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Sean and Luther (Part 2): Sean at Work
Everything changed after that afternoon with Luther. I couldn't believe what had just happened. It was like something out of my wildest fantasies, beyond my wildest fantasies. A huge, burly, muscular black man had finger-banged my throat AND I had cum without touching myself AND I had eaten my own load. What had he done to me? It was as if a door had opened in my mind and I could see a whole other world beyond it. I was eager to explore and learn and discover all that world had to offer.
I made a mental note to thank Sara for the brownie and get some more. If I was going to have "real fun" with Luther, I'd probably need to be ready. If that bulge in his sweatpants was any indication, I'd need some practice too before attempting to take that thing. A lot of practice!
I cleaned up the mess I'd made in the kitchen, and headed upstairs. I fell asleep watching Rick and Morty on my laptop.
When I woke up, it was pitch black outside. I glanced out my bedroom window and saw my mom's car in the driveway. I grabbed my phone and saw that it was well past 10 PM. My throat was a little sore, but in a good way. Tossing a shirt and some basketball shorts on, I made my way downstairs. My mom was watching a late show, some Hollywood actress with otherworldly perfect features was smiling out at her adoring audience, talking up her next film.
"Hey, mom," I said.
"Hey, hon. Thanks for handling the plumber today. Shower's working again. He did a good job."
Yeah he did, I thought to myself, smiling.
"That's good. Can I get you another?" I asked, noticing her nearly empty glass of white wine.
She held up the wine glass and I took it from her, refilling it at the fridge. I poured myself a glass of water and lingered for a moment at the kitchen island. Had that really happened? I shook my head in disbelief. Everything looked the same as ever, but I saw it with new eyes. I felt like I'd lost my virginity all over again. My throat virginity. Is that a thing? I don't know. All I know is my throat is connected directly to my dick in a way I hadn't quite expected.
"I've decided to take the weekend off, go for a drive up the coast with Chuck," my mom said, talking more to the TV than me. Chuck, her boyfriend. Total douchebag asshole. I've only met him a couple times and all he talked about was which colleges I should be going to instead of UCLA if I really wanted to get ahead in life. Everything he said sounded like he was talking down to me. I don't know what she sees in him. He has a nice body, and wears nice suits, drives a nice car, but he is not a nice guy.
I carried the wine out to her and flopped down next to her on the couch.
She smiled and thanked me, patted my knee gently.
"Have a good day?" She turned the TV down, so low we couldn't hear the interview.
"Yeah it was alright." Best day of my life actually.
"That's good."
"Yours? Did the emergency at work get resolved?"
She sipped her wine, nodded.
"Everything worked out, yep. Turned out it wasn't as bad as we had thought. I got home earlier than I expected. I was going to surprise you with a nice dinner but when I got home you were already asleep. Her lips are so big. Don't you think? Too big."
"What?"
"This actress? Look at her mouth. That can't be natural."
I glanced at the TV and agreed. I touched my own perfectly ordinary lips, curious what it would feel like to have those DSL's.
"No way. Totally fake. That's what it takes to get ahead in Hollywood today though, right?"
"I guess. Just makes it harder for the rest of us."
She continued sipping her wine. I could tell she was thinking about my dad. She'd been a lot sadder since they'd divorced. Not depressed, exactly, but less excited about life.
"She looks freaky," I say, laughing. "Like some sort of sex doll or something."
"What do YOU know about sex dolls?" My mom laughed.
I scoffed.
"I don't have one, if that's what you're asking." But I want to be one. A sex toy for anybody who wants to fuck me.
"I wasn't. But good. You could have any girl you wanted, you don't need to waste your time with a plastic one. Rubber. Whatever."
"Or guy," I correct her. "And Latex. I think."
"Or guy. Right. Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. You know what I meant."
I grab the remote and change the channel.
"I know, mom. No big deal. So the plumber got the shower all fixed?"
"Yep. He did good work," she said. Yeah he certainly did, I thought. More than good.
"I might call him around again to work on the washer in the basement. It's been acting up. And the drain is slow. Lots of things. What are you smiling about?"
"I uh ... that commercial that was just on. Nothing." I pointed at the TV, changing the subject.
She eyed me curiously.
"Who are you thinking about?" She pressed. She always could read my face like a supermarket tabloid.
I could feel myself blushing.
"Mom, it's nothing. Leave it."
"You know you can talk to me about this stuff. We're both adults. If you're seeing someone, I want to meet them is all. Is it ... are they ... I never know what to say."
"Just someone at school, from last semester. That's all. We've been texting." I lied.
"Oh." She said. "Oh I see. Well, you should invite them over for dinner. I can make ... something." My mom's cooking skills were limited. Meatloaf. Lasagna.
