TURNING THE TABLES

TURNING THE TABLES By jstrapboy Copyright 2002. Non-exclusive rights granted to the Nifty Archive

This is a fictional story involving consensual sex between adult males. It is likely to be most enjoyed by guys with a special interest in younger (adult) jocks, baseball caps and/or jockstraps. Comments are welcome: Email me at jstrapboy@hotmail.com

Man, was I horny as fuck at work this morning. That's nothing real unusual, of course, except today, as I tried desperately to focus on the Kirby contract requirements, it seemed there was just nothing I could do to get images of ripe jockboys in baseball caps off my brain. To make matters worse, Billy the mailroom kid sauntered by wearing that old frayed Yankees cap that makes him look even sexier than he really is. I just couldn't shake myself out of it.

So, I spent most of the morning staring blankly at my computer screen with my massive hard-on concealed under the desk, wasting the firm's money. The contract was due at five, but I knew I could knock it off in the afternoon, easy. Seven years in this dead-end job (hey, it seemed like a good opportunity right out of college) meant I knew exactly how far I could push things. As soon as I thought I could safely head out to lunch without attracting attention, I made a b-line to the exit faster than Dick Cheney gets moved to an undisclosed location.

I hopped in my car and hightailed the five-minute drive to the community rec center where I have a pass to use the fitness center. I figured maybe a good workout would settle me down, so to speak, and I also knew I had a fair chance of stumbling across Gabe, the silk-throated maintenance dude who I occasionally let service my cock in his supply closet. And if all else failed, I'd have a quick stroke in one of the stalls before I showered and headed back to work.

Well, I changed quickly and headed right for the exercise room, anxious to occupy my brain with the mindless clutter of weights and reps. But I walk into the room, and fuck me, it wasn't the usual lunchtime group of middle-aged businessmen puffing away on exercycles. I mean some of the standard crowd was there, but the place was also crawling with muscular 20-year-olds in full sweat. I was grateful I had put a tight jockstrap on under my shorts, 'cause shit: With one scan of my eyes around that room I blew up harder than a priest at a boy scout Jamboree.

I noticed that alotta the young guys were wearin' gear from the local college, and as soon as I got back control of my heart rate I picked an empty bench next to one of the young studlies and struck up a conversation. Turns out it was the school's whole baseball program, JV and Varsity. Seems their campus had a big power outage and the coach had arranged for them to use the center to get in one of their off-season training sessions. So although it looked like it was a one-time happening only, I congratulated myself on my good timing in being there to witness it.

See, baseball-playing boys are my secret passion, and this was the finest group of tightly-wrapped, swing-for-the-fences musclepumpers I had seen since my own college playing days. Several of the guys were working out in skimpy tanks like me, and bout half of the fuckers were sporting backwards baseball caps. Now don't ask me why backwards baseball caps make me crazy. It's not a rational thing. It doesn't make any sense. It's just the way it is.

So there I was, in hog heaven. The boys seemed in no rush and I wasn't gonna miss a moment of this. I doubted my boss would notice my absense until at least 2 pm. Finishing the contract in under three hours would be a challenge, but I work better under pressure. As long as my luck held out and this bevy of ballplayin' beauties was willing to linger and display their various attributes for me, who was I to argue? I decided to get in my major weekly workout, rather than the short version I usually settled for on workdays.

So I started right in on my long routine, and as I moved around to different stations I struck up several conversations with members of the team, giving 'em each my best-buddy smile and making sure, should they just happen to have an interest, that they got an eyeful of my finest muscle groups in prime workout form. I was in my element: In half an hour I felt like I was back in school again myself; and in an hour I was on a first name basis with a half-dozen of the sexiest young diamond jocks north of the Mason-Dixon line.

