Whatever Honey Wants

"WHATEVER HONEY WANTS"

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

"WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM"

I was doing what I normally do on a Sunday afternoon when the sun is still bright and the weather is still warm; I was standing by our front window and looking out at the schoolground across the street. As usual this time of day, there were some games going on, young men teenaged or older were playing shirts-versus-skins, and the weather was hot enough that their lithe muscled bodies gleamed in the late sun, sparkling as they weaved and moved their bodies, interlocked in a struggle of pleasure and joy at the exercise of their arms, legs and torsos.

I was distracted by a Latino man walking along the sidewalk; he had on a tanktop and black pants, and his body was whiplash thin, but on top of this was a set of broad shoulders. His olive-toned skin made broad globes of shoulders and biceps, his shelf of chest jutted out beneath his taut neck....

"Are you going to just stand there all day?" Honey demanded.

I sighed quietly (very quietly) and turned to face my wife.

"I was just watching them play basketball." I said gently.

"Hmph!" she gave me her opinion of that activity. "Basketball. A low-class activity played by welfare cheats. No wonder my friends don't come by very often. We should move and we would if you would get that promotion they've been promising you for years."

"Yes, dear." I said.

"I'm going to be out this afternoon. They're having an estate sale and I think they may have some Delft in it. I would like to round out my collection of Delft."

"Yes, dear." I said.

China was my Honey's passion. She bought it whenever she could, giving some of it to friends but mostly just collecting it for herself; I was surrounded by hutches and shelves that showcased her extraordinary collection.

If Honey didn't have such a passion for china, we could afford a better place to live, but when I mentioned that to her once some years ago, she blasted me for an hour about how a woman deserved some joys in life and being married to a wimp like me was cruelty enough and if I was going to treat her like that, she'd just go back to her mother. Trouble is, her mother was no dowager sitting at home, she ran a major corporation that my firm worked for, and so long as I kept Honey happy, my firm had work. Losing Honey would cost me my job and my career and my pension. So whatever Honey wanted, Honey got. I'd lived like that for the last ten years, and it seemed to work.

So my joy was limited to watching the young boys play their games across the street, and the glimpses of the free young men on the street as they walked or jogged and exercised their bodies, wearing short shorts and tight t-shirts and showing the world proudly their wonderfully free, strong, muscled bodies that....

"And while I'm gone, I want you to go downstairs and have a talk with the janitor." Honey said as she pinned on her hat.

"Dear?" I asked, cringing at the prospect. Mr. Belisov was a large, gruff, brutal-looking man, who grunted angrily if you so much as said hello to him. He had a machine where tenants were to call and leave chores for him to do. And if he didn't do them, the wise thing was to fix it yourself or learn to live with it, or he'd disconnect your electricity accidentally when working on the wiring and so on. Make a person even more miserable then he already was being married to someone like Honey.

"That leak has gotten worse, and it's staining the wallpaper. The leak has to be inside the wall. He's going to have to come inside and open up that wall and fix it and replace the wallpaper, there just isn't any other choice." Honey said as she donned her expensive wrap. When I'd protested its cost, she replied that she couldn't go to estate sales in the better neighborhoods looking like a frump and how dare I...but you know Honey by now. Whatever she wants, she gets, that's my policy in life.

"Yes, dear." I said, but my heart sank. "I'll leave him another message and be most firm in my tone." I said hopefully.

"Nonsense, we've left him two messages already in the last week." she humphed. "You go right downstairs, right now, and have a talk with him. Tell him that if he doesn't fix the plumbing, we will be seeking other accommodations."

"Yes, dear." I said docilely and she left.

I spent some time wondering if I dared try to fix it myself. Perhaps if I were to tear out the wall carefully, I could find the leak and put some sort of sealant over it...but I couldn't do that. Replacing a worn washer was the limit of my plumbing ability. No choice, I would have to go down and confront Mr. Belisov.

Honey opened back up the front door. "Well, are you coming or not?" she demanded.

"Yes, dear." I said.

I spent the walk down the two flights of stairs with Honey and the long walk to the end of the first-floor hallway alone in screwing up my courage. I must be firm, I must be brave, I must...I must issue an ultimatum! That was it. By the time I descended the basement stairs and walked past the storage cases to where Mr. Belisov's work area and bachelor apartment were, I was in a fine state.