I leaned back on the couch, having settled on an old episode of The Simpsons. Homer was gaining weight so that he could work at home. One of my favorites. I couldn't help but focus on his belly. So round. Had I noticed that when I was younger? The way his belly filled the space between his shirt and pants reminded me of Luther. Was everything going to remind me of him from now on? Fuck. I licked my lips and swallowed. I could still taste his fingers.
"What do you think?"
"About? Oh. Yeah. I supposed I could invite him over." This imaginary boyfriend I'd been texting. I hope you're hungry, imaginary boyfriend. My mom made garlic bread shredded cheese straight from the bag. What's that, imaginary boyfriend? You're lactose intolerant? That's a shame. More for me I guess!
"I'm serious, Sean," my mother sighed. "Let me meet him. I'm curious to know about your friends and your life at school. You never tell me anything anymore. Remember how close we used to be, when you were a kid? I miss that."
I stared at the TV. We were at the point of the evening where my mom had too much wine, got maudlin, and fell asleep on the couch. I stood and walked around the couch to stand behind her, kissed her on the top of the head.
"Okay," I said. "Okay I'll ask him. Time for bed, mom."
"You're right," she sighed, handing me the half-finished glass of wine. "Don't stay up too late, hon. I'll see you in the morning. Working tomorrow?"
"Yeah I'm on in the morning." We were scheduled to receive a delivery of potting soil, which always made for a fun, sweaty day. Heavy lifting for minimum wage. Whee!
"Hard work is good for you. It builds character." She said.
"The more you know," I sing-singed.
She rolled her eyes.
"Night, smart-ass," My mom clicked the TV off and made her way to her room. "See you in the morning."
"`Night, mom."
I rinsed her wine glass out and placed it in the dishwasher. Before heading upstairs I stared out at the pool. I loved the way it looked at night, all lit up.
Back upstairs in my room I texted Sara, shared with her all the dirty details of what had transpired that afternoon. Her response was exactly what I expected.
Sara: YOU SLUT :D
Sean: You seriously should have seen this man he was so big
Sara: Stop you're making me jealous. I love a big man.
Sean: Huge. Gigantic.
Sara: So you gonna call him? Have him come over and work on your pipe?
Sean: Ha ha.
Sean: Also yes. I'm kind of scared though. You know that picture of the hamster eating a banana?
Sara: LOL enough said
Sean: Exactly
Sara: Well you just got to practice is all. Suck a lot of dicks. I mean like a lot.
Sean: You're a terrible influence. Someone should make an After School Special about not listening to you.
Sara: You're a GAY guy in COLLEGE you should be sucking dicks all the time. Suck ALL the dicks
Sean: I'm BI TYVM.
Sara: I know I know my bad FUCK ALL THE THINGS
Sean: Where should I find all these myriad dicks I'm to be sucking?
Sara: Grindr? Scruff? Woofstr? THat's a thing right? I procure my D on Tinder, but I would not recommend it. It is not top quality D
Sean: Too many trolls and bots.
Sara: Well then I guess you're going to have to find dick out in the wild, like they did in the 80s or something
Sean: Maybe we should go to Urge this weekend. We haven't been there in a minute.
Sara: Hell yeah that's the spirit. Lets go clubbing
Sean: Gotta get some fun in before class starts up again
Sara: You could suck so many dicks before class starts then more after class starts. Maybe even DURING class. ooh
Sean: Stop
Sara: Gotta get ready for Luther. So did it look more like a summer sausage or more like a bowling pin?
Sean: Stop. Jesus. Goodnight.
Sara: Boo you whore. Whatever you love it.
I sent four eggplant emojis and turned off my screen. I tossed the phone onto my nightstand and flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The phone chimed a few times in quick succession as Sara responded, but I ignored them and closed my eyes. I pulled Luther's card out of my pocket and held it on my chest, tracing its shape, imagining what was to come.
The next morning my mom and I made pancakes and bloody marys. Chuck was on his way to pick her up, and she was practically glowing with excitement. She'd done her hair up in a silk scarf and was wearing a tank top and capri pants. She looked beautiful. We may not be as close as we used to be, but I was happy to see her happy. I'm not Chuck's biggest fan, but I'm thankful that he can bring this out in her.
"Where will you drive?"
"Oh I don't know. Santa Barbara or something. There's some great antique stores there."
"Fun. I'll be unloading literally a million bags of potting soil. I'm jealous."
"I'm sorry, hon. If you weren't working you could join us. I'm sure Chuck would --"
"I'm good, mom. Really."
"You'd like him if you got to know him. He's a great guy."