The one who caught my attention most of all was Ben. He was a sophomore shortstop, and would be trying to land the starting varsity position when the spring season started. He had been a JV standout as a freshman, but he would have some real competition at the top squad from two returning varsity players. Ben was one sexy package: only about 5'10", and probably no more than 165, but tightly built, with sleek muscles and lanky limbs. His silky smooth pale skin went great with his startlingly green eyes, cocky smile, and plenty of curly black hair protruding all around from under his well-worn and sweat-stained maroon team cap. It took me all of about 15 seconds to find myself in serious lust with this so-sexy-it-hurts jockboy who was merely a year and change removed from prep school.

Aw fuck, I admit it, I get weak in the knees for the nubile ones. Sue me.

So Ben and I had ourselves a pointless chat about workouts, music, and landing a job after college. After a while we moved apart to different areas of the room but I kept my eye on him when I could do so discretely, and damned if it didn't appear he was returning the favor. All this time my boner was giving me some serious grief, struggling mightily with being cooped up in the confines of my BIKE #10. I had to make adjustments a few times, letting the band hold my shaft flat up against my bod even as the pole steadily rose, till several inches of manmeat were protruding up past the top. My tank was hanging loose, helping disguise the bulge I was dealing with, but I couldn't help sensing Ben had caught on to some of my adjustment maneuvers and had an inkling of what kind of condition I was in.

In the meantime the the guys had slowly been filtering out to the lockerroom, presumably to hit the showers and head back to school. I was anxious to witness that scene too, but I made up my mind I would wait for Ben to be done before heading in that direction. I had to see that sinewy sweet young bod in all its glory, if it took half the frickin' afternoon.

Well, it nearly did. It was closing in on 2:00 pm when, with only a couple of the college guys left in the place, Ben finished a set of reps and wiped his face with a towel. He shot me a glance like mebbe he'd been waiting for me all this time (what can I say, when I'm horny I don't necessarily think straight), and then headed for the lockers. I gave him all of 20 seconds and followed. When I caught up there was only one other dude beside Ben in the area, although there was some noise coming from the showers. That guy was paying no mind when Ben grinned at the sight of me entering the locker area. As everything seemed to be goin' my way, I guess it shouldn't have been a surprise that my locker was just a few feet away from my young friend. As we started peelin' off our sweaty clothes, it seemed damn clear from the get-go that we were putting on a show for each other's benefit. Soon enough the third wheel wandered off to the shower and it was just the two of us, doing our silent buddy mating ritual.

Almost the best part of all was what happened next. Ben's show began when he removed his cap, then peeled off his soaked t-shirt. As I was reveling in the sight of his spectacularly sexy torso, he did something that endeared him forever to my heart: He put his cap back on! The little fuck! Had he guessed it was a turn on for me? Or did he just instinctively know a truly hot boy never goes anywhere without his cap? What was his damn plan, I ask you, to shower with it on? Or did he already know we wouldn't get that far?

Well, now were we both standing there shirtless, and the next step in this little dance was critical, cause once I got down to my strap there would be no hiding the state of my utter horniness. Of course by now, I was willing to take my chances. So I turned to directly face the object of my lust, and in one motion pushed down both my shorts and my strap, allowing my rock hard 8-incher to bounce free at last from jockstrap prison, where it proudly stood at full mast, pointing up and out at a steely 75 degree angle. To add to the obviousness of the situation, a hanging trail of precum connected my cockhead like a rope bridge to the spot just under my bellybutton against which it had been so recently pressed.

As I knew he would, Ben shot a look down. Had he been an actor, the running look of expressions that passed over his face in the next six seconds would have garnered him a sure Oscar nomination. He went from shock, to lust, to an instinct not to lose control, back to lust, then finally to a college boy's cocky glee at the confirmation of what he already suspected: The pushing-30 working-stiff muscleguy who made small talk with him in the gym was a total horndog in heat. He cracked a smile (what a smile!) and tilted his sweat-stained capped head back up so his emerald eyes (did I tell you about the eyes?) were directly level with mine.

"Dude," he commented nonchalantly, but still grinning. "Workin' out has that effect on you, too, huh?"

