The Telemachus Story Archive

Parking Lot Proposition
Part 1 - Parking Lot Proposition
By Jock Topper

Parking Lot Proposition, Pt. 1

By Jock Topper

You guys know me and you know what I like. Taking down a top-bragging man and showing him the other side of the equation really gets me going. I love the challenge and I love to win. But this one comes from a different world. A world I didn’t even know existed until it walked up and presented itself one night.

Now, at 6’ and 214 lbs, you know I’m a handsome piece of Grade-A muscle. Thick pecs that lie on my chest like slabs of meat—sitting there, perfectly shaped with slightly squared-off bottoms and nice nips. From there, a huge drop down to my 30” waist, which compared to my cannonball shoulders is just insane, like a cartoon superhero. From there a muscle butt that juts out making it look like two different people put together, my ass and legs loaded with so much muscle that my waist would look wrong if it didn’t look so amazingly right. Below that my quads are thick and striated, tied into my knees before being blown out again by my thick claves. Now, I’m not one of these bloated bodybuilders who can’t walk correctly and is just a beauty pageant contender and a prized cow. I’m more midway between a fitness model and bodybuilder, perfectly proportioned, but still able to go for a run or play football with the guys. And fuckers, you also know I’m packing. Nine and a half inches of perfect torpedo-shaped cock. Thick, veiny, and with just the right head shape to penetrate tight spaces. I get that my life has been different than most men just because of how I look, and I have no problem using that to assist me in getting what I want. It’s not the total solution, but it's part of it. The other half is a mind game.

Most of my gym sessions are in the morning. The AM crowd tends to be focused on and dedicated to getting shit done before heading to work. There is only so much time and the level of professionalism and focus that early is liberating. The afternoon crowd is much more social and, honestly, geared toward getting laid. Sometimes I double up. You gotta put in the hours if you want to grow and I’m more than down for it. Sometimes, I avail myself of some hot jock-boy checking me out, and sometimes I move on to something bigger. It’s just part of the human (animal) experience. Hunting is a natural part of life, I just do it with a different gun.

So, the Genesis evening for this adventure happened at the end of a long and tortuous leg workout. I was nearly hobbled by the end and slowly walking to the parking lot when I realized someone was several steps behind me. I slowed a bit, only to notice that they also slowed. Noted. I then crossed the street diagonally and entered the parking lot. As I approached my car and popped the trunk, I heard a voice from behind me.

“Excuse me,” It was a man’s voice, not confident at all, but somehow sincere, if that makes sense. I put my bag into the trunk and turned to see a late thirties-ish man, maybe 5’10. He did not appear fit, but also was not anything I couldn’t whip into shape. I had been a personal trainer in college and knew how to get people to put in some serious effort. You could say I was good at motivating people and getting them to focus. A skill I would need surprisingly little of with this guy.

“Excuse me,” He repeated.

“Hey, man,” I turned and responded and then realized that I’d seen this guy before. In any gym, there are what I call “watchers”. These are guys who are gay (or just enamored with muscle) but are unable to stop themselves from constantly checking me out. They will pad around me, walk by, and end up at machines or benches nearby (but never right next to) whatever I’m using. They steal glances and look at me and my body as I work out. They never say hello. They never approach directly. Some full-on cruise, but I just ignore them. I understand they can’t help themselves.

“I was wondering, I mean, do you have a moment?” he continued.

“Sure man, what’s up?”

“I, er, well…” he tried to compose himself but was flustered that he was doing whatever he was doing. “I was wondering if I could offer you my services.”

“Your services?” I looked at him, puzzled.

“I have watched you from around the gym and believe you are the most attractive man in the world.  I am just in awe of you. Your body is so perfect.”


At this moment I may have unconsciously flexed my chest beneath my shirt, making the thick slaps dance below my tank top. I could see his eyes riveted on my chest. His breathing deepened.  He looked up at me. I stayed silent.  I confess that I was a little shocked that this guy had the balls to talk to me. I wasn’t sure where this was going so, I decided to simply continue to stare at him and say nothing. Finally, he spoke.


“Fuck…I…look, I’m a faggot who loves serving Alpha-type guys like yourself. Alpha Men, I mean.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I…I would be more than happy to provide you with whatever services you need.  House cleaning, cooking, chauffeuring, or anything….else?” He looked down at my body again, but not in a creepy or lascivious way.  “I know it probably sounds weird, but I also know that guys like me don’t get to hang out or be around men like you.  I’m willing to work for that privilege.”

