The Garden Apartment By Derek W Part 1
This story contains authoritarian themes. If that doesn't interest you, please move on. Comments are appreciated; email me at omksc@yahoo.com
I wasn't sure which one of them would answer the door. The voicemail message had been brief, and since they'd only been living there a couple of weeks, and sounded a little alike, I couldn't always tell them apart on the phone. Whoever it was had simply said there was a leak in the kitchen and could I come down and fix it. So here I was, tools in hand, ready to tackle one of my first fix-up duties as a landlord.
I had bought the house two months ago, the week after my thirtieth birthday, a modest home in an up-and-coming Brooklyn neighborhood, having lived in one dumpy apartment after the next throughout my twenties to save enough money. There were two upper floors for me, and a decent-sized two-bedroom garden apartment I had rented out. My part was still a work-in-progress, as I had spent what little money I had left over after the purchase on renovating the apartment so that I could acquire the rental income I needed to manage the mortgage as soon as possible. It rented fast, to two guys just out of college starting out in New York. I gathered they were college friends, but hadn't really gotten to know them at all.
You entered the garden apartment down a couple of stairs beneath the stoop that led into the main part of the house, where I lived. And it was there I was standing, waiting for someone to respond to my knock. After a minute or so the door opened, and it was Danny. Danny had shaggy blond hair, piercing green eyes, and a California surfer vibe. He must have been the one who had called me.
"Hey," I said. "I got your message," and held the toolbox up.
"Yeah, okay, good, man," he said and stepped back into the apartment. I followed him as he led me to the kitchen. He was wearing faded jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, no shoes or socks, no belt. The T-shirt fit him loosely, but it sort of hung off the muscles of his upper-body, which in some way made them as prominent as a tighter shirt might have. I watched the curves of his strong shoulder and back muscles as I walked behind him. The hard, rounded shape of his upper arms. He was very well-built, but not overly muscular like the guys taking steroids. Clearly very strong, very powerful, with a natural, masculine grace.
In the kitchen he pointed to under the sink. "It's been leaking under there. I wiped up the water, but it's still leaking." He reached up behind his head and scratched the back of his neck. This pulled his T-shirt up, exposing a thin band of taut, tan skin just above his jeans, and my eyes automatically went there to drink in the sight of his well-muscled midsection. I looked up his torso to where his bended arm was showing off the firm, round bulge of his tricep, and just a hint of dark armpit beneath the sleeve of his shirt. When I looked up at his face, I wondered if he'd noticed my gazing, and he had a bit of a smirking expression that suggested maybe he had.
"I'll take a look," I said as I knelt down and opened the cupboard doors beneath the sink. There was a very slow leak, and after only a minute or so I realized that it was from a loose nut where the piping to the ice-maker was attached. I tightened it, and that was that.
"All set," I said as I pulled my head out from under the sink. "Anything else I can do for you while I'm down here?"
When I looked back up at him he had pulled off his T-shirt. He was leaning back against the counter, and from down where I knelt my gaze swept him from bottom to top. His perfectly formed bare feet jutted out of his jeans, which were just tight enough that I could sense the strong legs under them. His crotch suggested a sizable package, and his chest was smooth and muscular. Two wide pecs with quarter-sized nipples, and a perfectly flat stomach, which had just a light trail of hair down its center and disappearing into the top of his jeans.
He laughed when I said that, a kind of sneering, bemused laugh. I realized how it must have sounded, and said, stammering a little "I mean, you know, while I'm down here in your apartment."
He nodded, looking down on me with a knowing glance. "Well, I have this awful itch in my right foot. Why don't you scratch it for me, you know, while you're down there." He folded his powerful arms across his chest, and stuck out his foot a little. I hesitated, feeling pretty sure this situation was getting way out of control. But something inside of me kept me down there, on my knees in front of him. "Go ahead," he said, kind of nodding and smirking at me. "Do it."
I reached out with my hand and rubbed the side of his foot. I had no idea what I was doing, and I was starting to sweat. But when I looked up and saw this unbelievably sexy stud towering over me, my dick started to get very hard. "Like this?" I asked.
"Not quite. Use both hands." I took my other hand and scratched along the inside of his foot. After a few seconds he said, "Can you even see what you're doing down there? Lean over so you can get a good look."