A car horn honked out Shave and a Haircut. I rolled my eyes.
"I'll take your word for it, mom," I laughed.
She downed the rest of her bloody Mary, quickly applied some lipstick using the reflective microwave door as a mirror. As she grabbed her purse off the stool by the front door, she called out,
"Have a great day at work, hon. I'll be back tomorrow night. If you have any wild parties just be sure to clean up afterward, okay?"
"Good one," I said to the empty room. I've never thrown a party, let alone a wild one. I played some GTA V, wreaking havoc in Los Santos as Michael for a couple of hours before heading off to work on my bike. I didn't have a car, didn't need the expense. The hardware store was only a couple of miles away and biking kept my legs and ass in good shape. I was wearing my favorite shorts, the floral board shorts that cupped my ass and made my cakes look extra bubbly, and a loose tank top. Carlson's hardware had no dress code, Mr. C liked to keep it casual, and the customers were more comfortable because of it. As far as jobs go, there are worse places to work. I could never work in a place with a uniform, or a stuffy beige office cubicle. Ben's dad had hired me without an interview, because he'd been a close friend of the family since before I was born. Ben and I had been born around the same time, and had grown up together, so we were practically family. I didn't have any siblings, but he was as close as I was going to come. In fact, I was closer with Mr. Carlson than I had been with my biological father, who I rarely spoke to nowadays.
Mr. Carlson and his wife, Sandy, had really stepped up after my parents divorced, and was a regular fixture around our home for years afterward. When I was old enough to get a job and start helping my mom out, he gladly took me on, and taught me the ropes of working at a hardware store. When I came out to my mom, I came out to him as well. His reaction was everything I'd hoped and could ask for. He'd always suspected I might be a little different than the "other boys" but figured it was no big deal.
"Whatever makes you happy, kid," was all he'd said. He always called me kid.
I hopped off my bike and entered the store through the front. It was still early so no customers were in the store, but I could hear Mr Carlson whistling back in his office. Carlson Hardware isn't exactly a huge store, it's not a chain or a franchise, but we're on a busy street and have a lot of loyal customers, so the store does alright. I walked my bike through the narrow central aisle toward the back room, pushing through the swinging doors, calling out to Mr. Carlson as I entered the cool, slightly dark back room.
"Hey, kid. Big shipment coming in later. Hope you're ready to work hard today."
"Always, Mr. C.," I called back, leaning my bike against the wall near his office door.
His door was ajar as always, the time clock and schedule were on the wall just outside of it. I punched in, noting that Tommy was going to be coming in at 1PM. I knocked quietly on the door, entering before waiting for Mr. Carlson to respond.
His desk was a mess of papers, invoices and carbon copies of receipts, fast food bags, empty soda bottles, a coffee mug that said World's Best Boss, general clutter and chaos. What he boasted in business acumen, he lacked in organizational skills and housekeeping. I didn't mind. I sat in the chair facing his desk and waited while he counted out the cash drawer, our morning ritual. Normally I would stare at my phone, fuck around on Facebook for a couple of minutes, take a dumb selfie, but today was different.
Instead of his usual plaid shirt, Mr. Carlson was wearing a tight crisp cotton T-shirt. It looked brand new. Something about the way it hugged his frame reminded me of Luther and suddenly I was back in the kitchen at home, leaning back, getting my throat finger fucked by the giant plumber.
I must have made a noise because Mr. Carlson shot me a curious look, raising an eyebrow.
"Everything okay, kid? You seem distracted."
"Yeah. No. I'm fine, Mr. C. Just thinking about something."
"Anything you want to get off your chest? You know you can talk to me about anything."
He paused in counting out the drawer and leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. I felt as if I was noticing him for the first time.
Randall Carlson had spent his twenties as a construction worker and contractor, before settling down and opening his hardware store in his thirties. That much I knew. I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from his broad chest, obviously hairy and well-muscled under the T-shirt. His arms, equally hairy, were the arms you would expect of someone who'd spent years lifting and hauling, hammering and building; strong, defined. A faded tattoo peeked out from beneath the hem of his sleeve, stretched taut around his solid bicep. And his hands. How had I never noticed them before? Like Luther, Mr. Carlson's fingers were thick-knuckled, hairy, callused and strong. I could practically feel Luther's fingers working my throat open. Had that really been only a few hours ago? My boss wasn't as large as Luther, not even close, but then again who was? That man is practically a giant.
Mr. Carlson cleared his throat. His eyes eyed me intensely, his brow heavy with genuine concern.
"No nothing. Sorry. Just didn't sleep well," I offered. "I had really Intense dreams."