I was a bit surprised that he would be so open about it, but the possibilities suddenly intrigued me.


Now I’m not going to lie. I was also a little floored. I’m certainly an Alpha, but I also know that calling a guy a faggot or treating someone like shit is not cool. And yet here I was with someone telling me he literally was that. I was a little flummoxed by the whole situation and could see this guy was now mortified at having said as much as he did. My stares can make people say more than they want and I figured that was what had just happened. I felt for him and his predicament and realized I needed to say something to put him out of this agony. I looked at him thoughtfully.

“Look buddy, why don’t you give me your card? I’ll let you know if I need anything. Would that be fair?”, I said in as disarming a tone as possible.

“Oh, Sir, yes, more than fair. I apologize for already taking up so much of your valuable time. Please, call me if you need anything.” He passed me a card.

I took it. Looked at the name, Kevin, and his phone number. No other information, which was probably smart. After all, he did just start down what could be a very embarrassing road.

“Thanks, Kevin….” I replied. Then adding, “…or should I say faggot.” I’m not sure why I said it. This was all pretty weird, but from what he said, something seemed right about it. It felt strangely powerful, but also, a little shitty.

“Oh, yes, I…thank you sir. Thank you.” He beamed, clearly thrilled to have been called what he decided he was, while probably also riding a rush of adrenalin after not getting the shit beaten out of him. I’m sure he was also wondering what would happen now that I had his card, now that I was in control of the situation.

I turned and got in my car. He watched and gave me a wave as I left, but bowed his head a little too.

When I got home I made dinner (two chicken breasts, broccoli, and brown rice), sat down, and tried to get a handle on what just happened. I pulled out my laptop and did some research. I googled “fag”, “fag and Alpha”, “faggots exist”, and “What is a faggot?”. All got some pings but “What is a faggot?” brought up a link that defined a faggot most succinctly, stating that a faggot is an inferior homosexual man whose purpose is to serve a superior Alpha Male. I was just sort of blown away. I mean, it seemed so wrong. But then, a fetish frequently feels wrong to a person who does not have the fetish. I drilled down on this topic for a while, finding a whole underworld of people that existed in this counter-culture fetish movement.

“A fag is a gay male who gets sexual satisfaction from providing services to an Alpha Male. An Alpha is a superior male, gay or straight.”

So there it was, in black and white. According to the site, an Alpha is something you are or are not, not something you can aspire to be. I fit the definition in pretty much every way. This guy, Kevin, apparently felt he fit the inferior man definition, a faggot. More importantly, for him that connection had become sexualized and strong enough that he wanted to act upon these feelings/desires.

Now, I’ve been with plenty of hot men and hot women. From jacked muscle to hot boys to sexy women and slutty whores, I’ve had well more than my fair share of action. I love to dominate men mostly. In this day and age, it can be hard, and a little risqué, to get rough with women. But I’m not a delusional self-hating homo, I am gay. Full stop. But I guess I’m more of a Kinsey 5 than 6. Also, the men and women who wanted to worship my body and cock were always within the constraints of normal sex. I get off on others getting off on my jacked physique, but there’s always been a return attraction. Meaning, I am into that person and he or she has something I want from them too. Tit for Tat, we could say. This new situation was a bit different. This guy didn’t seem to have anything I wanted. He just wanted me. Was that enough? Is worship from a man I want nothing from in return enough to get me excited? If not, is it still hot for him? Is that still in bounds…or is that now slavery? This was an interesting thought experiment if nothing else.

I pretty much ignored the whole thing for a few days, but by Thursday I was horny and the sexual energy of the situation proved to be stronger than I thought it would.

On some level, I was pretty impressed with this guy, and that helped. Here was a perfectly normal-looking guy, employed and presumably successful, who was willing to do things for me because he wanted to be “in service” to an Alpha Male. It must have taken some courage to even approach me, let alone admit to what he wanted. I looked around my apartment, it was not a total mess, but it did need cleaning. At the same time, my cock was becoming very insistent, as it snaked down my pant leg. The more I thought about it the more I was becoming aroused, mentally and physically. I pulled out the card and sent a text:

Be at my place at 9:30 am on Saturday. Be ready to work. 529 Westminster Ave. -JT.

Over the next day, I drilled further down on this whole scene. The domination aspect was very much up my alley. The humiliation, less so. But I was the Alpha, so I could make this whatever I wanted. I decided to play it by ear but to keep it hot.

