mouth and massaged them with my lips, tongue and teeth until they drew together and he was very tight.
When Sandy started squirming near the edge of the table, he was crying out in little dog-like yips.
With that he scrambled around on the table and kneeled on all fours. He grabbed his full, round asscheeks and spread them. His pink pucker opened and closed in a rapid-fire series of inviting winks. My cock was aching in the confines of my pants.
"Can that tongue do any new tricks?" he asked. "Show me the magic, fucker!"
My answer was to thrust it right into him. His opening had a clean, sweet taste. I was surprised. I thought he would be sweaty, musky and dank. Some macho guys avoided letting you work on them like this. I thought they didn't like it, or it made them uncomfortable. Sandy shot that theory to hell. His ring was tight, perhaps tense, as I started. But the more I slurped my tongue in and out, the wider it opened. It was inviting me in.
Sandy gave out low moans, a delicious purring. "Mmmmmm," he said as I swished my tongue in and out. Then I started nipping gently at the soft folds back there. "Oh, yeah, man, use every tool you've got. Plumb my asshole's depths."
He writhed with delight, a softer, gentler pleasure than he had experienced when I was working his low-hanging balls. Soon his lovehole was nice and damp, not sloppy, but well-lubed. I stuck a couple fingers inside from my left hand. He liked that. A lot. My right jerked his dick while I continued the oral workout in the back.
Sandy stretched an arm over to the counter, popped open a bottle of olive oil with herbs floating in it and smeared some all over his hand. He brought the hand back to his rear entrance. "Time to make it tasty and slippery," he murmured.
"I've tried butter before. Never olive oil," I said.
"Get with it," Sandy sighed. "Olive oil's healthier than butter." I doubted him but was too excited to start a deep debate. After he liberally oiled his hole, I lapped up the excess that dribbled down the ridge from his butt to his thick dark bush. Goddamn tasty! I cleaned it all up and headed for the finish line.
It took a minute to get all my clothes off. He was clawing me as I stripped them off. I was afraid I'd shoot if he just touched me right. And, he certainly knew how to touch. He smiled when my big dick appeared. Usually, it stood out just shy of eight inches; tonight it was bigger. My thick hood already had retracted exposing an anxious, sensitive head. But I wasn't leaking any pre-cum. So, Sandy grabbed my hard-on and liberally applied more of the herbed olive oil.
"I'll take it easy," I said. My dick was throbbing. I'd never seen it grow past eight inches before. I didn't think he could take it.
"Ram it in," he ordered. "If I wanted some gentle dicking, I'd get out my mini-vibrator."
"Okay," I said. I aimed my cock's tip at the bottom of his chute, pushed forward and leaned toward him with a pleasurable grunt. My cockhead, as huge as it had ever been, engorged with blood and lust, blue and red like the lights on a police cruiser on a high speed chase, went in with a loud, wet "Pop!" If sounds can be obscene, this one was. His sphincter was so tight and my cock so swollen, we created an instant vacuum. My dick was sucked up into him, as his love canal hungrily devoured it inch by inch.
When I was pulled all the way in, we started a slow rhythmic rock. My moans were already loud. I had been working too hard and was out of practice. I stifled my grunts and I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming.
"Let's go," he said, working his ass muscles hard. They flexed and relaxed, clenched and unclenched. I'd never felt anything like it before. He had muscle tone and flex control beyond imagining. His ass was a magic ring playing with my prick as I butt-fucked him. I almost forgot to breathe as the sensation spiraled up. I decided sex aerobics was the greatest invention of the 20th Century.
He thrashed until he was begging, no, demanding that I shove my cock inside of him faster than I felt ready. Maybe, faster than I could.
"Pound me with the dick, policy man," he demanded. "Fuck me with it. Slide it deep inside. Stop the gentle shit. Fuck me."
He locked his legs over my shoulders and pulled me in toward him hard. Now I had access to shove my cock even deeper.
"Is this the way you want it? This position?" I asked, trying to please him but afraid I'd shoot too soon. I'd eased my prick out and was buying a little time before thrusting it back down into his eager hole.
"Just do it, asshole," he directed. "You'll know what I want and how I want it. Now, get the fuck down and do it."
I plunged on trembling with excitement. I needed to make this goddamn sale!
"Put it in and move that rod around. I want to really feel you!"
I withdrew my cock and paused at the entrance letting his ass lips kiss its head. Then I rammed back in. "That's it, salesman. Make me feel your fuck action so I won't forget you."
His right hand raked my back, his nails scratching into me with sharp, sweet pain. Meanwhile, he cupped my heavy balls with his left hand, then he stuck a finger in my ass and twisted it. I could feel that finger deep inside me, like he was trying to reach right through me and help my cock plunge deeper into his hungry ass. He pushed another finger past my sphincter and I gasped.
"More dick action. Fuck me harder," he called. "Screw me 'til you drop, fucker."
I was sweating so much he had a hard time holding on. I felt like an animal, in a different world, in a different body. My breathing grew heavy, labored.
"You're really working for it, big boy. You must be married. And a long time, at that," he said. "Nobody else gets this damn excited."
I clenched my teeth harder and plowed on. There was no use answering the jive he was dishing out. I'd learned that many guys talk a lot of trash in order to let themselves go. Of course, Sandy didn't seem to have a problem with talking trash or letting go.