"Ah I see. Well," he resumed counting out the draw, straightening a stack of one dollar bills before slipping them into the drawer. "Just don't let it interfere with your work or there'll be trouble."
I laughed.
"Right, Mr. C. Don't worry. I just need some coffee."
He handed me the cash drawer and waved me out of his office.
"I made a fresh pot in the break room. Grab a mug before you head up to the front. Now," he stood from behind the desk, and I had to bite back a moan. He was wearing his worn out black Carhartt work pants, prepared to do a lot of lifting and carrying when the shipment arrived, I guess. His torso "Get outta here and go make us rich, kid."
"Sure thing, Mr. C.," I responded, doing my best to put one foot in front of the other as I left his office. Luther had really fucked me up! He hadn't just fucked my mouth he'd fucked my mind. I had barely noticed Mr. Carlson as a MAN before, as he hadn't been exactly my type, and was more like a father, but since yesterday all I can think about is thick fingers in my throat, a hefty bulge in tight pants, hairy chests ... fuck. I couldn't believe I was even considering it, but I wanted Mr. Carlson to be one of my "practice" cocks.
I shook my head. What was I thinking? He's practically my father. I mean he's not, my real father I mean, but he practically raised me. Taught me right from wrong, taught me to ride a bike, hit a ball, all the things a father teaches a son. For all intents and purposes he WAS my father, after a fashion. I couldn't seriously be considering hauling his heavy, thick, beer can cock out of his pants, gripping it with both hands, kneeling between his powerful legs and ... god damn it. I was. It's all I was thinking about. God fucking damn it.
I practically ran to the front of the store. I had to get away from Mr. Carlson's office as fast as I could or I was going to tear his pants off. How am I still so horny? I came twice yesterday. Or was it three times? I'd lost count. Luther had taken up residence in my brain and left room for little else.
As I slid the cash drawer into the register two regulars entered the store, a gay couple who lived just up the street and were always working on improving their enviable front garden. They knew their way around the store as good or better than I did. They nodded hello and made their way to the container gardening section.
"Just here for some terra cotta, Sean. Miss thing over here went and dropped a whole stack of my favorite pots."
"Your favorites? Those pots have been in the shed for years. They were covered in cobwebs and dust an inch thick."
"And they were my FAVORITES."
The old couple continued to bicker their way through the store. I sipped my coffee, savoring the heat on my tongue. Eagerly anticipating the kick of caffeine that would carry me through the morning. Outside I could see the truck pulling into the driveway and making its way around the back of the store. The phone next to the register lit up, and I answered it. It was Mr. C. calling from his office.
"Delivery's here. I could use a hand as soon as you're free."
"Sure thing, Mr. C. Be there when I can."
A hand, huh? I'll give you two. And a tongue and my mouth and my throat and boom I was rock hard.
I hung up the phone just as the couple from up the street began stacking pots on the counter. They bickered as I rang them up, bickered as I loaded their pots into a cardboard flat, and bickered on their way out the door, pausing only to call out their thanks.
I made my way to the back of the store and found Mr. Carlson chatting with the delivery driver, a short, rotund man with a thick beard and tired eyes. The driver gave him a receipt and they shook hands and then we were alone with 4 pallets of potting soil to unload and organize. We were able to make short work of the task, given Mr. Carlson's strong back and my strong legs. He loaded up a cart of bags which I wheeled to the front of the store and unloaded, listening for the door chime which would signify a customer entering the store. Mornings were generally quiet, though, and this morning was no different. Things would pick up later in the day.
After unloading the final cart I made my way back to the stock room to find Mr. Carlson wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt, his lower torso revealed in all its glory. He sported the ultimate dad bod, and a thick pile of fur, abs still slightly visible under a generous padding of fat. His waist was trim, and his pants had slipped down a bit, his treasure trail clearly in view. My mouth fell open, and the swinging door clapped closed behind me.
"How's that coffee treating you," he asked, lowering his shirt. I did my best to act like I hadn't noticed but it was clear by his expression that he had caught me. "Thinking a little clearer?"
"Yeah. Sure am. That the only delivery we're getting today?"
"Yep. Hey, this fell out of your pocket," he said, pulling a business card out of his Carhartts.
Luther's business card.
"Oh that's ... that's nothing. You can throw it away." I'm such a bad liar.
Flash of Luther's dark eyes as he finger banged my throat. His deep voice in my ears as I exploded in my shorts. I'd kept the card as a touchstone to bring me back to that moment. I didn't know yet if I would ever have the balls to call Luther for "real fun", but I would always have the memory of having my throat fucked by his monster fingers.
OH SHIT. I suddenly recalled Luther's message on the card.