I was still on my knees from being under the sink, resting my body back on my lower legs. When he said this, I leaned forward, put my head down towards the floor. He had beautiful feet. A small amount of very light blond hair on the top side, barely visible unless you were fairly close. I took a good look at his foot as I rubbed it now between my two hands. From the corner of my vision I could see his other foot lift up, and then a second later I felt it against the back of my neck. "Get down there," he said as he pushed my face into his foot. "Use your tongue."
My nose collided with the top of his foot. It gave off the faintest smell, not at all unpleasant. In fact, the feeling of his foot on my neck and pressing my face against his other foot sent another jolt to my cock. But still. "Uh, hey, Danny," I said, mumbled really. "Maybe uh wait a--"
"Lick it," he said sharply, cutting me off. "Get down there and lick it." He pushed again against the back of my head with his foot for good measure. I reached out with my tongue and licked his foot, a good long lick from his toes to where his foot disappeared into his jeans. When I did he let out a little sigh. Whether it was from the physical sensation or from the mental power trip of having just made me lick his foot, I wasn't sure. And then I gave myself over to this hot jock stud, and licked his foot ravenously. He lifted it up and told me to suck his toes, which I did. He pushed it against my face, rubbing the bottom of his foot hard all over my face. After a minute or two, he kind of wrapped his foot around my neck and thrust my head down to his left foot. "Now do that one, bitch," he demanded, and I started in sucking and licking it.
After a little while he lifted up his foot and placed it against my forehead and gave me a firm push back. I settled back on my knees and looked up at him. His shirtless body looked glorious, and I thought that if my dick got any harder I would burst. He had an obvious hard-on himself, a thick tube bulging against the crotch of his jeans.
"I see what you're looking at." Danny brought his hand down to rest at the opening of his jeans, let it hang there as if above to graze his dick. "Is that what you want?" he asked, staring hard into my eyes. I just looked up at him. "Huh?" he asked again, "is that what you want," and then, after a brief pause, "cocksucker?"
No one had ever called me that before, and he'd said it in such a sneering and disdainful tone of voice, but at that moment I felt like my sole purpose in life was to be Danny's cocksucker. My mouth watered--literally--and I knelt forward and reached for the button on his jeans.
But he threw my hands away, hard. "Whoa, cocksucker! I didn't say you could do that. You don't put your hands on my body like that unless I tell you to. IF I tell you to." He bit off the word "If" hard, and I was confused and startled, suddenly worried that I might not get to suck his cock which, of course, I had thought about since the day he and his roommate Jake first came by to look at the apartment. "Let's get a couple of things straight. If you're going to be my personal cocksucker, you need to understand that I call the shots. You got that?"
I nodded eagerly. His personal cocksucker? Was that what I was going to be?
"Close your eyes," Danny said to me. I thought about it, for maybe a second, and then I closed them. I'm sure it was only a few seconds that I stayed like that, kneeling before him with my eyes closed, unsure what was going to happen, but it felt like forever. I heard him move a little, maybe the sound of denim rubbing, but I couldn't be sure what it was. And then, all at once, as I took a breath I breathed in the scent of his cock. A masculine, heady smell, a little sweaty, and that odor that can only come from a man's crotch. It intoxicated me. I wanted to open my eyes and see what was right in front of my face but I didn't. I breathed in the delicious smell of him and waited.
Then I felt the head of his dick bang hard against my cheek. Startled, I opened my eyes, and there before me was the most beautiful, hard cut cock, held tightly in his strong hand. "You opened your eyes, bitch," he said and slapped his cock hard against my face.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It just happened."
He started slapping his cock over and over on my cheek. Suddenly he shouted, "How many times should I dickslap you, bitch?"
"What? I don't know..."
Again he shouted, "how many times?"
I have no idea why, but without thinking I said "Twenty."
Then he grabbed me by the hair and turned my head to the side and continued hitting me in the face with his cock. Against my forehead, my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my cheeks. After a few seconds he said, "Are you counting?" I hadn't been, and so I started counting the slaps. When I got to about ten, he said, "Count them out loud, you stupid cocksucker."
Jesus. "Ten, eleven..."
