by Neil Plakcy
Stig leaned over to kiss me. “Don’t be sad,” he said. “It was the only way I could think to do it.”
I bought a ladder and propped it against the window. It was there for two weeks after they left. Then I took it away.
YOU MISSED A SPOT
Ryan Field
Kenneth J. Schenck was tall and lean and strong. His black hair was cut short; if you looked close you could see the beginnings of white specks popping up near his temples. He had a heavy dark beard, with five o’clock shadow surfacing almost two hours after a clean shave. When he stretched his forearms the muscles were long and sinewy. They were so well defined and prominent you could actually see the peaks and valleys where one muscle ended and another began. All this was a combination of genetics and his job in construction, and he was very proud of both.
He rented a nice house on Union Street, in the little town of Lambertville, New Jersey, and he was hoping to buy something soon. But all the money he made seemed to disappear on large payments for his black, extralarge extended pickup truck (with custom gold lettering on both sides that read KENNETH J. SCHENCK CUSTOM BUILDING). When Kenny built or renovated something it was unsurpassed.
When I met him, his wife had just left him for another man, mostly, as I later learned, because they didn’t have enough sex to suit her. He placed an ad in the local newspaper for a part-time housekeeper. Kenny had decided it was cheaper to pay someone to wash his dirty underwear than it was to keep buying new pairs.
I answered the ad on a Friday morning in late June, and we agreed on an interview the next morning. I made it clear that I was in college and could work any hours he needed during the summer months, but come September I’d have a full-time schedule and he’d have to work around it. He also mentioned that the house was slightly messy, and I told him not to worry about it. But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw that morning.
You couldn’t see the kitchen counter. It was covered with hard-crusted dishes, and pots and pans with burn marks on the bottom. The sink was filled with dirty glasses and wet garbage that smelled like sour milk. On the dining room tabletop there were newspapers and empty fast-food bags; half-filled soda cans and water bottles lined the end tables in the living room. When Kenny led me toward the sofa I had to push a pair of dirty sweat socks off to the side to sit down. He sat in a leather chair opposite me and spread his long, hairy legs as wide as they would go.
“I need someone to come in and keep house on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday,” he said. He held his chin in his palm and kept staring at the ceiling. Maybe the ripped jeans and skimpy black tank top I’d worn that morning had been a mistake. I knew he must have noticed that half of my tight, tanned ass was hanging out and ready for some guy to slip a hand up and grab a piece. I just figured I’d better show him right from the beginning that I liked to dress like a slut and that I wasn’t going to change for anyone. “Ah, I mean, if those days are okay with you that is,” he added.
I smiled. He was still staring toward the ceiling when I noticed that I could see his white briefs through the opening of his short pants. “Well, I guess I should start today then. From the looks of things around here it’s not a minute too soon either. And my name is Rick.” I’d only been joking, but when he lowered his head and creased his brows I was sorry I’d made the comment; he knew the place was a mess and didn’t need me to tell him.
“Ah, well,” he said, “I’m not much of a housekeeper. My wife left me and my son, and I work in construction and don’t have the time to deal with any of this.”
“You have a son?” I asked. I was good when it came to cleaning, but taking care of a child was not part of the plan.
“Ah, yeah,” he said. “But he’s usually with his grandparents. You won’t see him much.”
While we discussed money and when I’d get paid, I noticed his strong hairy legs; his hands were large and flat when he pressed them against his bare knees. When he spoke his voice was soft, but deep and strong, too. It occurred to me that Kenny, though he had to be at least fifteen years older, was the man of my dreams…rough and messy, a guy who worked in construction, a man with blisters on his palms and big strong legs that could leave black and blue marks on the backs of my thighs. “If you want me, I’ll be happy to start today, Kenny.”
“Ah, that would be good,” he said. “I have to go out for a while to look at a new job, but I’ll be back by three.” His expression was so pensive, with his mouth turned down at the corners and his eyebrows creased, as though he hadn’t smiled or relaxed in years.