"So it is yours. I was wondering. I didn't know, but, well." He grinned. "So tell me about this Luther. He a good guy?" Mr. Carlson cleared his throat, trying to be nonchalant.
I didn't respond, looked at my feet. I could feel my ears burning.
"It's none of my business. I get it. I just want you to know you can talk to me about anything. I know what it's like trying to figure things out when you're young."
I laughed.
"Right. And just when you think you've got something figured out, everything changes," I responded, unable to stop myself.
Mr. Carlson smiled.
"Ain't that the truth, kid," he said, holding out Luther's card, which I accepted sheepishly and slid into my breast pocket. "Ain't that the fucking truth."
He rested his hand on my shoulder for a moment and went into his office.
"I'm gonna take a little break. Unloading all that soil really took it out of me. Let me know if you need me up front."
I glanced at the time clock on the wall near his office and noticed it was close to 11. We'd spent nearly two hours on the potting soil delivery. Tommy wasn't due in for another couple hours. I made my way up to the front of the store and puttered around a bit, straightening shelves, sweeping, dusting. Other than the gay couple from up the block and a woman who had come in to get some keys made, we hadn't had another customer. The phone rang, and when I answered "Carlson Hardware, Sean speaking" I was greeted with Sandy Carlson's chipper voice. She was always happy, it seemed. I don't think I'd ever seen her frown.
"Hey, Sean."
"Hey, Mrs. C."
"Hey would you tell my husband that I'm making a roast tonight, and not to fill up on junk food or stop at McDonald's like he usually does. Ben's dropping by for a visit and I want us all to have a nice family dinner. Hey! Why don't you and your mom come too. We can make it a party."
"That's nice of you, but my mom's out of town and I --"
"Ah good for her. Nice to get away," Sandy interrupted. "So you'll be there? I'm sure Randy wouldn't mind giving you a ride, if you need one."
I bit my lip.
"I've got plans already, Mrs. C. Sorry."
"Plans?" She queried.
"Yeah Sara and me are going to -- we're going out tonight."
"Sara and I," she corrected. Sandy Carlson was an English teacher, 24/7. "Bring her! I'll open some wine we'll all have a nice evening."
"That's -- I'll ask her, Mrs. C. Thank you for the invite but no hard feelings if we can't make it, okay?"
"Okay," she related, barely hiding disappointment in her voice. "Thanks for relaying my message to Randy, and hopefully I'll see you all later!"
"Will do, Mrs. C. See you later."
I clicked the button to dial Mr. C's office and relay the message, but he didn't pick up. Weird. He usually answered right away. He was slightly compulsive about getting the phone on the first or second ring, something Ben and I liked to tease him about. I glanced out the front window to see if any customers were on there way in, and seeing no one, made my way back to his office to deliver the message in person.
His door was closed. I could hear his chair creaking from the other side. Was that music? I knocked lightly, waiting to hear him call out to enter, but he didn't. I knocked again. No response.
That's when I started worrying that maybe he was in trouble. He hadn't answered his phone, wasn't answering the door. What if he'd had a heart attack or something from exerting himself with the potting soil delivery? But then again what if he just wanted some privacy, a few minutes to himself? My mind was racing and I didn't know what to do, so I erred on the side of caution and slowly opened the door, just enough to let him know I was there. He didn't respond so I called out,
"Hey, Mr. C? Your wife called and --" I peeked in the door, and It was suddenly clear why he hadn't responded to the phone or my knocks.
"Fuckin' take that cock you slut, yeah. You like that big black dick don't you?" Mr. Carlson had his back to the door and had his earbuds in. On his computer screen I could see a Pornhub video playing, and a strawberry-blonde woman was getting her ass absolutely destroyed by one of the biggest, angriest looking cocks I'd ever seen. I didn't recognize the video, but I recognized the guy fucking her immediately. I'd jerked off to his videos a number of times. I've never taken a cock even close to as big as he's got, but a boy can dream. Mr. C was leaning back in his chair, and I could see him pumping away. I felt guilty watching this private moment, but couldn't tear myself away. Over his shoulder I could see that Mr. Carlson was enviably endowed himself. I could barely hear the sounds of the video myself.
"Fill that ass up yeah take it all." The small office was silent except for the sound of my boss's chair creaking, the slick, wet slapping of his lubed up dick, and his steady stream of dirty talk. I was rock hard in my pants now. Tunnel vision had taken over. I could barely resist crossing the small room and helping him out. I was at war with myself in this moment. This man was practically my father, but wasn't really. He WAS married, though, and a friend of the family. I couldn't do that to Sandy, could I? Then again, if she was keeping him happy at home, why was he here jerking off in his office at work? Outwardly they appeared to be the perfect couple, but maybe they weren't? I was racked with indecision, and fear. What if I tried something and he freaked out?