On Saturday the doorbell rang at EXACTLY 9:30 am. I was dressed in just some loose gym shorts, a jock, socks and a tank. When I opened the door I thought he might shit himself. He pulled it together though and said, “Good Morning” and then in a quieter voice, “Sir”. I figured I might as well start right in on it.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I said Good Morning, SIR!” He replied more loudly.


I stepped back slightly, he opened the screen door and then squeezed by me and came inside. I closed the door.

“You can start in the kitchen—I want it spotless. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes Sir, understood. After that?”

“Do not get ahead of yourself. I’ll inspect when you’re finished and we can discuss your work and what I expect in the future.”

“Yes, of course, Sir. I understand.”

“I left him to it and went and showered. Afterward, I changed into a jock, Khaki shorts, and Nike trainers and sat down to do some work at the desk in my room. From there I could hear him as he stripped the kitchen down and cleaned it from top to bottom. It probably took him a full hour. I was impressed. After that, he came into the hallway and called to me, “Sir, I’m ready for your inspection.”

I stood and entered the hallway. My house is older and the scale is smaller than contemporary standards. The small dimensions of the hallway accentuated my size and bulk and I could see that he was again just sort of amazed that he was even in my presence, as I came down the hallway.

I stepped into the kitchen. It was immaculate. It had never been so clean, even on the day I bought the place. I prodded around and checked his work before turning back to him.

“Did you do the fridge?” I said as I opened it. It was clearly not cleaned and over-stuffed with containers from the supermarket.

“No, Sir, I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

“Is the fridge in the kitchen?”

“Well, yes, but….”

“Well then, it should have been cleaned.”

“No, I mean yes, Sir. I just wasn’t sure and did not want to disturb you while you were working and figured I could do it after you wanted that too.”

“Get it done.”

The whole time this exchange is taking place I can see that he’s just wanting so badly to be doing everything right and at the same time trying so hard not to just blatantly stare at my body. At one point he slips and looks down at my pecs and then arms.

“Hey faggot,” I said tersely. “My eyes are up here.” This was also the first time I called him faggot since the parking lot. It definitely tweaked him.

“Yes, Sir, sorry sir. I just…your body is so amazing. I could not help myself. It’s in my faggot nature.”

He had me there. From what I’d looked up I knew he would be weak. I knew he’d have a hard time keeping his sexual desires repressed. In many ways, it seemed like part of the freak.

“Get the fridge cleaned.” I walked back to my bedroom.

The cleaning now began again. I could hear as he emptied everything out, sorting, undoubtedly checking expiration dates, and then cleaning the inside and loading about half back in. When he called me the second time he surprised me. Again, he was waiting for me as I lumbered into the kitchen. I opened the door and sure enough, just like the rest of the room, it was immaculate. Everything was organized perfectly, clean, and shiny. When I turned around he held out a piece of paper and said, “I made a list of the things that had gone bad and with your permission I’ll go to the store now and refill those items.”

I was impressed. If this guy was a faggot, he was not only motivated, he was good at it.

“Fuck yeah, you will. And be quick. I expect you back here in less than an hour. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

I picked up my wallet and he stopped me. “Sir, since I did not fully understand the scope of the kitchen cleaning responsibilities, please allow me to pay for the groceries. It’s the least I can do.” He said.

By now, I was learning fast, but I’m not an asshole.

"So, you want to do that….for me?”, I asked, probing a little deeper into his fetish.

“Yes, it would give me great pleasure to not only work off my error but to restock you for the week ahead. I’m aware of the nutritional needs of a man of your stature….Sir.”

I nodded, but with an angry face, and then walked down the hall to the bedroom. I listened as he left for the market.

About 50 minutes later there was a knock at the door again. I opened it and there was the little wuss with three full bags of groceries. I held the door open and he squeezed by me and then I picked up the third and brought it in. I watched as he dutifully unpacked everything and put it away then folded the bags and put them beside the fridge with the others. This was the only time he had to perform while I stood and watched. He was fast, but careful, clearly enjoying performing in this way as I stood and watched. He stood back and looked at me.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

I folded one arm across my chest and then rubbed my jaw with my free hand. I thought for a minute or two. I could tell he loved this pose, my chest bunched up and my arm bulging as my hand rubbed across my 5 o’clock shadow. My cock had been intruding into my day right from the get-go, visibly trapped down my pant leg, and now I had a way to resolve that.

“Come with me.”, I said and sauntered down the hall and into the bedroom. After he entered I told him to close the door. I stepped beside the bed and then turned around to face him.