Mr. Belisov was at his work table, sitting on a stool and drinking a beer. He saw me in my white shirt and tie and grunted, "Whadaya want?" rather curtly. Mr. Belisov is, as I have said of a singularly bellicose nature, and today was no exception. He wore jeans and a white tanktop that made me think with a sudden rush of heat of the Latino I had seen earlier. But Mr. Belisov was both much older than him, as old as I am, in fact, and his hair was a dark brown instead of black, and his face was large and full, with a two days' growth of beard forming a shadow around his jowls. His arms were large and sweaty-looking...well, there was no air-conditioning in this room where we were now, and it was quite warm...and his body exuded a palpable aroma of rank sweat that exuded from his pores and his clothes that were long overdue for washing. His arms were bare and showed their musculature even in repose, his breasts bulged out the tanktop as did the small pot-belly he had beneath, and somehow this was right for him, a part of his nature, that strong body that was so rippled in all other ways bearing this one patch of relaxation and flaccidity, it suited him far more than any set of washboard abs or taut, flat expanse possibly could, adding to his rather animal magnetism.

One large, grease-stained hand was draped carelessly in his lap, palm and fingers curled around his crotch quite unselfconsciously, as if he needed to hold onto it in order to control it. My eyes locked upon this position of his hand at first, and when I looked up at him, he was regarding me. I flushed and his face twisted up in a half-smile that showed a few tobacco-stained teeth.

"Mr. Belisov." I started off.

"Yeah?" he interrupted my intended flow with this monotonal utterance.

"Mr. Belisov, I have come down to complain to you." I nattered.

"Complain?" he couldn't seem to believe his ears, and his thick brows arced into a scowl upon his otherwise unmoving face.

"We have a leak in our wall that is staining our wallpaper and probably damaging who knows what else in the woodwork and I must insist that it be fixed and...and new wallpaper put up to replace the stained one."

"I fixed that leak two days ago." he said, turning back to his table and his beer, turning away from me and my problem.

I was startled at this proclamation before even issuing the ultimatum and was forced into a defensive action. "But, sir, the stain has grown larger."

"Water spilled when I fixed it, it has to dry out." he said. "But I fixed that leak." he finished with a tone of finality.

I found my mouth working like a fish out of water. "Then what about the wallpaper?" I asked.

"What about it?"

"It looks quite terrible." I said. "Honey's china is a delicate blue and that ugly brown stain on the white paper behind looks just awful."

"So what?" he said.

"So I think you should replace it." I said.

"No." he said simply.

I was in despair. Until that stain was gone, Honey would not rest. "Sir, I must insist that you replace the wallpaper." He turned to me and my courage puddled in my shoes. "Or at least give me some of the wallpaper so I can replace it."

"Buy some yourself."

"I've tried." I said. "The stores don't sell that pattern." It was a commercial brand only, I'd been told.

"Tough."

"Sir, I must insist." I said, but it was a weak, simpering sentence.

He turned on me, angry now, his face reddened. "You insist? You? Do you know how hard I work on this shit-ass building?"

"Sir, your language." I was horrified.

He ignored me. "I bust my ass on all these fucking little piss-ant problems. And now you want me to put up some new wallpaper. Well, what's in it for me?"

I was in full retreat by now. "Sir, I...I'll be happy to pay you for doing this." I remembered our flat checkbook. "Well, I can offer you something, I'm sure."

"Money! Hah!" he said. "I know you. If you had money, you would have paid a paperhanger by now. Run back upstairs with your tail between your legs. You don't have any money."

"Well, I don't have much."

"So what's in it for me?" he demanded, standing up and turning to face me.

I considered this. It was true that paying him money would be very difficult. "I...I could help you with your duties, evenings and weekends." I said. "I can do some of the more routine jobs...I think."

"Help me with my duties, huh?" he said, looking at me appraisingly. "Cut into your watching the guys across the street, wouldn't it?"

"Sir?" I said.

"I see you in that window every evening, staring across the street." he said triumphantly. "Watching those boys. I've seen the way you stare. You'd like to get hold of one of them, wouldn't you? Or should I say you'd like one of them to get hold of you."