"You like that big dick you dirty bitch, huh? Taking that black dick while your man's at work? You filthy slut. Letting that stranger destroy your pussy like that yeah"
His eyes were intently focused on the computer screen. He had no idea I was standing a few feet behind him. I was completely hypnotized by his slow, methodical pumping. I gripped the door knob tightly, my palm slick with nervousness, imagining it was the fat head of his sizable dick. I held my breath, unable to move. I gripped my boner through my shorts, one eye on Mr. C and his massive daddy dick, his powerful shoulders, one eye on the computer monitor. I tend to favor gay porn for jerking off, throat fucking, anal, but every once in a while I will watch a straight scene. I always imagine I'm the chick in these movies. I've often wondered what it feels like to get fucked that hard.
I couldn't take it any more. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but I made a move. I stepped fully into Mr. C's office, took a deep breath, and closed the door behind me, loud enough that he could hear it over the sound of the video through his earbuds. His reaction was immediate. He went to cover up, close his shirt, reached for anything to cover himself with, which turned out to be an old chip bag which he slipped down over his dick. His face was red, his eyes glinting with embarrassment, his cheeks flushed.
"Sean whoa hey, kid, what are you doing back here? You're supposed to be up front." He cleared his throat. "I was just uh -- well, fuck, I guess it's obvious what I was doing."
I waved my hand. "Sticking your dick in a Doritos bag? I've seen some freaky stuff, Mr. C, but that's new to me."
Mr. C shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Right. Well. You should head on back to the front and --"
I laughed. "It's no big deal, Mr. C. I get it. You've got needs like any man."
I stepped forward. Slowly. I was a man possessed, and Mr. C was a man in need.
"Sean. Whoa," he put a hand out as I came around the desk. He had his pants around his ankles, his work boots still on. His body was on full display, furry as a shag rug, his impressive dick sheathed in an old chip bag. I grinned down at it, and locked eyes with Mr. C as if to ask, "So?"
Mr C shifted his weight, the bag stayed in place. He was still hard under there, so he couldn't be that uncomfortable. I lowered myself into a kneeling position, lifted my eyes. Mr. C swallowed and just shook his head.
"Sean, we can't. We --I --," he began. I licked my lips. The woman on screen was wailing now, as the freaky huge cock had finally bottomed out in her and was in the process of rearranging her cervix. Mr C moved to turn it down, but I stopped him with a hand on his leg. I just held it there, staring up at him. The chip bag sat like a gift waiting to be unwrapped between us.
"This isn't right, Sean. Sandy and I have an understanding, of course, but you -- You're -- you're practically my son."
"Then stop me," I said, sliding my hand up. "If you don't want me to help you out here, you're in control. Tell me what to do, Mr. C." I licked my lips. I put my other hand on his other leg, and gently eased his legs apart. He sighed.
"You really want to do this? Suck off an old man? You sure, kid?"
I nodded, slowly. "More than sure," I replied. "Hungry. Starving. You ever been sucked off by a man before, Mr. C?"
He shook his head. Then seemed to remember something. "No. Wait yes. A couple times in college, fooled around with my dorm mate. He wasn't very uh good at it though and we ended up just jerking off next to each other."
Mr. C, like most men when they were horned up, didn't need a lot of convincing. He wanted to get off as much as I did.
He shook his head as if in disbelief, surprised at himself for going ahead with this. He pushed me back with a finger and turn keyed something into PornHub. The scene was a man in his 60s with a much younger woman. She was choking and slobbering on his knob, gagging and spitting. Every time she struggled the old man grabbed the back of her head and pushed her down further. It was rough. Perfect.
"Well fuck, Mr. C. You like it rough, huh?"
"No more talking. If we're going to do this, I'm in charge. You do what I say, when I say, and if a customer comes in, we're done. You hear me."
I was sitting back on my haunches at this point, my legs under me. I sat forward and returned my hands to his legs. I nodded. He leaned back. Closed his eyes. "I can't believe I'm letting you suck my dick," he muttered.
"And this stays between you and me. You understand?" He tossed the chip bag aside, back onto the desk, and suddenly I was face to face with a dick the size of my own forearm. It had looked impressive from across the small office, but now that I was up close and personal I suddenly had doubts about whether or not I could handle it. I thought back to Luther's fingers, and how much I'd struggled, how loose my throat felt afterward. I was still feeling those effects this morning.