"Um , yeah..." I stammered in answer. "It does if I'm getting the right kind of....muscle stimulation."

Well the next thing I knew Ben silently shucked his own shorts and then gave me a jolt by grabbing the waist band of his strap, pulling it out and down to expose his quickly growing boy-rod, and tucked it neatly under his nuts. He made a gesture to his groin area and said impishly, "Me too. See?" I nodded weakly, trying to keep my jaw from hitting the floor at the way this whole escapade was playing out. Next to a baseball cap my favorite inanimate object is a jockstrap. Although my randy student appeared to be a tad smaller than me (I wasn't quite sure as his tool was still only about half hard), it was one fuckova nice piece of meat for an underclassman who had yet to sprout a single chest-hair in his 19 years on planet Earth.

I struggled for a seductive line but it just wasn't there. I knew only my dick would be doing the talking from then on. "Ummm, I see what you mean. Looks like we both got problems that need takin' care of, Ben."

"Yeahhhhhh....." he muttered blankly as he glanced around the room (it seemed the same organ had taken over Ben's speech as well) "But, um....there are guys still in the shower....Where can....I gotta be caref....it wouldn't be cool to....um....."

I had a sudden flash back to the pain of my own closeted college days and I quickly swooped in to save my blathering beauty from the agony of further sentence fragments. I came up with a brilliant plan right on the spot. Still clutching my sweat-drenched jockstrap in one fist, I muttered "follow me, dude." With our huge erections leading the way, I headed to the back section of lockerroom, past the rows of empty cages to the utility area. I found the door I was looking for, and prayed it wasn't locked. My hand reached down to the handle, and it turned. YES! In a moment, my young collegiate conquest-to-be and I had slipped quietly into the darkness of Gabe's supply closet and secret cocksucking lair.

I fumbled for the light and switched it on. I was immediately glad for two things: One, there was no sign of Gabe (no way was I gonna share this!), and two, my brain had not exaggerated even an iota of the sexiness of my handsome young friend, standing there before me now with lusty anticipation and a grin that would make steel melt. A choker of beads around his neck, his strap still tucked under his balls, and his backwards cap were all that kept him from his original birthday suit. Damn, was this boy dead square in the middle of his prime. I unclenched my fist to let my own jockstrap fall to the floor, grabbed my hottie by the shoulders, and pulled him to me in a deep kiss. Instantly our hands began wildly exploring each other's bods wherever we could reach, our torsos pressing hard against each other.

When we finally came up for air, all I could mutter was, "Holy shit, kid. You have no fuckin' business being this sexy."

My Ben-boy grinned a wide Ben-boy grin. "Yeah?" he teased. "Just how sexy am I, Mr. Muscles?"

Ohhhh, fuck, he had a baseball cap AND a cocky attitude! I had a sudden fear my nuts might erupt jest standing next to him.

"As sexy as anything I have touched in years, kid. Sexy enough that you can tell me to do whatever you want. Anything"

"Anything?" (Fuck, there's that nasty grin again!)

"Yeah, anything."

Ben smirked and hoisted his hot little ass up onto the work table in the middle of the room, his strap still cupped under his nuts, his boy-boner now rock-hard rigid and pointing straight for the ceiling light. Damn. Looked like the little shit was as big as me after all.

"Lick me clean of sweat, muscleman.....everywhere."

His nickname for me wasn't very original, but combined with his raspy voice and the quaintness of a squirt giving me an order like that, it sure did the trick for me. I nodded like a schoolboy in an ice cream parlor. "No problem, kid. My tongue is at yer service."

I confirmed then what I had always believed: Shortstops are the most lickable of all ballplayers. Wanting to save the best for last, I dropped to my knees and prepared to start in on his feet. Now, I'm not a true fetishist in the podiatric arena, but I do appreciate any and all body parts belonging to a truly sexy guy, and I had no problem slurpin' each of His Hotnesses' sweaty, slightly odiferous toes into my waiting mouth. As I worked at my task, one of my hands slid down to gently squeeze my swollen, drippin' cock, as the other moved up to rub the inside of my hot lickee's sexy boy-thighs.