“Take down my pants.”

“Oh, ah, yes, sir, certainly.” He approached me and unbuttoned my pants, lowered the fly, and then lowered my pants to the floor as he slowly kneeled. There was no way to hide the growing erection in my jock and after I stepped out of the pants he looked up at me. My cock sticking forward obscenely in the jockstrap and almost blocking his view.

“Now my jock.”

He swallowed hard and reached up from his position on the carpet. He grasped the jockstrap at my hips on each side and began slowly sliding it down. As it moved down and over my quads, my thick stiffening cock stretched the waist tighter and tighter until it popped free, swung up, and slapped my abs. It dropped back down and pointed straight at his face. I watched as the pathetic wuss licked his lips. He slid the jock the rest of the way down and I stepped out and then sat on the edge of the bed. I spread my legs slightly and leaned back on my hands. He started to lean in when I lifted my right foot and pushed it into his face.

“Not so fast pussyboy. I’ll tell you what to do and when to do it, got it?”

“Yes, of course, sir. I just…”, he looked down.

“Good piggy. Now open wide.” I said as I angled my foot downward. He immediately did as I asked, looking like a patient in a doctor’s office. I slowly advanced my foot until my big toe was in his mouth, his lips closed and he groaned quietly.

“That’s a good boy. Now you see how this is gonna work.” My other foot stayed planted firmly on the floor, my thick toes gripping the carpet. My upper body, supported on my hands, along with my backward canted body made my abs pop, which he was now looking at as my throbbing cock bounced to the beat of my heart. He was either a very quick study or had had a lot of practice, but somehow I knew it was not the latter. There was something that was too clean about his faggotry. This guy was not a mess or a pathetic worthless piece of shit….yet. There was something else here too.

His foot cleaning was as intense as his kitchen cleaning and he worked his mouth and tongue over every inch of my toes, licking and sucking my right for a full 5 minutes before I switched and stuffed my left foot in. Off he went again, like a Roomba with a vengeance, his eyes never leaving my cock, body, or my intensely watching eyes. From his viewpoint, he had a true sight to see. My tan skin stretched thin over thick calves moving up to my knees before being tightly tied in around the joint and then flaring back out over my bulging quads. The skin was covered with a decent amount of hair which only further showed off my muscle as it lay along the ridges and valleys of my ripped thighs.

“Good faggot. You seem to be studied at this. Tell me, how many Alphas have used you?”

“Onee 2th thir. Bu-th my wifeth useth oooth athk me oooth wick herf feeth.”, he responded, his feet full of toes.

“Wife? Are you married?”

“Nottt thiir…bu-th I wath…..

“Interesting.”, I pondered, “But you’re happier now, aren’t you suck boy?”

“Yeth” he responded, nodding his head as he continued the tongue bath of my feet. After a few minutes more, I pulled my left foot from his drooling mouth and slick face.

“Time to serve.” I stood up, my quads and basket now just centimeters from his face. This surprised him, but he did not recoil, instead probably hoping his face would graze my junk. “Fuck, have you ever seen sweeps like these?” I asked gesturing to my quads as they flared out at the tops of my legs before being taken back at the bottom. “So full…so ripped….bet you’ve never seen anything like this…let alone see it this close.”

“I…I…he stammered….”, his eyes so close and my legs so big that all he could see was muscle in every direction.

I reached over to the side table and grabbed a bottle of lube. “Worship my cock, faggot.”, I said, handing the bottle to him.

He looked over at the bottle, pondered it for a moment, and then looked back into my glaring eyes, “Sir, if it pleases you, I can produce a much better lubricant.”

“Produce?” I sneered.

“Yes sir. I guarantee you’ll like it.”

“OK, but make this big man feel good.” I returned to my position on the bed, legs slightly spread and sitting right up at the edge, leaning back on my hands. My abs and quads flexed casually.

“Of course, Sir.” He then took his left hand and reached into the back of his throat, moving it around until he gagged up a handful of throat slime. I was a little shocked, but then he took that slime and slathered it over my cock, alternately keeping eye contact with me and watching what he was doing, his hand slowly sliding up and down my oversized junk until it was completely slick. He then continued, his right hand beginning to jack my cock slowly, very slowly. After a minute, he brought his left hand up and grabbed my ball sack, gently tugging.