"Fuck me, you're huge, Mr. C," I breathed. The flared mushroom head sat, bulbous and swollen, the tiniest amount of pre-cum already glistening at the tip. Mr. C shifted his weight and gripped the arms of his chair, clearly still wrapping his head around what was about to happen. This wasn't the morning either of us had expected to be having. I slowly reached forward and took his shaft in my right hand, gripping the base. My hand looked tiny, and my fingers barely met around his girthy rod.
"Wow. That's like, really thick too, Mr. C," I gasped. "You've been hiding this thing from me all these years? This thing is like a Coke can. In fact," I reached over and found a stray empty Sprite can amongst the litter on his desk. I experimentally held it next to Mr. C's veiny shaft and was not at all shocked to find the two were comparable, almost exactly the same width and circumference. I also noticed the top of the can feel just below the start of his cockhead. Fuck. I took a deep breath and leaned in, smelling him, savoring this moment.
He smelled musky and strong from the morning's exertions, but I could smell his soap as well, his aftershave. There was a little lube on his dick still and I used it to pump him slowly, like I'd seen him doing. A shudder ran through him.
"Fuck. Slow. Slow," he corrected, gripping the chair. I thought I had been going slowly, but I slowed down even further, taking my time at the base of the shaft, and really working the fat head at the top. It felt like a door knob in my fist. I brought my left hand over and gripped the balls, pulling them down, two large eggs. I leaned forward and gave one the gentlest lick.
Mr. C moaned. Sensitive.
I worked my tongue over his sack, which was surprisingly not as hairy as the rest of his body. I took one ball into my mouth, slurping and lapping the other with my tongue, and eventually was able to work both of them in. I moaned. Mr. C. gasped and finally looked down at me. His thick shaft extended to my hairline, pre-cum oozing onto my forehead.
"Fuck you got both my balls in your mouth, kid. How the fuck did -- oh shit. Fuck that feels good. This is so fucking weird, kid."
I moaned and swirled my tongue around his nuts, biting them gently, testing his limits. His moans increased as I increased the pressure, but eventually he winced and I eased up. This was my favorite part of sucking dick, paying attention to subtle changes in the man I'm sucking; noticing the way his breathing speeds up, or how he holds his breath, the tension of his grip on the chair, the feeling of his thighs flexing beneath my hands, taking these cues and adjusting accordingly.
I gripped his shaft with my left hand and swirled a finger around his glans, teasing the piss slit. He seemed to really enjoy this.
"Oh fuck oh fuck. Just like that yeah. You're doing great, kid. Sean. Sorry. Fuck just don't stop."
I didn't plan on it. I popped his nuts out of my mouth, slowly, lapping at them playfully. I'd had a snack and now it was time for the main course. I dragged my tongue slowly the entire length of his shaft, savoring the taste of his skin. He had a lot of veins and I worked these too. I'd never seen such a veiny cock in person. I traced these veins with my tongue. He sucked in his breath, shifting in his chair. Thank god it was slow that morning. I would have hated to be interrupted during this, and I could tell by his shuddering breaths that Mr. C felt the same. He was my boss, my father figure, and now my conquest, my fuck buddy. Things would be different for us from here on out.
I worked my way up his shaft to his glistening purple head, teasing the frenulum. His moans turned to growls. He was ready. I bit my lip staring the doorknob of a dickhead down, questioning my abilities again, worried I'd bitten off more than I could chew, that my eyes were bigger than my mouth. I swallowed, opened my mouth, wide, and took him inside.
My jaw ached from the size, but I managed. His cock head was almost as big as his nut sack, which was shocking. I circled my tongue around it, enjoying his gasps, and began to work the shaft back toward my throat. When his doorknob-sized head hit the back of my throat I gagged.
"Oh fuck yeah," he whispered. "Fucking choke on it. Choke on that fat cock." I thought he was talking to the porn star in the video on his computer, but we locked eyes for a second, and I knew he was talking directly to me.
He didn't have to tell me twice.
I pushed forward, gagging again, feeling his head slip just barely into my esophagus, which pushed it back out. I shook my head, shocked. This was going to take some serious effort. I swallowed, and pushed forward, getting more in, and before I could gag I pulled back than slammed forward fast. I felt a pop as I hit the halfway point on his shaft. His dick was firmly lodged in my throat, pulsing, thick, and rock hard. He groaned.
"It's okay if you -- fuck -- can't take it all. Just -- oh fucking hell that's good -- take as much as you can. Just --"
I would have laughed if it weren't for the monster cock in my throat. Not take it all? Who was he kidding. I hauled the shaft out of my throat and gave it a few quick jerks with both hands, slicking it up. I licked my lips, and didn't hesitate diving back on it. Another inch made its way down my throat, and I still hadn't reached the base. I swallowed and put my back into it, and the rest of his shaft slid in. I could feel every veiny inch opening my throat.