As my tongue moved up past Ben's ankles, I found that most of the hair he didn't have on his sculpted chest had sprouted early on his sexy, masculine legs. His calves were far more substantial than most college jocks (nothing disappoints me more than young dudes who forget they have muscles below the waist too). As my tongue pushed up past his knees my hand glided up and over the strap band that covered his hips. Ben squirmed with anticipation, but I carefully avoided even accidental contact with the motherlode on the way past.

Why? Cause I wanted to drive my little guppy to a near state of desperation; I wanted to wait until his commands turned to pleas. You see, when it comes right down to it I'm a total top. But I love to play the game, and let the newbies think they are in control. Then when the timing is jest right, I can turn the tables on 'em and take 'em down. Done skillfully, they barely know what hit 'em.

So I went on licking, thoroughly, responding selectively to the grunts and physical cues that my boy-conquest was providing. I licked clean his thighs, then pushed him back on the table, allowing me to swing his legs up and get access to his asscheeks. I moved in, racked with lust at the sight of his still-strapped rump. I anxiously tongued each orb carefully, lifting first one strap and then the other and gliding my tongue under them to make sure I didn't miss a spot of those youthful hollows. I moved toward his crack and decided to give him just a slight tease of what I knew would be coming later: I spread his cheeks and swiped my tongue just once over his musty, ripe, nearly hairless boyhole. His whole body tensed as I did so, and he muttered something incomprehensible and defenseless-sounding. Yeah, I thought to myself, grinning. This cocky boy is going down soon.

I pushed Ben's legs back down and brought my face back around to his topside. I went to work on his loins, his bellybutton, his washboard abs. I moved up to his pecs and lingered a long time, nibbling ravenously on his large, tight nipples as he moaned with pleasure.

"Yeah muscledude, that's it, do it, eat 'em."

I glanced up at my horny young Adonis and was hit by a wave of lust as strong as any I had ever felt. I tried to shake myself back into control and continued on my task. Without letting him know what was coming I suddenly lifted his left arm and dove my face deep into his skanky boy pit. The mixture of sweat with the tuft of thick black hair made for a warm, roughly textured, salty treat for my tongue, just rank enough to make my throbbing cock instinctively ooze out another big helping of precum.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh, shit," Ben yelped at the sensation (a first-time one, I was guessing). "That's, um, so........." Then he just succumbed. "Fuck yeah, that's hot. Ream out my pits, muscleman, clean 'em up for me good."

Next came his neck, his throat. My tongue darted everywhere: I moved to his face, lingered on his lips, his cheeks, his nose. I licked once across each eyelid, then cleaned his ears out better than a super mom wielding a Q-tip.

Then, and only then, did I allow myself the pleasure of contact with his cap-clad forehead. I started just above his left ear and glided slowly, carefully, up and across his forehead to the other side. I did it so that all along the journey, one half of my tongue rested on his soft silky skin and the other half on the dirty, sweat-stained cap fabric. I lingered to catch the odors, the tastes, the very essence of my young God. I closed my eyes and imagined I could taste both the dust and the youthful exuberance of every ballgame he had ever played, the attitude of every belching, stupid-assed frat comment he had ever made, the idiocy of every adolescent chick pick-up line he had every uttered. It was a glorious trip.

I reached my destination and paused to look my lusty young stud in the eye. He grinned broadly at me.

"You dig my cap, huh, muscles?" Ben inquired.

I smiled weakly. "Yeah, kid, I dig it."

He reached up and took it off. I was considering voicing an objection when he handed it to me. "Hey, Mr. Muscles...." He paused, looking just ever-so-slightly embarrassed.

"Yeah, Ben?"

