2

“Stevie,” the voice addressed me again, this time demanding, searching for a clue as to what I might be doing in his bedroom, trying to work out some scenario for why I might be standing over his open laundry hamper. He was attempting to shake me from my stupor. There was a depth to his tone. His voice was deeper than I remembered it being three seconds ago, and certainly deeper than I remembered it being during our initial meeting. His tone carried what few words had been spoken with some combination of confusion and unease, maybe even a twinge of anger.

That’s it , I thought. I’m going to be fired. And as soon as word got out around the neighborhood about what I’d been up to, no one else would even think of hiring me . I’d have to move, change my appearance, maybe even my identity.

My mom would be thrilled to find out that I’d have to start searching for work in some other field—thrilled that I’d started taking my future seriously.

Ugh.

I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t face him. The situation was too humiliating.

Rocco continued licking himself, unaffected, blithely unaware of Enzo’s presence. Lucky bastard.

“Stevie,” Enzo started, then paused, then started again, his tone easing slightly. “Is everything alright?”

He must have noticed my unease, my inability to move, to speak. I had to respond or he’d think I was having a stroke. I had to say something or do something or slam my eyes shut and just hope to the gods above that I would disintegrate into thin air, a smoky mélange of captive blackbirds taking my place, finding their freedom as they desperately flapped away in a cloud of dust.

At some point, I realized I had no way out. I was going to have to fess up to what I had done, say goodbye to Rocco, hand Enzo the key to his house, and be on my pitiful way, feeling humiliated and inferior. With any luck, I’d never bump into him in the neighborhood.

“Uh…” I stammered. “Yeah. Sorry, I was just… uh…”

“Stevie,” he interrupted, repeating my name for what felt like the tenth time.

“Yeah?” I finally turned, ashamedly glancing up to meet his eye, feeling the need to answer his every question, to obey him.

Fuck, he had only gotten hotter since I first met him. He’d hardly changed from what I remembered, but he suddenly had an authoritative quality about him. This time the slacks he wore were charcoal gray and his button-up lavender. His frame filled everything out nicely. His hair was cut short and purposefully mussed, the thick strands in front almost forming a widow’s peak on his tanned forehead. He still had the five o’clock shadow and pulled it off well, giving him the effortless look of a sexy daddy, salt and pepper still decorating his face.

He couldn’t have been any older than fifty, no younger than forty. Slight creases pulled at the corners of his eyes. It was the first time I’d really looked at him, seeing him as a man instead of just a client.

He stood still in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, his head cocked to the side, a modest smile pulling at his lips. A slight bulge tented the front of his slacks. Was he hard or were his pants just too tight? Both things were reasonably possible. A twinge of intrigue appeared on that modest smile. “You probably shouldn’t be going through people’s dirty laundry.”

Did he mean that figuratively or literally? In that situation, either definition could have applied. He spoke to me like a child. I guess I deserved it.

“I swear… it’s the first time. I’ve never…”

He chuckled. A shy grin finally rested atop his rugged jawline as I choked on my words, struggling to explain what I had been doing and why.

“Look,” Enzo interrupted. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not gonna fire me?”

“No!” He said it emphatically, as if I were crazy for even asking.

A sigh of relief escaped me and I felt my shoulders finally relax. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll just get out of here and let you enjoy your weekend.”

I scurried around the bed and tried to squeeze past him in the doorway. He didn’t budge, forcing me to turn myself toward him to slide by sideways. He had five inches, forty pounds, and probably twenty years on me, and I suddenly felt like a child even without him speaking to me like one. As I passed by him, my crotch grazed his thigh. There was no way he didn’t feel my erection trapped in my shorts.

He suddenly turned to face me in the doorway. The expression on his face was hard to read as I glanced up into his eyes. It didn’t appear that he was angry, but more like some deviant streak had suddenly overtaken him, as though he’d been struck by lightning and the shock had unlocked a hidden desire in him, one that was driven by sexual hunger. Only, it was tempered by uncertainty, like it was the first time he’d been in this situation and he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed.

“Or…” Enzo reached out and apprehensively grabbed my cock through my shorts, as if he were trying to confirm I was actually aroused. “ You could help me enjoy my weekend.”

Holy shit. Was this actually happening? I’d hooked up with plenty of guys in the past, but typically, I met them at bars while we were both on the prowl. It had never happened like this before. Never with a client. And the sex was usually pretty vanilla. Never had a guy caught me going through his laundry, sniffing his jockstrap, and then invited me to help him get off.

My voice cracked as I spoke. “That’s what you want?”

“Yeah,” he admitted through a cute, crooked grin. His hand was still on my cock and he gave it a quick squeeze, causing me to flex and expand in his grip. “Is it what you want?”

I quickly nodded my head. My mouth had gone dry. My throat had constricted. But I was finally able to speak with a feigned sense of confidence. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Enzo started, giving my cock another squeeze. “Then don’t go.”

My dick throbbed in his grasp and my mouth finally started to water. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do or how to proceed.

“Rocco,” he called, his eyes never leaving mine, his hand never leaving my crotch. “Living room.”