We both stood and Kenny reached out to shake my hand. His grip was rugged and when he squeezed my palm I felt the lips of my ass twitch and tighten. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll have this place in great shape by the time you get back.”
I worked hard that first day, sniffing his dirty underwear and sweat socks before I tossed them into the washer, vacuuming every room, and organizing the small kitchen so that you could actually see the sink and countertop once again. And when he came home that afternoon he smiled and placed his hands on his hips as though he were in shock. “I can’t believe you did all this in one morning,” he said.
“Well, it really wasn’t all that bad,” I said, shrugging my shoulders with the bold lie. Then I lowered my eyes and smiled. “It was just a little messy, but you’re a busy man who doesn’t have time for unimportant things like house cleaning. That’s what I’m here for.”
He paid me for a full day’s work, thanked me too many times, and while I slowly walked out the front door I had a feeling he was staring at my ass the entire time. The next week I began a regular routine of showing up on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, always making sure I wore something very skimpy and tight. On the third Saturday I decided to wear a pair of tight white shorts you could practically see through, a loose-fitting black tank top that scooped down so low you could see my nipples, and a pair of black boots with a chunky three-inch heel. A slut suit for sure; the last time I’d worn that outfit to a bar, three guys from out of town bent me over the hood of my car, spread my shaved legs, and took turns fucking my brains out.
When I went into the house that morning Kenny was still sitting at the kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee. “Hey, Rick. I’ll be around today while you work. I’m finally getting around to fixing that back door that won’t open and close right. Hell, I’m in construction, and my own house is falling apart.”
I slowly turned and bent down to tighten my boot lace so he could see my ass. “Cool, would you like me to make you breakfast?”
He raised his hands in the air. “Oh, no, just this coffee and I’m going to start working, but thanks.”
I stood and leaned against the counter, but when I pressed my ass up against it I felt something strange; as though I’d backed into a mound of soft clay. When I reached back to touch my ass I realized I’d just backed into a glob of something soft and sticky. I looked at my hand, now smeared with warm, purple grape jelly.
“Oh, shit,” Kenny said, holding his fist to his lips, “My son must have forgotten to clean that up this morning.”
I turned around and showed him my ass. “Is it really bad?”
“Ah, well, it’s kind of all over the place,” he said.
At first it occurred to me that I could ask him to help me clean it off; he could get my ass all wet and soapy; I wanted his big strong hands rubbing and stroking me. But then I had a better idea. “Do you mind if I just slip out of these shorts and work in my underwear today? I can toss them into the washing machine and they won’t stain.”
“Oh, my, well, I guess that’s okay,” he said. But he was staring at the ceiling again, as though the thought of me walking around in my underwear was too much to handle.
So I slipped out of my shorts as quickly as I could and stood there wearing nothing below the waist but a white silk thong and a big smile. I had to concentrate as hard as I could to not get a full erection and act as though I were just another guy changing his
clothes in the locker room. I turned toward the sink and began to rinse the stained shorts with cold water. My bare ass was now facing him; I spread my legs a little and arched my back when I reached for the dish soap. “You’re sure this is okay? If I’d known I’d be working in my underwear today I would have worn something a little more conservative.”
“Ah, well, I guess I’d better get to work on the back door,” he said.
When he stood he banged his big knee into the Formica table and knocked it out of place. He couldn’t look at me and didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. He wore loose tan shorts, a white T-shirt, and his usual construction boots with white socks that morning. As he walked toward the laundry room where the back door was located I said, “If you need anything or want anything just let me know.”
“Sure thing,” he said, but I suspected he couldn’t get away from my nude ass fast enough.
About an hour later, while I was down on all fours washing the kitchen floor, I heard a loud bang and then a yell. And then Kenny came rushing through the kitchen and crossed over to the sink. He’d banged his right index finger with the hammer and needed to run it under cold water.