"Um...make me...cum in it, man. Get me to spurt a hot load all over my cap."

I had to hand it to the kid, he was full of surprises, and his ideas were all good ones. Now, this was about the time I had been thinking I would start taking control of the whole situation, if you get my drift. But his offer was tantalizing. Damn tantalizing.

I took the cap from him and looked down at it. The brim was slightly frayed, but not deliberately like those trendy A & F wannabe's do theirs. This one was worn from real life experience. The band on the inside of the crown had been white once, a season or so ago, but was now stained a rich yellowy brown from a combination of sweat and hair oil. This boy and his cap were the real McCoys, authentic Grade A College Jock Issue. If this genuine article wanted me to get him to uncork on his ballcap, then he would get what he wanted.

Ben slipped his ass off the table and stood before me. His hands moved to his sides and under the waistband of his jockstrap. In one motion, he pushed it all the way down to his ankles, then stepped out of it. He stood back up straight, cupped his balls with one hand and pivoted his hips forward, looking me in the eye. "C'mon muscleman, make this rocket fire."

What was happening here? That was my line. I tried to fight it but I couldn't. I dropped to my knees for the second time and admired the swollen fuckstick that seemed to be staring right back at me. I reached out and took the monster gently in my fist. It was hot to the touch. The mushroom head was wet with precum and oozing more all the time.

Fuck it. I'll take control later, I thought to myself. Right now I'm gonna suck me some hot bone.

As I opened my mouth and slowly took my young God's member into my mouth, I shot a look upwards. He smiled down at me, past his youthful torso and ripe smooth muscles. Holding the bill of his cap in my hand, I reached up and ran the back of the crown down the bridge of his nose, down his neck, down his chest. Then without warning I dove my open mouth down on his fat tool, taking in 6 of 8 inches in the first swoop. After pausing a few moments to relax my throat I had him to the root, the biggest cock for which I have ever made such a claim. I started ravenously in on my best cock-sucking techniques and was certain by the noises Ben made that he had never had better head. Still holding the cap by the bill, I turned it upside down and started using the back edge of the crown to tickle the underside of my hottie's tightening sack of boynuts. As I did so my free hand slipped around to one of his asscheeks and starting kneeding it.

It wasn't long before Ben's breathing quickened and I knew he was getting close. I pulled off his cockhead, took the bill of his cap in my teeth, and using only my mouth, positioned the open crown in front of his throbbing rod like a serving bowl. With my hand free of cap duty, I grasped his shaft and starting giving him some nice long strokes. I knew it wouldn't take many. Just as the middle finger of my other hand slipped between his ass cheeks and probed his sweet boyhole, I felt the kid's whole body tense, and his balls draw up. Ben cried out as the first wave of jism pulsed through his hot jock rod and burst in thick ropes from his swollen cockhead, splashing hard against the fabric on the lining of his cap. Wave after wave of hot white lava erupted from my randy little shortstop. A couple of smaller spurts shot too high to make the cap and splattered instead against my nose and cheek.

As Ben's heaves finally subsided, I removed the cap from my mouth and reached forward to lick clean his jizz-covered cockhead. He shuddered and moaned anew at the sensation, and the taste of his boy spunk made me near dizzy with lust. Ben reached down to collect his cum-covered cap from my hand. He lifted it to his face, sniffed, then inhaled deeply. He smiled and held it out to give me a turn. As I did so, I was thinking about what a handy lube this collection of spunk would make for penetrating Ben's ass. Just as I was deciding how to make a move in that direction, the cocky little prick surprised me once again.

"Smells nice, huh, muscles?"

His voice sounded surprisingly like a snarl. I shot a glance up and saw him smiling down at me, like a Greek God. Not a snarling face at all. Just a fucking hot one.

"Smells awesome, man" I replied.

"Eat it, dude."

I was at once amused, annoyed, and not just a little turned on my jockboy's latest command, but I decided the long overdo moment to assert myself had finally arrived.

