Service with a Grunt

Lying there, my legs spread wide, I let his body pound on my butt. Sweat was dripping down his nose stinging my eyes. I clinched my fists, crunching up the sheet. Cries of joy bubbled out from between my lips. He was huffing, grunting and straining, busy with his own pleasure. I didn't care. Just look at him. So I was just a place to stick that fantastic hard cock of his. So be it. I'd been ready to open my back door for him from the first time I saw him.

It started with an innocent decision to take advantage of the latest in technology. The cable company was offering free installation of their new mini-dish satellite service with a monthly fee that was just pennies more than what I was already paying.

I work at home. So, when they scheduled the call was no problem. But. I forgot. Was still zonked out when the door bell started bonging. Usually by eight I'm halfway through my morning rituals, but last night was a Judy Festival and I stayed up until five thirty.

I bolted up remembering. Grabbed the closest thing -- my workout sweat shorts -- and raced for the door. They charge if they have to call back and don't wait long.

When I threw open the door, there stood my dream man, sparkling blue eyes, a tad over six feet, dark brown hair, age early twenties. If my morning hard on hadn't already been boldly bulging the front of those shorts, just looking at this tall, hunky mass of flesh would have had me stiff. He gave me a quick appraisal, which had to include registering my state of arousal, and asked if I was expecting service this morning. I just nodded and stepped back, indicating he should come on in.

"Most of the job's outside. Just wanted to let you know I was here. You can go on back to . . . whatever," he said, giving my crotch a hard stare and looking up. He winked.

Thinking fast I told him that I would appreciate his checking the inside connections when he could. "Want to be sure everything's plugged in where it should be." I winked back. "You could check out my equipment. Make sure it'll work poperly."

There was a grin on his face as he nodded. "Looks like you've got equipment that works quite well. Maybe needs a little tweak." He hadn't taken his eyes off the bulge in my shorts, not one glance over at the television. "I'll be about a half hour. Should I ring the bell again?"

"Na. Just come on in, Stan." That was easy. His name was right on the breast pocket of his shirt. Glancing down, I could tell those blue twill shorts of his were filling out at the crotch. I smiled and looked back up. Our eyes locked.

"I'll be quick. Outside, that is," he said. He winked again, rubbed his hand across the front of his shorts, adjusting a clearly heavy basket.

I watched him amble back to the service van. Nice tight buns, gorgeous legs. I was in lust. I left the door open, just as a reminder, and went back to the bedroom. So that's how we ended up tangled on top of the bed, him humping my butt. I was shivering and twisting my ass, eagerly helping him bury that hard prick deep into the center of my being.

When he'd stepped in the house, he made his position clear. He'd service me, if that's what I wanted, but no mush. "I'm not into guys, understand," he told me. "'But, a piece of ass is a piece of ass. If you're offering, I can drill you good. And, you're not too bad looking -- for a guy. Deal??"

He already knew the answer. I just nodded and opened the bedroom door. He followed my in. I opened the top drawer of the dresser and turned with a condom. He grinned, shook his head, and whipped out one of his own. "I'm a former Boy Scout, Mr. F., always prepared. Got any lube?"

I handed it to him, stripped off my shorts and sat on the bed. He quickly made it clear this was going to be his way all the way. He shoved me on my back and moved in dropping his shirt, pulling down his shorts and briefs. He crawled between my legs and edged us higher on the bed. He spread me, rolled on the rubber, slapped down a gob of lube and shoved in. There were no preliminaries. No caressing, no finger fucking, not even a rub or two. That hard cock just rammed its way right through my tight butt hole. It invaded me, violating, battering in. There was a fierce jab of pain ripping through my gut and he hit bottom, tearing into my lungs, setting me on fire, screaming.

His hand, firm, calloused, clamped down on my mouth. ""You're getting what you asked for, pretty boy. Let's not make a scene." His voice was calm, soft, but firm. That hot poker was pulling out, leaving me empty, sore. "Nice, tight ass," he grunted as his body crashed back against mine. He went even impossibly deeper, filling me with pains that were so good. I was moaning, his hand still resting across my lips.

Stan eased back and then pressed in, a slow repeated thrusting. It grew more and more pleasant as he continued grunting and straining. I could feel the fullness of him sliding back and forth within me. His pubic bristle was scrubbing against me each time he hit bottom and ground his hips trying to drive in deeper. I was twisting, turning, thrusting back at him, wanting it too, wanting more. Sex sounds were creeping out of my open mouth, covered by his hand. A finger pressed down and I enclosed it, sucking.

The tempo of his thrusts grew steadily, mounting in intensity as his grunting grew louder. He suspended his torso over me. His arms went stiff. His hands were now beside my head. Lost in a fantasy, his eyes glazed, his arms began to tremble. I tried to talk him down, wanting it to last. I hoped to slow him. He was oblivious to me except as a vessel for his passion which was peaking. The cords in his neck strained tight. Him mouth froze open in a scream that never came. I felt him cresting, his flesh expanding in me, stretching me, filling me fuller. He hung suspended and then -- with a cry -- drove down. Sweat poured. His cock was throbbing. He buried it. Cum spewed out, crashing against my innards, hot, pulsing. He collapsed, trembling.

I threw my arms around him, hugging him to me. While the post orgasmic tremors shook and trembled through his body he lay there. He was warm and moist on my body which was shivering and quaking. But, that lasted only seconds. He stiffened his arms and shoved. Breaking free of my grasp he withdrew. Standing at the foot of the bed he pulled off the rubber, deftly tied it and dropped it on the floor. He picked up his shirt, pulled on his briefs and shorts and was redressed in an instant.

"Call me if you have any problems in the future," he said softly with a quick smile. Giving me a salute, he left.

Lying there, content and warm, I had no other option. I let the morning replay scene by scene. I let my fist work at bringing some of those pleasant sensations rolling back through my body. I took it slow, making it last.

Never have got Stan to relax, be gentle. I have hopes. Just last week he did strip down and let me ogle him, flexing and posing for a whole ten minutes. Then it was business as usual. What a service call that stud makes. He always leaves me wanting more.