"I...I don't know what you mean." I equivocated.

"I mean this!" he snarled, and he cupped his groin, hoisting its bulky mass up through his blue-jeans in a large oval of cloth-covered manmeat.

I looked down at that huge wad he had in his hands, and I licked my lips nervously.

"That's what I thought." he said and he began to unbutton his fly. I watched him, fascinated and horrified, frozen in place. The white jockstrap beneath was worn and semi-transparent, I could see the thick band of his cock and the dark bush of his pubic hair.

That aroma of his body hit me harder than ever, it was as if I were enveloped within some amorphous anaconda-like creature that coiled about me, drawing me to itself and so I moved without choice up to him and his smirk reappeared on his face. Then he grabbed his jockstrap by the side straps and shoved it down to his knees and I was looking at his bare cock.

It reached up from its downward drooping face like giraffe lifting its head up to regard me from its single eye that blossomed with a bulging iris that twinkled in the harsh overhead flourescent glare, a globule of precome that beckoned me down to it.

His hand came up to my shoulder and he pushed down upon me, growling, "Come on, suck it, you know you want to." but his remonstrations weren't needed; I dropped to my knees in a form of worship of this snake-god that called me to it in sacrifice, opened my mouth and guided by his head-priest-like hands onto the altar, I found that beatific vision of maleness sliding into me.

A powerful musk assailed my nostrils, concentrated sweat and unwashed skin and grease and oil and wood stain, that combined with his rank human sexual aroma to make something...something solid and concrete. It was a force beyond him and me, it was an entity unto itself, and this entity oversaw me and him, dominant and submissive, each in their proper places, and pronounced its benediction upon our joining.

When his cock hit the back of my throat and I stopped, he gave a gruff grunt and his hand on my shoulder gripped the back of my head and shoved me in deeper, I was to take all of it whether I would or no.

And so his engorged shaft crammed its head down my throat and into me, deeper, deeper, until I was thoroughly impaled upon him, until my only senses were of his cock within me, my eyes rammed against his crotch and seeing only his pubic hair, my nose shoved into the dense growth and smelling only his reek, my sense of touch overwhelmed by this odd feeling, the heavy, broad, thick prick that was in my mouth and my throat, dwarfing everything else, my ears hearing only his lusty groans.

"Yeah, come on, shithead, suck that dick, come on, you know you want to, you've always wanted to, fucker, so come on, suck it!"

He released me then, having bidden me to do my task, and I pulled back, my lips clinging to his velvet-encased pud unbidden, causing it to roil up like the lengths of a heavy cloth that have been unrolled from a bolt and are now being wadded back up onto the table, folding and buckling in upon itself, in that way did his foreskin wad itself up against the inside of my lips, catching and then being overcome by the overwadding so that they fled back over the glans in a sudden ripple of musky skin and then my lips caught at the base of the glans, and that huge cockhead was all that was within my mouth.

"Yeah, fucker, like that, like that." he moaned. "Come on, get to it!"

I began to work my mouth back and forth upon his cock, but I wasn't adept enough to suit him, he grabbed me suddenly in both hands and he began to hump at my face, now shoving his prong in and out of me hard and fast, my lips overcome and could only keep the grip tight as possible while this monstrous schlong pumped in and out of me, the cockhead slapping hard against the back of my mouth with each stroke.

"Uh, huh, uh, huh, uh!" he gasped out as he force-fucked my mouth. "Oh, yeah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Take it, motherfucker, suck that dick, suck it! Gah!"

He yanked his cock out of my mouth and I followed it up, connected by a silvery strand of my saliva that clung to the base of the shaft and to my tongue.

"Come on, get up!" he growled. "Come on!" He grabbed me under my arms as I began to comply and he thrust me face down upon his work bench. A pair of pliers lying there drove into my stomach, but I was allowed no chance to remove it, for he was now grabbing me from behind, his hands found and undid my belt and my pants were yanked open, the zipper cutting a swath of rasping discomfort down my own hardening cock, and then he was pulling my pants down, stripping my lower body of my trousers and my briefs at one time, getting me naked as fast as he could.