I jumped up and rushed toward him. “Is it bleeding?”
“No,” he said, “I just hit it pretty hard.”
I turned on the cold water, gently grabbed his hand, and said, “Let me take a look.” I shoved it under the ice-cold water and began to massage and relax his hand. “Is that better?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That feels really good.”
His fingers relaxed and I began to massage the entire hand, working my way up his rock-hard forearm. “You’ll feel better in a few minutes,” I said. But he didn’t reply. Instead he leaned forward and reached for my ass with his left hand. He placed his palm right on my ass crack and grabbed a handful. While he squeezed and jerked my asscheeks I arched my back and continued to massage his thick fingers. A moment later I pulled his hand from the sink, pressed his wet, bruised finger to my lips, and began to suck it gently. While I sucked and rolled my tongue up and down the base of his right index finger, his left middle finger found my tight pink hole. He moved the thong string to one side and began to work the tip into my hole. I spread my legs wider and sucked harder on his finger. With one hard thrust he slid his thick finger all the way up my wet hole; I sucked hard on his other finger and began to moan with my eyes closed. He slowly circled the inside of my ass, exploring all the right places. My nipples became rock hard and my cock went rigid and began to jump on its own.
“How’s that?” he whispered. His breath was hot and smelled like spearmint.
But I could barely utter a word. My mouth fell open and all that came out was, “Ahhhhh…to the left a little; you missed a spot.”
He laughed, and then probed to the left with his finger. I moaned and begged for more. But he needed to get off badly so he pulled his finger out of my ass and immediately began to drop his short pants. They fell to his ankles and he stepped out of them and kicked them across the floor. He wore pale blue boxer shorts; a huge cock with a large round head popped from the open fly. From experience, I knew and understood that because he was such a straight-acting construction dude (what I liked most about him) he’d probably keep his boots on and wouldn’t bother to undress completely (some of the guys I’d had in the past only pulled down their zippers and bent me over). But I also knew they liked me to be completely naked and on my knees in front of them. So I stripped down to nothing right there in the middle of his kitchen.
“Ah, well,” he said. “You have a great chest and a really thin waist.” He cupped both my pecs in his palms and began to squeeze and play with them as though molding clay, pushing them up together to form cleavage. I moaned again and pressed my palms against his wide chest when he leaned forward to bite my chest muscles.
“I work my chest hard at the gym,” I said. I didn’t mention that I starved myself to keep a twenty-nine-inch waist or that I did leg squats until my legs were raw so my ass would bubble and bounce like a basketball.
“And not a hair anywhere,” he said.
“I’m not very hairy,” I lied. I didn’t bother to mention I shaved every last inch of my body so guys like him could get off.
When he was finished playing with my tits I went down on my knees. I spread my legs, leaned forward, and sucked his nine-inch hammer all the way down my throat. It tasted salty; he’d been sweating while fixing the back door. His dick smelled a little like aged cheese and wet towels. I sucked gently, but with intensity, and never missed a beat. He spread his legs and stood as though he were about to take a piss. The head of his cock was about to explode; I could tell he hadn’t been sucked off in quite a while. I reached down between my legs and began to jerk my own cock while I continued to slurp away on his. I had a mission: keep it wet and suck it with the same rhythm.
In the beginning I’d been hoping to suck him off for a few minutes, but to eventually finish with him fucking my ass. But he was so excited and so ready to shoot a load down my throat I didn’t have the heart to break the momentum (the wife probably never sucked him off; if I had to guess I’d say he’d never had a good blow job). Though my ass was begging for a big dick that day, I was thoroughly enjoying the taste of his salty precum. But more than that, I hadn’t swallowed a full load of juice in a while so my motives were slightly selfish, too.
“I’m getting real close. Is it okay if…?” he began to ask, ready to blow his load down my throat. He didn’t have to ask, but I liked that he’d been considerate enough to check.