But I was having a problem holding on. He was jumping and bucking so I had a hard time keeping us on the table. I kept my hands on his big pecs and pinched his nipples until they were red and raw. By now I had no intention of taking it easy.
I pushed my dick in, pulled it out so that the cockhead brushed past his anxious pucker, then slammed back in so my balls crashed against his ass. The sea of olive oil had us well lubed so it was easy to pick up speed without crashing and burning. And the herbs added an odd, sensual, abrasive sensation.
"Suck my tits," he growled. "Suck 'em like you never had a mother. Suck 'em 'til you shoot, fucker. And you keep sucking on 'em while you shoot."
My mouth clamped onto a luscious nipple and I rolled it in my teeth. It was hard and tasty and got even bigger as I sucked and nibbled. Jesus, I thought, even his fucking nipples do aerobics! But I didn't say anything as I shifted to the other nipple and gave it a working over. This nipple actually began oozing and I sucked harder until I was lightheaded. But I kept on pounding.
By now I was so excited it was like I was afraid to come, like all my cock juice would roar out in one giant climax. I figured I was banging his prostate from the heavy moans he let loose. My right fist was still whipping his hard rod. And it must have done the job because I felt him shudder and quake. Then my dick felt the clenching action as his muscle contractions rolled from deep inside him. He was jerking cum through my hands, a flood that squirted in between us.
"Yes," he shouted. His hands turned to fists and pounded my back. "Yes," he cried again. His fists opened and he started to slap my ass. "Keep sucking the tits, fucker." He spanked the shit out of me as he screamed, "Shoot, baby, shoot." My balls drew up and my dick was cocked and ready to shoot.
But he thrashed so hard I popped out of him and couldn't get junior back inside. So, I climbed up on the table and aimed at his face. My first bullet shot over his head. Then he pulled my jerking prick up and took my load in his face. He pulled my cock inside his mouth. As my dickhead scraped his teeth, all hell broke loose. Cum churned up from my balls and exploded down his throat. I knew that I came a flood when I was excited like this, but he swallowed me and swallowed my hot jism. As the spunk gush slowed to an ooze, his eyes opened wide and stared into mine. A finger wiped some cum off his face and he offered it to me. Whose was it, his or mine?
I looked at him, questioning. "Go ahead," he urged. "It's sweet." I hesitated.
"You're unusual," he said, "if you haven't tried at least one good dose of your own stuff. Spunk is damn health food. Why not get healthy?"
It sounded like a dare. I was thinking about the policy again. I took his hand and drew the finger into my mouth. I sucked the finger clean and held it firmly between my lips. Then my tongue washed his palm to a spit shine.
He was right. The salty, sweet goo had a tantalizing sharpness. Pretty good.
"Now, my face," he said. "I like boys who clean up after themselves. Completely."
The thought of licking our drying sperm wasn't appealing as the fresh stuff, but I obeyed. That policy was right within my grasp. I was surprised it tasted so good, too.
When I was finished, he took my shirttail and dried his face. "Good job," he said softly. "We're halfway home."
"Halfway?" I asked. What next, I wondered. My battery was running low. I was a bit winded, but curious.
"I don't want any loopholes," he explained. "I want to make sure all my holes are closed......Or plugged."
We kissed. His tongue was probing, passionate. It traced a path down my chest to my limp cock. Sandy's mouth engulfed it, he sucked it in, eased it around and brought it back to life. Soon, it had sprung to attention and the attention it was getting was wonderful.
"Fuck my face, man," he gasped. He didn't give a damn that my cock had just been planted firmly in his shit chute. "Take me again."
I was too far gone to do anything but follow orders and thrust in rhythm. Sandy used his own fingers to play in and out of his slimy ass. We were soon rocking and rolling and close to the orgasmic jackpot again.
"Stay in my mouth, fucker," he warned. "I want to taste your hot cum inside me. Ass to mouth makes for a closed circuit."
I was learning to obey. As I got close, I slapped his ass a couple times. "That's right, man. Shoot," he urged. "Shoot that fucking load. Light that rocket."
"I'm cumming," I gasped. And so was he. We exploded together. I shot deep inside his throat; he let go a flood of juice that slipped past his hand and drenched my balls. My cock kept jerking forever. Finally, it stopped and I shriveled inside him. He let me slip out. Again he offered me fingers slick with love juice. I knew it was his cum alone and this time I slurped it off greedily.
"Now, clean my balls. Spit shine the boys," he ordered. I complied.
We grew quiet. I gathered my clothes and slowly started to dress. I felt dazed and almost had forgotten why I was there.
As I finished tying my shoes I saw him reach for the policy and a pen. Although he was poised to sign, I saw him hesitate.
"Anything wrong?"
"No," he said. "Do I need a rider clause to keep you coming back to pick up my monthly payments. In person?"
"Write one in if you want," I said. "But I don't think I'll forget to come. Honestly."
"OK, then let's just shake on it," he agreed. "After all, an oral agreement's good for me. And I think you've shown you're the only rider I need."
He thought a split second. "What if I want weekly -- instead of monthly -- payments?"
I grinned broadly. "I think that could be arranged."
And as we shook on it, Sandy got that smile again, the one I've learned he gets when he has a great a idea. But, then, that's another story.
Copyright 2021 By Greylock Writer
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