"Oh fuuuuuuuck," he bellowed, his whole body tensing.
Holy shit was he cumming already?? I got my answer immediately, feeling his balls rise and fall in my hands, the thick central shaft of his cock widen slightly, taste the flood of salt in my mouth as my throat was flooded. Oh fuck. He was cumming in my throat. I gripped his thighs with my hands and held on tight.
I fought another strong gag as he released his load, my overtaxed esophagus tried to push his dick out, but he had other ideas. He let go of his chair and grabbed my head, one callused hairy daddy mitt gripped the back of my head, and the other held the back of my neck. The message was clear: I wasn't going anywhere. His grip was strong, the muscles of my back and neck no match for his working-man's hands and muscular forearms.
The message was clear: I wasn't going anywhere.
I coughed and a long sticky stream of cum leaked out of my mouth, running down my jaw, landing on the floor between my knees. I felt like I was about to pop in my shorts from the sensation, but my own pleasure was the last thing on my mind. I closed my eyes and recalled Luther's thick fingers working my throat, opening me up. He had prepared the way for this moment, made me hungry for rough treatment, prepared me for opening wider. I moaned, swallowing and doing my best to breathe through my nose, lost in the sensation of being completely used by Mr. C like some sort of a fuck toy, used the way Luther had used me just the day before.
"Fucking take it all yeah swallow that cum you slut yeah," he intoned, his voice a growl, barely above a whisper. He didn't ease up his grip on my head and neck until he was done, which felt like minutes, but was probably closer to thirty seconds at most. I felt light-headed, my oxygen having been briefly cut off by this veiny summer sausage between my lips, and just as I felt like I might black out he released his grip. I fell backward onto my hands, gasping for air. There was an audible, wet POP as his cock slipped out of my throat. His heavy load (what hadn't shot directly into my stomach, that is) dripped down my chin and onto my tank top. He leaned back in his chair, looked up at the ceiling, and laughed, his eyes closed, his dick steadily softening, but no less impressive.
He thought we were done.
I caught my breath and leaned back in, taking his now-extra-sensitive dick into my mouth again. He gasped and jerked and pushed me off.
"Oh no. Oh no. Fuck that's too much stop. Stop, kid. Seriously. Fuck."
Okay so we were done. I wanted more, but I stopped, as commanded, and sat up on my knees, smiling. He could barely look me in the eye, but I could see he was smiling.
"Good, huh?"
He just whistled.
"I can't believe that just happened. I feel like I should feel bad about it but, wow. You really know what you're doing. I haven't cum that hard since college. No one has ever -- ever really. Just wow, kid. Thank you for that. Seriously. That was exactly what I needed."
He stared at me in disbelief.
"You've really got skills, you know that? Where did you learn to -- do that?"
"Just takes practice, Mr. C. To be honest I didn't know if I could. When I saw that monster you're packing, I -- well, I'm pleasantly surprised I could take it all myself, even if it was a bit snug at the bottom there." I rubbed my throat theatrically.
He laughed again, then his expression grew serious.
"We can't ever do this again, kid. You know that, right?"
I nodded. Damn.
"Sure, thing, Mr. C. Got it."
"Did you hear the door chime at all? I was ... well, distracted."
"Nope. No one came in," I said. "No one came in THE STORE, that is."
He rolled his eyes at that, giving me a look that said, "Really?"
I shrugged.
"Oh hey, I almost forgot. Mrs. C invited me and my mom over for dinner tonight. Something special she has planned. She said to not spoil your dinner. That's why I came back here in the first place."
Mr. Carlson stood and pulled his Carhartts up, buttoned up his fly. I was amazed at how unnoticeable his bulge was once his pants were buttoned. He was definitely a grower, not a shower. He tucked in his T-shirt and stood with his hands on his hips, looking at me with an expression I'd never seen before. He seemed confused, but grateful. He put a hand on my shoulder and just gave me a little shake, then shook his head. A smile played on his lips. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to decide against it.
"What?" I asked, curious.
"Spoil my dinner? Hell. I was just thinking that I spoiled YOUR dinner, kid," he joked.
I laughed so hard I choked.
"You're bad, Mr. C."
Just then the front door chime rang out. We seemed to both remember suddenly we were still at work, at Carlson Hardware, back in post-mindblowing-orgasm reality.
"Alright, kid. Hit the bathroom, clean yourself up, and head up to the front. I'll be there later. I've got some paperwork to finish." He closed the windows on his computer and opened a boring looking spread sheet, full of numbers. Business as usual.