Rocco, acknowledging Enzo for the first time since he’d arrived home, jumped from his bed and squeezed between our legs before traipsing down the hallway and into the living room, probably to find a comfortable spot to sleep on the couch.

Enzo guided us into his bedroom, shutting the door behind us and stopping just short of the side of his bed. The room was quiet, and the French doors leading out to the back deck situated steps from the foot of the bed flooded the room with light. The backyard was fenced in for privacy. Leafy shrubs, tropical plants, and whimsical, towering rods of bamboo grew wild, not allowing for views from the neighbors if they’d tried. We were alone in his house. In his room. But I didn’t feel trapped. I was nervous but not scared. Enzo was in control but he wasn’t aggressive. At least, not in a way I didn’t want him to be.

The smirk I glimpsed hidden beneath the surface on his otherwise stormy face gave me comfort. He was just as nervous about this as I was, but someone had to take control or we would have simply stared at each other until we died, our erections straining against our clothes, annoyed by our inability to act on our desires.

Maybe he’d wanted a piece of me since the day he hired me but didn’t want to scare me off, didn’t want to risk losing a good dog walker for Rocco. Maybe he was just horny. I no longer cared. He wanted me and I most certainly wanted him. The opportunity had presented itself. What the fuck were we waiting for?

We stood facing each other. Enzo placed his strong hands on my shoulders and applied some pressure, guiding me to my knees in front of him. It didn’t take much convincing. His fingers were long and weighty, the tops of his hands lightly dusted with dark, wispy hairs. Deep veins protruded and cut paths along his flesh. His knuckles bulged with strength. I wasn’t sure exactly what he did for a living now—only that he spent his days in an office—but he’d certainly worked with his hands at some point.

On my knees, I stared at the outline of his cock pressing into his slacks, desperately trying to escape, snaking around whatever it was confined in underneath. I looked up into Enzo’s eyes and licked my lips. I couldn’t help it. I’d lost any control I may have once had over my actions.

He palmed the back of my head—my sandy-brown hair cut short and sort of parted to one side, not styled but naturally tousled—and pulled me into his crotch, holding me against him. His length jumped at my presence, twitching and flexing against my flushed cheek. I inhaled, hoping to get another whiff of his innate maleness, another hit off his jockstrap. But the fabric of his dress pants smelled laundry-fresh. I certainly didn’t mind the scent of spring rain or fresh linen, but my mind was spinning, wondering what treasures lay underneath. A quick moan fell from between his lips at my touch.

His package felt hefty, tightly confined in layers of fabric that weren’t doing either of us any favors, acting as needless barriers to a sexual playground I’d rather explore in all its glory, free of costume and pageantry.

Enzo apparently had the same idea. “Take off your shirt,” he huffed, one hand rubbing at the thickness of this thigh and the other grasping one of his pecs firmly. He seemed almost embarrassed telling me what to do, as though he might say the wrong thing. As if such an off-putting phrase existed at that moment.

I did as I was told, swiftly raising my arms and grasping at the back of my shirt collar, pulling at the fabric and yanking it over my head with one forceful tug before wadding it in my fist and tossing it to the floor. The cool air in the room whipped at my exposed flesh—taut on my slight frame and clammy from a day of walking dogs in the unforgiving sun—hardening the brown of my petite nipples. The afternoon rays poured into the room from the west, shadowing the slight definition around my pecs, my abs, the V-lines of my obliques.

Enzo licked his lips as I looked up into his eyes, eager for his direction and awaiting his next command, curious about what I’d be doing next. “And your shorts.”

Done. I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts, and stood long enough to push them down my thighs and kick them off along with my socks and sneakers. Two wet spots dotted the heather-gray fabric just under the band of my briefs, making small Vs on either side of the base of my cock that tented the front of them. It had been a hot fucking day spent running around the neighborhood walking dog after dog, and I had broken a sweat.

For a moment, I almost cared about not being at my freshest. But then again, I’d just had my nose buried in the pouch of Enzo’s sweaty jockstrap when he’d been turned on enough to proposition me, so I guess I didn’t have too much to worry about in the way of his judgment.

“Those too,” he continued, motioning to the only article of clothing still covering my body with a nod of his head.

I peeled out of my briefs, kicking them over to the pile of clothing I’d already discarded, revealing myself to him, the sheen of sweat covering my frame still cooling, basking in the goodness of the air-conditioning. The head of my hard cock bounced up against my stomach, standing at full attention, and my balls hung loose between my thighs as I fell back to my knees and buried my face in his crotch.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he said, leaning his head back to enjoy the feeling of my face against his trapped cock. As much as I appreciated it, I didn’t need the encouragement or the validation. All I really needed was his dick in my mouth or buried in my hungry hole. This man had made me needy, even desperate, for him. Never had I been so overtaken by my desire.

Sex had always been fine. It was good with some guys. With others, it was just alright. But it had always just been sex. Nothing more. But with Enzo? I was suddenly experiencing need. I had a need to please the man in front of me and there was an underlying urgency behind every action taken, behind every word spoken.