"Heh, kid, I licked yer cock clean man, the spunk tasted wicked, but I have some other ideas on how we..."

Suddenly I become aware that the cap was being thrust in my face. I felt the wet spunk hit my nose, cheeks and mouth. I felt Ben's hand as he smashed the crown of the cap into me.

"I said, eat it, muscles."

Caught by surprise, it took me several beats to react. And in those few beats, I reassessed the situation. My first thought was that this scene had veered seriously out of my control. My next thought was that this was as hot a little shit as I had ever made it with, and I've made it with plenty. My third thought was that this same sexy shit had just served me up a load of pure baseball jock boy-spunk in a beautiful genuine ball cap, and that by rights I should be happy as a pig in shit.

So while a part of me wanted to jump up then and there and take the kid's ass by force, what did I do instead? Yep, you guessed right. I open up and slurped.

"Yeah that's it, muscles. Eat my nasty spunk."

I guess it was a snarl after all.

But I had only gotten about half way through my unexpected meal when the kid removed the cap from my face. He looked down at me, grinning again. This time, I just shut up and waited for what was coming next. It didn't take long.

"I wanna fuck yer ass, muscles."

Well holy shit. This punk knew all my best pick-up lines. I stared up at him. I may have even opened my mouth to start to tell him how I don't get fucked. But as I stared at him, I couldn't get over how he was the very embodiment of my lust. He was my fantasy lay. And, the little bastard was totally in control. If he wanted to fuck me, well then, it appeared I was gonna get fucked.

My eyes returned to his cock. If he had ever grown soft, I hadn't noticed. The bastard was hard as a rock, reloaded, cocked and ready.

I rose to my feet and started to stammer, "ummmm, I....I've only been fucked once before, it was kinda....um, difficult...."

"Bet you'll be fucking tight then, muscles. Turn around."

So what could I do? I turned.

"Now pick up my skanky jockstrap and put it on. I wanna fuck you in it."

So what could I do? If I was gonna get nailed, why not get nailed right? I picked it up and put in on. It was a nice old Saf-T-Guard, medium, one size too small for me. It felt so snug as I pulled it on: I could feel the tightness of the straps as they settled on my ass, the sweaty dampness of the pouch as I raised it up over as much of my meat as it would hold. As I did, all I could think of was the hot boy bone that had rested there so recently. If possible, the thought made me even harder, made my tool throb even more than it had up until now.

"Bend over, man."

So what could I do? I bent. I bent way over the table and thrust my muscled and strapped ass hungrily back for use by my man. I reached back and spread my cheeks open. If I wasn't being whore enough already, then I opened my dirty mouth.

"Do it bro," I begged. "Fill my ass with that fat jock pole. I need your boymeat deep up my hungry hole. C'mon buddy, open me up."

I stole a look back over my shoulder just in time to see my young top do what a hot boy must. He returned the skanky cap (backwards, of course) to his head. Now properly attired to give a good fucking, he turned his attention to lubing my ass. He scooped the remaining jizz from his cap and started slathering my hole. I was itching for his cock and I didn't need much prying open before I was begging again.

"Yeah man, that's it, shove another finger in there, yeah, ohhhhh fuck, yeah man that's good. C'mon man I'm ready, mount my tight muscle ass with your hot teen stick."

I figured Ben wouldn't need to be asked twice. In a moment I felt his thick rod probing my crack. He located my hole and drove just the head in, quickly, confidently, like a pro. I gasped and he waited, patiently, for me to adjust.

In a moment he croaked, "How you doin', muscles? You ready to get plowed?"

I gritted my teeth and pressed back against him. "I'm ready, fucker. Slide that monster tool up my tight hole. Fuck me Ben. Fuck me hard."