"No, you have to start counting out loud at one," he said. And gave me an extra hard dickslap across the side of my face. So I counted them out loud, each time the firm shaft of his cock connected with my skin. When I got to about fifteen, he started hitting my in the mouth exclusively, against my lips and tongue, so that my numbers were muffled. "It's hard to understand what you're saying, cocksucker," he said. "How will I know when we get to twenty?" I just kept counting out loud, and then at twenty he stopped. I was surprised, thinking he would keep going with the excuse that he couldn't understand what I was saying. But instead he just stepped back. His dick was jutting out from his open jeans and for the first time I could get a good view of the whole package. It was large, kind of fat, probably a good seven to eight inches long. He had two big, low-hanging balls dangling enticingly. The whole area was surrounded by a modest dusting of blond hair, which I guessed he trimmed to keep it tidy. Like the rest of him, his physical endowment was virtual perfection.
By now I was practically a puddle of unrestrainable desire. The dickslapping hadn't hurt at all, but with each pound of his cock against my face it was as if he were imprinting its impression on me, marking my face as the personal playground for his dick. And my own dick received the message loud and clear. It was all I could do to not just undo my pants, grab my cock, and start jerking it like mad.
"Okay, cocksucker," Danny said, leaning back against the counter and again folding his arms against his chest. "Blow me."
I leaned in and nuzzled my face into his crotch, his cock rubbing against my cheek and his balls against my chin. I stuck out my tongue and gave it a good lick. It tasted delicious, and I licked him up and down, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just under the head. When he'd had a good licking, I rose up and engulfed the head, closing my lips around his dick for the first time and sucking it into my mouth. I felt the thick, juicy head invade my mouth, moving all around in there as if checking out its new home, as if it owned the place. I lavished attention on his dick and reached up and started to fondle his balls. "No hands," he said, and I felt him pull my wrists off him. Then his hands were on the back of my head, holding me steady as he gave a firm thrust of his cock into my mouth. Though only a little more than the head was in my mouth, I wasn't prepared for the sudden jerking motion and sputtered and gagged a little. His cock slipped out. "Oh, come on, cocksucker," he said. "That was nothing. You hardly even had my dick in your mouth." He placed a hand tightly against my neck. "I plan on getting the tip of my cock all the way down here in your throat." With the other hand he slapped my face with his dick a couple more times as I caught my breath. "Okay, bitch, time for you to get face-fucked."
He pushed his cock into my mouth and again grabbed the back of my head with both hands. He started slowly at first, a steady fucking rhythm pushing his cock into my mouth and then pulling out again, holding my head tight between his hands so that he could perfectly control how much of his cock he had thrust inside my face. He kept it up, back and forth, me taking little gasps of breath whenever I could. The head of his cock always stayed in my mouth, as he would force the shaft in over and over, a little more each time. But still not all the way, despite what he had said earlier. He was only stuffing about half of his cock into my mouth at this point, but it was with such an intense and relentless power I was starting to feel almost overcome. I reached up and grabbed the backs of his upper legs, my hands taking hold of his firm, muscular legs for balance. "Get your hands off me, cocksucker," he said immediately, not breaking stride in his fucking motion at all. I dropped them to my sides.
I felt him start to tense up. He slid his hands forward to grab my head on both sides, and all at once I felt a huge shot of cum blast against the back of my throat. I gagged a little from the volume of it, but then quickly swallowed it down. He pulled out a little, leaving just the head in my mouth as more cum shot out, hosing the top and sides of my mouth. Then his dick plopped out, a last burst of cum landing across my cheek. Danny leaned back, spent. I swallowed the last bits of his cum, reached out with my tongue for the trail that was dripping off my face.
He looked down towards the floor. Some cum had landed on his foot. He looked at me, hard, and then at his foot, which he moved towards me. He didn't need to say it. I bent way over and licked the last delicious drops of his cum from his perfect foot.
"Good cocksucker," he said. Then Danny stood up straight, and grabbed his softening dick. He leaned over towards me, and said, "Open your mouth, bitch." I knelt there, mouth open. He squeezed his cock and one final pearly drop of cum bubbled out. I reached out my tongue to lick it off him but he pulled away. "Um, no, actually. Close your cocksucking mouth." I did, and then Danny leaned in again and wiped his dick on my upper lip, depositing that last drop of cum right at the entrance to my nose. The smell of it was strong, a vital, powerful odor that totally overtook me. After he'd finished, he took his dick, glistening from his cum and my saliva, and dried it off against my hair. Then he walked out of the kitchen, his jeans still open. I heard the door to his bedroom close, and I knelt there for a moment, reflecting on what had happened, in a kind of bewildered bliss. Then I gathered up my tools, and quietly made my way out.
Comments, suggestions, feedback welcome. Please email me at omksc@yahoo.com