And so it began, his hand moving…

All the way up….… And all the way down….…

All the way up….… And all the way down….…

All the way up….… And all the way down….…

“Fuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk…” I groaned as the first intense sparks of pleasure shuddered up my cock and into my very horny mind. My head dropped back for a second as I savored every inch of pleasure his hand was sending as it moved over my long thick tool. I lifted my head several seconds later. “Fuck faggot…. This is what you like, isn’t it? Taking care of a real man. Being the subservient pussy to a jacked Alpha.”

He nodded, “Yes sir, you have no idea what this is like for me.”

The speed was obscenely slow and the pleasure was intense. His grip was perfect. Just how I like, not too tight, not too loose. Now, I’ve talked to many guys about this with many different size cocks and I can honestly tell you, when you’re hung, a hand job can be a truly fucking amazing thing. At 9 1/2 inches, no hand is able to hold all of my cock at one time, so the sliding up and down of a hand is a contrast in where the hand is and where the hand is not. Slick with lube and moving up and down, a hand becomes intensely pleasurable in one place while another area is getting no action at all. I know it probably sounds weird, but that contrast is crazy hot. Switching it up by using both hands changes the equation too, making it fuller. By alternating between the two any reasonably talented bottom can work me hard without ever bringing his mouth or ass into the mix. This faggot was going to get mouth raped by me someday, just not this one.

After a bit, he began to time his ball tugs, so that each time his slick hand slid up my shaft, his other tugged down on my balls. He kept looking at me and seemed to observe every motion of my jacked and muscled body. In a short time, I was having occasional muscle spasms in my legs and groaning, but those groans quickly turned into some very nasty verbal feedback for him.

“Fuck….that’s good. Keep on that cock, boy. Don’t slack off on me—Focus!”, He continued manipulating my oversized junk and my cock enjoyed ever fucking second of it.

“Looks like I found myself a good pussyboy today. That’s it, keep on it, real slow…show me what you got, son.”

“Yes sir….” He snapped back.

All the way up …… and all the way down……

Up..….2..….3.…… tug …… Down..….2.……3..….

Up..….2..….3.…… tug …… Down..….2.……3..….

Up..….2..….3.…… tug …… Down..….2.……3..….

After several minutes of this, he released my sack for a moment and brought his hand up to the head of my cock, palming it in small circles while occasionally using his fingers underneath the flange of my cock. Then down together to give me the full two-fisted experience, twisting his hands around the thick shaft and head, his hands splaying out as he passed over the thickest part of the shaft. Then back to one hand with the ball tug. It was intense. After a bit, he stopped and reached back into that faggot throat of his to gather some more of that slime and reapply it to my now leaking and throbbing cock.

Then back to it…

All the way up…… And all the way down……

Up..….2..….3.…… tug …… Down..….2.……3..….

Up..….2..….3.…… tug …… Down..….2.……3..….

Up..….2..….3.…… tug …… Down..….2.……3..….

“Fuck yeah, work that big stick….I know how bad you want it…you need it…am I right? Cock worship is what guys like you love most.”

“Yes sir, fuck, I need it. It’s not a want. That’s exactly right. I love your cock sir.”

I kept on him verbally, feeding the fetish inside his little mind. “I know you’d like nothing more than to get this cock down your throat, but you gotta prove yourself first, cocksucker. Show me your devotion. Show me you know how to worship….that you know how to serve. Yeah, keep that pole wet.” I added as he pushed his hand back into his mouth.

From time to time he would palm my head or stroke with his other hand or changes his grip, but this piece of shit was seriously talented. Fast and light, each change of technique was nearly instantaneous. Any of my initial reservations about this whole scene had rapidly melted away.

“Common you pathtetic wuss…that’s it…faster….keep on it….”

Up…2…3… tug…. Down…2…3…

Up…2…3… tug…. Down…2…3…

Up…2…3… tug…. Down…2…3…

Up…2…3… tug…. Down…2…3…

Up…2…3… tug…. Down…2…3…

“Fuck, yeah…that’s taking care of it. Fucking faggot coming up to me and propositioning me…in a parking lot…fucking wasting my time? You’re gonna have to earn every minute I let you near me, faggot. Is that understood?”

“Oh, yes…I…whatever you want Sir…”

By now my slick cock was drooling like mad. That slick pre-jizz was combined with his throat slime and increasingly rapid hand movements to produce some splatter which was either on my cum gutter abs or…his face. He licked his lips, tasting the salty-sweet concoction as he stared at my now very stimmed-up cock. This little shithead had skills.


Up..2…3.. tug.. Down..2..3..