Well I asked for it, I guess. With one powerful motion my baseball dream man sent eight inches of thick manmeat deep up my chute. I growled loudly with the almost unbearable combination of pain and lust that accompanied the moment. In up to his bush, Ben held his position and leaned forward, pressing his chest up against my backside. He took his hands off my hips and wrapped them around my sweaty body, massaging my pecs. His face nuzzled in to the back of my neck, and I felt a sharp bite. Then he moved his mouth right up to my ear and I heard him hiss:

"How's that feel, muscles? How does it feel to be my....bitch?

Oh man, how many times in the last ten years had I asked that question of one or another piece of mantail? What in fuck had happened here to make me the askee and not the asker?

"It feels great man. It feels awesome. I love being yer bitch."

And then my baby fucked me long and hard. He drove into me with long, deep strokes. He bit me hard all over my back. He pulled the straps of his own jock gear back off my hard ass and let go, snapping them soundly against my cheeks, turning me red. He grabbed my ears and pulled my head back so he could shove his probing tongue roughly into my mouth. He reached around my sweat-drenched body and twisted my nipples. His hands ran down my torso and grabbed my pouch-covered cock. One hand slid under the pouch and found my aching nuts, which he cupped and bounced in his hands like a toy. And all the while he drove, drove, drove his hot dong deeper and deeper into my hole, deeper than I thought it was possible to go.

And he called me a cunt, a bitch, a whore, a faggot. Just a big-cocked muscle-faggot with an ass that needs to be used, he snarled.

And then he drove again. He stopped all the way inside me and I felt his body start to tense. His hand firmly grasped my shaft inside his pouch.

"You bout ready to pull the trigger on this gun, muscles?"

I nodded. "Yeah, shit yeah. I'm ready to cream with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Do it man. Empty those hot boy nuts deep inside me."

So my very own Ben-boy pulled his cock back halfway and then drove it home one last time. As he did so, he gave my shaft a couple of quick strokes. It was all I needed. With the feel of his thick rod buried inside me and his hot nuts hard up against my asscheeks, I screamed in ecstasy as I felt my huge cumload boil and lurch up through my shaft and spurt out in waves into Ben's hand. At the same time, I heard my nasty little sex fiend grunt and groan like a wild animal, followed by the feeling of hot gusts of jism splashing against my bowel walls.

Oh fuck yeah. Fuck yeah.

FUCK YEAH.

Why is it that at the very best moments in life one can be struck by the worst thoughts? Thoughts like, Holy shit, WORK! I shot a glance up at the wall clock. It was past 4 pm already. Panic was setting in: Not even my very finest BS could knock out a contact in half an hour. But think, man, think. Maybe I could find a way to finesse this yet. If I could just get back to the office before the boss left at 5 pm, I could throw myself on his mercy. I could make up something, anything. A car accident, a dying relative, whatever. I would let him know that despite the tragedy I had returned to the office anyway to complete the work. I planned to stay all night if necessary to get it done, if he would only grant me an extension until first thing in the morning. That was a good plan. It might just work. I started breathing again.

Ben pulled slowly out of me. I turned around and faced him. He was still grinning, broadly, sexily, from under his cap. He found a towel on the shelf and cleaned off his still mostly-hard, still dripping tool and his cum-covered hand. I was totally smitten. If this boy wanted a permanent bitch, I was just the man to fit the bill. To hell with turning the tables: I was turning over a new leaf instead. I was a bottom-boy, through and through. And this was my top.

But I should have known. This kid was one surprise after another. As I stood there thinking about how soon I could make arrangements for him to fuck me again, he reached down and swiped my jockstrap off the floor. He stepped into it and pulled it up. It was a little loose in the waist but, damn, the pouch fit his cock great. Then he hopped back up on the table, lay down on his back, and pulled his legs high up over him, exposing his gloriously sweet boy pucker to my view.

"Hey muscles," he called over to me, his grin as wide as ever. "Don't you think its time you nailed this virgin hole?"

Awwwwww, fuck.

I had been meaning to go job hunting anyway.

THE END Please write me at jstrapboy@hotmail.com and let me know what you think of this story.