"Goddamn shit!" he grunted. "Coming down here on Sunday and griping at me in that prissy little cunt voice of yours. Why didn't you send down your wife, she's the one wears the pants in your family! Huh, but she sent you, didn't she? No real man gives a shit about china and wallpaper! Except little pussy-whipped dickheads like you!"

I didn't argue with his assertions, first because he was absolutely correct about my living situation, and second, he finished this torrent of invective and the next sensation to grip my brain and drive away any possibility of a response was that spit-slicked cockhead squeezing between my buttocks.

"Ah, damn you, spread those legs, open up, you little cunt!" he snarled. "Going to fuck you but good, you bastard! Come on, spread them!"

I spread my legs as well as I could and the next sensation was a single bright point of sheer and absolute pain as his cockhead plunged nilly-willy into my anus, and he was ripping me apart with a single, hard thrust into my bowels and a flower of white pain bloomed around that point like a bud bursting open at once.

"Huh, uh-gahhhhh!" I yelled.

"Go ahead and yell, you pussy!" Mr. Belisov groused. "Nobody can hear you over those air-conditioners blasting away, every apartment going full-tilt. Yell all you won't, can't anybody hear you!" And he shoved it in deeper.

When he finished shoving it in, not because of my screams of agony, he held still, me feeling much as if a baseball bat had been shoved into me blunt-end first, so that I wondered that I didn't split into half from its presence in my body. But he held it in there, buried completely within me, and after a time, the pain eased and I slumped down onto the work-bench top, tears streaming down my face.

"Yeah, you're my pussy now!" Mr. Belisov grumbled. "Feel that dick. It's all the fucking way inside you, just like you wanted it. Didn't you?"

"Yes!" I sobbed out. "Yes, oh, yes!"

You may wonder at my agreement upon this rather brutal violation. But though I have spoken only of the pain, which dominated my life at that instant, as it subsided, something else remained behind.

Rightness. It was right, his cock being inside of me. It was proper and correct, being plunged deep into my bowels, my lower body subordinated to him, giving him pleasure at his whim and according to his dictates. I cannot explain it better than that and to say this..that of all those times watching those boys playing ball across the street, all my nebulous feelings and enjoyment at watching their bodies exerting themselves in play, this was the core sensation that occasioned that enjoyment for all my prim and proper reasons that came to the surface, compensations and conceits for my mind unable to face the truth until this moment. The reason why I had been drawn to Honey despite her arrogant and brash ways, not that she was a man, but that as a woman like she was, I had no reason to pretend any feeling for her, and could sublimate my real feelings into obedience to her and in watching the boys at play. Hadn't I been the one who insisted upon this apartment upon seeing that view, surprising Honey and overbearing her that once, and once only before receding back into my docile and compliant attitude? Because I had dreamed of being around all those men, those sweating, strong men...men like Mr. Belisov.

So I whimpered out my total agreement and with that he began to fuck my ass. The pain renewed, though not as hard as before and I squelched my moans of anguish against my index finger which I bit upon to muffle the sounds from my throat.

Then I didn't need to muffle, for my body had accommodated itself to its new life, in service to Mr. Belisov's lusts, and he fucked me without hindrance and indeed I began to hunch backwards against him, trying to increase his pleasure and add to his enjoyment at taking my body for his desires, and he laughed at my moves to please him.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you, you prick?" he said as he gripped my hips with both grimy paws and began to rapid-fuck me.

"Yes! Oh, yes! Oh, please, fuck me!" I groaned out. "M-m-m-m-mh!"

"Well, Mr. Namby-pamby can grunt like a regular guy can he? At least with my cock in his butt, he can. Well, let's hear you grunt now!"

And he assailed my anus with his cock now, hard rough slaps that pummeled my buttocks and send that thrilling dong deeply into me with each thrust, so that the pliers beneath me, rocked by my body's movements upon it, began to add its own counterpoint to the proceedings, clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!

Even the table moved slightly within its screws that held it bolted together, giving out a low "whuh-uh, whuh-uh, whuh-uh" as he made each harsh jolting slam into me, his soiled hands rubbed grit onto my hips, his sweaty body dripped a cold rain of drops onto my tender buttocks.