I nodded, still sucking, that it was fine with me. It wasn’t always easy finding a guy who could actually cum in my mouth. So many usually like to get sucked off and then jerk off all over my lips. I don’t mind licking the cum off their cocks after they’ve jerked off, but sometimes it’s nice when a guy just shoots a load down your throat without touching himself.
While I jerked my cock I began the final, speedy sucking techniques I’d mastered. And he began to moan, “Yes…oh, yeah.” His legs started to quiver and he grabbed my head in the palms of his hands. I gently pressed one hand to his strong thigh and rubbed it while the head of his big dick began to swell against my tongue; I stopped jerking myself off because I didn’t want to cum before him.
“Here it comes,” he whispered. His eyes were closed and his knees began to bend.
I quickly cupped his bull-sized balls in my hand; he blew his cream into my mouth so hard and fast I actually felt it hit the back of my throat. At that point I touched my cock and shot a full load all over the tile floor. After I came I pressed my palms against his hairy thighs and continued to suck out every last drop. He wasn’t one of those sensitive types who has to pull out the minute he orgasms. Kenny liked depositing every last drop into my mouth. From the way he continued to moan and sigh, I think the after-sucking was the best part for him.
Finally, when his dick was semisoft against my tongue he pulled out and I gave it a few final licks to make sure I hadn’t let a drop go to waste. He reached down and took my elbow in his palm so that I could stand again. “Ah, Rick,” he said, “I never expected that.” His voice was soft and deep; I reached down and grabbed his limp cock and balls and gently massaged them.
“Was it okay?” I asked, giving him a helpless, innocent look.
“Ah, well, that was pretty good,” he said.
I smiled. “Why don’t you go lie down on the sofa and I’ll get a wet rag and wash between your legs. It will be relaxing.”
His eyes bugged and his eyebrows arched at the thought of this. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t get dressed yet. Stay naked. I like to see you walk around like that in the house.” He reached around and cupped my ass with his hand.
I leaned forward and whispered, “Only if you promise to fuck me in an hour or so.”
“Ah, well, I think I can take care of that,” he said. Then he smiled and gently slapped my ass.
VERTIGO
A. Steele
“Sure is.” Conrad knew his own smile was tepid, at best. It was a great view. Only a few office buildings, all lower than this one, stood between him and the bay. It would be even greater when a nice thick pane of glass stood between him and the forty-foot drop.
“They need to know how you plan to arrange your desk and stuff,” Marv said with bubbly enthusiasm. “Gotta pull the cables.” He walked across the plywood subfloor, right to the edge of the roughed-out room. “You’ll want your desk here, yeah?” he asked, pointing to a spot about six feet from the gaping, glassless hole.
Marv looked up from his study of the floor and seemed surprised that Conrad hadn’t followed him. “What are you doing?
Get over here.”
His gaze left Conrad. Thus, he missed the spasm of terror that crossed the younger man’s face. “Rafe,” Marv called to one of the guys gathered next to the elevator shaft. “You got the floor plans handy?”
“You bet. Hang on one sec,” answered a husky-deep, deeply Southern voice. To his crew the foreman said, “Why don’t we break for lunch? Pick me up a gyro, would’ya, Jim?”
Conrad’s attention flicked to the fellow left behind as the rest of the plastic-hat pack trooped down the stairs. Marv—short and plump by the kindest of descriptions—looked positively dwarfed by the very tall, very black man who ambled over to stand beside him.
“What did you wanna see, Mr. Shane?” Rafe asked. With the grace of a dancer, he dropped to one knee and unrolled a set of blueprints on the floor.
His hard hat was white, the same dirt-streaked, hard-worn white as the T-shirt that stuck to his body like a second skin, showing off perfect muscles in his back and shoulders. There was a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the tee’s cuff, which probably accounted for that wonderful, molasses-over-gravel voice. Gold shone in Rafe’s ear, making his complexion seem especially dark in comparison.