Enzo unfastened his belt and unhooked the button of his slacks, unzipping them slowly before pushing his wrinkled shirt tails out of the way and revealing the white cotton pouch of a jockstrap with matching white straps and waistband, a thin purple stripe cutting through the center of it. Thick dark hair curled out from underneath, blanketing his upper thighs. A less dense patch of hair curled upward over the waistband, as though he regularly trimmed his pubes but it had been a while since his last manscaping session.

His body looked so different than mine. A small patch of pubic hair grew above my cock and around my balls that I normally kept trimmed. Below that, a few hairs feathered out between my legs and up the crack of my ass. I kept all of that trimmed down as well. A meager treasure trail worked its way up my lower abdomen to my navel where it then faded into smooth skin the rest of the way up. Enzo was clearly hairy, and his body turned me on even more because of it.

He grabbed the back of my head with care and pressed my face into his crotch again, my nose working itself into the crease where the pouch met his thigh. Even after what I assumed was a morning shower post-workout, the day had found him. Whether he sat at a desk, paced a boardroom, or fidgeted in a hot car all day, whether he braved the dense heat while walking to the train station or plowed through a thick cloud of humidity while trekking home from his office, the sweet remnants of the day—of a light musk percolating between his legs—filled my nostrils. I inhaled him intently and he pulled me deeper into him, offering me more of his subtle deliciousness.

“So, this is what you like, Stevie?” It wasn’t really a question. “You like the smell of a man between his legs?”

I looked up at him from my kneeling position, almost drooling, meeting his blue-green irises and speaking honestly. “Not until today. Not until you.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he admitted, chuckling, the wheels of discovery turning in his head. The fact that he could have that effect on me turned him on.

I pushed my face back into him, inhaling as though I were huffing paint. The pouch was so tight on him, filled to the brim with an abundance of his manhood, and I wondered why he decided to wear a jockstrap to work that day. Did he do that every day? For practical reasons? To decrease the chance of visible lines under his slacks, lines that might be drawn by a pair of briefs? Did he like the way a jockstrap felt? Did it make him feel exposed? Sexy? Erotically… mischievous?

I couldn’t get enough of my deviant thoughts, but Enzo was clearly eager for more. He let go of my head and yanked the waistband of his jockstrap down over himself, revealing a semi-hard, thick, uncut cock that bounced up and slapped against the bottom of my chin, the foreskin completely covering the rounded head. It looked heavy and full. And so did his furry sack. The underside of his hefty cock peeled itself away from his balls as it grew firmer.

I wanted him in my mouth, but he needed to get out of those tight pants so he could get himself into a more comfortable position. Once he’d discarded them, once he’d haphazardly kicked them off along with his jockstrap, leaving them to wrinkle on top of the pile of clothes I’d already shed, he sat down on the bed and beckoned me between his legs. His cock was growing hard, but it was so heavy that it just sort of bounced and rested on his balls.

My own cock, which had always seemed pretty average before, looked like a child’s next to his, but I didn’t fucking care. He didn’t fucking care. He thought I was beautiful. Besides, this wasn’t about me. Enzo needed to be pleasured.

Approaching him, I allowed my tongue to gently touch the tip, licking at his retracting foreskin as his dick grew firmer and firmer. A moan slipped through Enzo’s lips as he relaxed onto his bed, his forearms propping him up as the balls of his large feet barely touched the floor. I could tell he wanted to look at me, to watch me as I sucked the head of his cock between my hungry lips, but his head fell back on his neck with the potent sensation of pleasure, his lips parted, his breathing heavy with anticipation.

Maybe it had been a while since he’d last gotten off. He seemed like the type of guy who could get whatever he wanted from whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. But maybe he’d been there and done that. Perhaps he’d started looking for something more but happened to stumble upon an opportunity he simply couldn’t resist when he spied his dog walker desperately sniffing his dirty jockstrap. Maybe he was just horny. So was I. I mean, I wasn’t. But as soon as I inhaled his glorious scent—sweat and sex and maleness—there was no turning back. Perhaps we’d both stumbled into something that simply couldn’t have been avoided.

The feeling of his flesh on my tongue was intense, the taste pleasant and erotic, the smell of his pubic hair clean but full—warm. The remnants of the day lingered on him, the musk of his sweat strong but sweet. Enzo smelled of a man, every bit of him virile and masculine and earthy and perfect.

I worked my way down his length, tasting every inch of him as I attempted to swallow him whole and take him into my throat. At first, I gagged and had to pull off for a moment.

“Easy,” he offered, seeming concerned about my well-being, reaching for the back of my head with his hand but never quite making contact. “Take your time.”

But I was determined. He had finally grown as firm as he would grow, as hard as a man his size could become. So, I got on my knees and went back down on him, swallowing hard and breathing through my nose as I took him into me.

“That’s it,” he moaned. “Swallow that cock. Good boy.”

Fuck. My dick twitched as soon as the words emerged from his mouth and hovered in the air above us. I was nervous that I would come too quickly, that the moment would be over too soon, so I grabbed the base of my cock and squeezed, determined to get him off before I came.