Mr. Belisov had stopped his stream of abuse against my ears, his coarse harangue had converted into only groans of lust, he pummeled my ass harder and faster, so that I felt the sheer heat of his cock, the heat of the friction of his fucking, the coating saliva long gone so that now we were totally bound together as one and I felt his already-enormous cock seem to grow even larger and hotter, and then he gave out a long, low roar and I felt the hot stinging outpouring of his semen as it gushed into my broken bowels, pouring into my violated butt and all his power and his strength seemed to pour out of him along with the stinging jism.

Finished, he fell atop me and his hands stroked me in an almost tender embrace, stroking my chest and stomach until one of them happened upon my hard cock. I was startled by what he did then, with his expended and softening cock still pinning us together, he pumped my cock in his hard, calloused palm, and the complete generosity of this action, combined with the feel of his jizz that bubbled around his shaft inside my anus and the satiated hissing of his breath, all totaled up to one thing...that it was my time for pleasure. The thought brought the act, for fear he would quickly tire of this or take second thought and stop, and so my body seized this chance, this brief time of kindness from this hard, cruel man, and I felt my climax build within my brain as something separate from the thrilling joy from my cock as he stroked my prick, jerking me hard and fast, and I groaned, and my brain hit orgasm and my cock ejaculated in response, the sperm ejecting from me like so many hot sharp knives cutting their way out, nearly painful in their expulsion from my dick, and so I was brought to my own joy at Mr. Belisov's hand while he lay panting on top of me, securing me to his work table by the weight of his heavy body.

And it all still felt so completely, totally right. Right for the first time in my life.

When I was done, he pulled away and I felt suddenly bashful, the way that a common animal-type act can make a civilized man feel, and I hurriedly reached down and pulled up my pants and briefs together, the same way they had been pulled from me, and I didn't even stop to adjust the elastic band, I just pulled them both up, clasped and zipped my pants, refastened my belt and turned to face him.

He had already done up his own pants, so I was looking at a man that, except for a slight redness still to his face and a profusion of sweat upon his body so that his tanktop was plastered and transparent upon his chest, he was the same as ever.

"So you want new wallpaper?" He said to me.

"Oh, yes, please!" I said. Like him, I made no reference to our recent bestial behavior.

"Okay, tell your wife I'll put it in for her tomorrow. I got some of it left. And tell her I fixed that leak already."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." I said.

"Now get the hell out of here." he said. "I got some drinking to do."

I stopped at the base of the stairs. "Mr. Belisov?" I said hesitantly.

"Yeah?" he growled.

"May--May I come back again?"

I didn't dare look at him, but I heard that rough laugh. "Yeah, you can come back." he said. "Pussy."

"Thank you." I said and dashed up the stairs before he could change his mind. My ass ached horribly, but a hot soak in the tub convinced me both that I would live and that I wasn't bleeding overly much from his assault.

I finished the bath and was in clean clothes much like the ones I had worn before and back at the window watching the boys at play, when my wife returned from the estate sale.

"Did you have any luck with the Delft?" I asked her.

"No, but I found some nice things." Honey said. "What did the janitor say about the leak?"

"That's he's already fixed it and will put in new wallpaper for you tomorrow." I said.

"Did he give you a bad time about it?" she asked.

"Not at all." I said. "I spent a very nice time with him and I think he'll be much more friendly from now on."

"Wonderful!" she effused and I turned, to enjoy this good mood while it lasted.

I saw it then, the huge sink she had bought. It had a china-type decorative-enamel inlay, which was what undoubtedly attracted her to it.

"This sink will go wonderfully in our bathroom." she said. "I can redesign the entire bathroom around it by buying some tiles I saw at this sweet little Dutch-tile shop along the way...." She went on in this vein until I became worried about our finances and said something timid about that.

"Oh, no problem." she said. "You'll just talk Mr. Belisov into doing all the work."

"I will?" I was surprised.

"Oh, yes.!" she said. "Now that we know the way to get him to do things is for you to go down and see him, there's a lot that we can get done on this apartment."

And she fixed me with a steely eye. "Until we make this apartment the showcase it ought to be, I will expect you to be Mr. Belisov's constant companion. Do you understand me?" And that shrill tone re-entered her voice.

"Yes, dear." I said mildly. "You know my philosophy. Whatever my Honey wants, my Honey gets."

THE END