Up..2…3.. tug.. Down..2..3..

Up..2…3.. tug.. Down..2..3..

Up..2…3.. tug.. Down..2..3..

Up..2…3.. tug.. Down..2..3..

As the speed increases his touch lightens….softer and less constricting, but somehow just as perfect. Faster and faster, lighter and lighter

“Fuck, yeah…Jesus… you fucking piece of shit. You’ve been watching me for weeks and then finally grew a pair and approached me. Now you’re dreams are coming true. You want to suck this big dick like a Dyson, but you’re not going to…not till I say. I’m running this show and this show is you. You do what I say, when I say it. Is that understood?”

“Yes, oh yes sir. I…yes, whatever you want. Yes…Yes….”

“Fuck, you’re getting me close. You wanted this so badly service-fag, so get down and work for it. Make this muscle man feel good!!”

Up.2.3. tug. Down.2.3.

Up.2.3. tug. Down.2.3.

Head palm, flange twist.

Up.2.3. tug. Down.2.3.

Up.2.3. tug. Down.2.3.

Up.2.3. tug. Down.2.3.

And moments later.

Up23. tug. Down23.

Up23. tug. Down23.

Up23. tug. Down23.

Up23. tug. Down23.

Up23. tug. Down23.

Up23. tug. Down23.

This kept on for several more minutes, several more intense minutes. My head lolled back while my balls started to really boil. I shuddered and lifted my head to see this faggots hand an absolute fucking blur on my cock. The look on his face was indescribable…so fully focused, so mesmerized, and yet at the same time so fully dedicated to the job at hand…literally. For a second he did not notice that I had looked up again. When he did, he could not contain himself.

“Fuck, sir, this is the most beautiful cock. You’re so hard….so thick….so perfectly shaped. I just knew it would be. I don’t know how, but I knew it would be as perfect as the rest of you. I just…oh god….how is this happening to me?”

I chuckled. “Shit…yeah…ff…ffuck…fucking faggot ass. This is your fucking lucky day, isn’t it? Not in your wildest dreams did you expect this to happen. Ugh…fuck, yeah…do me right pussy boy….ffff….fuck, Oh yeah, right there…right there baby…that’s the spot…oh shit….OH FUCK…I’m gonna lose it…I’m gonna give your fucking faggot face what it deserves…yeah…pull that big dick down faggot…look right at it…I’m gonna…fuck….I’m gonna….Oh….fuck…yes…here it comes….gonna SHOOOOOOT….”

At this point, I just lost it. Shooting my massive load of hot man-batter right into this faggots already pre-jizz painted face. He just sat there, mouth open, trying desperately to catch as much as he could but failing miserably. The cum splattered all over his face. His closed eyes made it impossible to see where the next gunshot of thick sticky man cum would land. His face and hair were completely doused in my steamy seed in a totally humiliating mess. Slowly, my cock reduced its output until it was down to a teaspoon or so each pulse and then to zero. The faggot just sat on his knees, panting. I didn’t realize until that moment how hard he’d been working my dong. Not moving now, the pathetic wuss just kneeled there, the cum running down over his face and onto his shirt.

“Fuck faggot, you’re a mess. Do not get any cum on my carpet.” I barked.

“No, sir, I would not.” his head jerked up. “I’ve caught everything on my face and shirt….and pants, sir.” he said looking down gesturally.

When I pushed myself fully up I could see that he had in fact contorted himself in such a way as to catch everything that had splattered or was now dripping off his face. The shot behind him on the wall could not really be blamed on him as his eyes were closed for most of the experience. I could see him, even now, licking his lips and trying to get as much of my cum into his mouth. I leaned back again, grabbed a towel, and threw it in his lap. He let go of my cock and balls now and began to clean his face. The cum stuck in his hair and splattered on his shirt and pants.

“Get up and go clean yourself faggot. The bathroom is through there.” I motioned.

As he stumbled off I got up, wiped off my abs, cock, balls, and thighs and redressed myself in the jock and shorts. When the faggot came back out. I was again dressed and waiting.

“Not bad faggot, but you’re not in yet. I want you back here next Saturday at 9:30. Be ready to clean again and we’ll see how you do. You will not speak of this to anyone. Is that understood?”

“Oh no, I mean, yes sir. I’do not tell a soul. Nobody would believe me anyway. Thank you…I just…this has been the greatest day of my life.” He gushed.

“Oh, I understand that faggot. Now get the fuck out of my house. I’ll see you next weekend.”

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