— Previously published in Inches magazine - October, 2001 —
— And guess what? Buster's even bigger! —
Life had been good for Buster out at the Bed-and-Breakfast where he'd been working since late summer. Most of his work consisted of maintaining the large, lush property surrounding the old house, and all this manual labor kept his lean, now twenty-one year old body in shape. Because most of the guests had not been alone, Buster easily avoided temptation, but toward the end of the year, a guest arrived who would change that.
Ron and Casey, the owners of the Bed-and-Breakfast, advertised a "clothing optional" policy around the house. For the most part, none of the guests ever went totally nude. On New Year's Eve, however, Buster looked out of the window of his cottage behind the house and saw the guest who had checked in the night before, walking from the house to the hot tub in the back yard. To Buster, the man looked like a combination of Olympic diver and movie star, only he was wearing nothing but a towel around his neck. The man had the build of the diver and the height of the action star, with long, flowing hair similar to a guy Buster had seen over the Internet who called himself "Longhairjack."
Buster backed away from the window and sat down. He feared being fired if he came on to the guest, but it had been a long time since he'd been with anyone. It was okay to do anything while not on duty, away from the property, but there was a rule that Buster was to stay away from the guests. The closest Buster had gotten to any of them had been during the times he'd been asked to massage them out by the pool or hot tub, when Ron and Casey were there. Buster felt fit to be tied.
Suddenly, the telephone rang. Figuring Ron or Casey would answer it, since it was their house, Buster let it ring five times, then went ahead and answered it.
"Buster," Ron began, "Casey and I left this morning for New Orleans, intending to do a little shopping and return home. Now, we've decided to stay overnight. Think you can handle things over there 'til tomorrow?"
"Uh, sure," Buster replied, his heart pounding. "Is that guy who checked in yesterday the only one you expect?"
"Yeah," Ron replied. "Let me put Casey on the phone."
"Well," Casey said, "I'm sure you never expected to hear this from me, but the kitchen's all yours 'til tomorrow afternoon. Any questions?"
"You know I cooked for myself all Summer before y'all hired me!" Buster laughed. "I promise not to break any of Aunt Jezebel's fine china."
"Ve1y funny," Casey replied. "Just have the dude's coffee ready by seven a.m., and his breakfast by seven-thirty. You know the routine--leave the coffee outside the room, then knock and announce breakfast at seven-thirty."
"Got it covered!" Buster replied.
After hanging up the phone, Buster returned to the window. Through the heavy steam rising above the hot tub, Buster could barely discern the guest. What little he saw, though, was a turn-on. As the man stretched his long, hairy, muscular arms into the air, then ran his hands through his hair, Buster began to raise a hard-on which pushed forward the crotch of his gym pants. He ran his hands over his bare chest and thumped his erection to make it go down. It did, but Buster continued to ponder just how he was going to connect with this lone customer.
After a long shower, Buster donned a pair of spandex shorts and a black sweatshirt. Despite the time of the year, the weather was warm, so Buster remained barefoot. After drying and tying his hair into a ponytail, he left the cottage and walked to the main house. He did his best to ignore the man in the hot tub but had to turn around when he heard his voice.
"Say," the guest shouted in a deep voice, "do the amenities here include an afternoon cocktail?"
The shrunken sweatshirt barely covered Buster's navel as he walked toward the guest. His gorgeous genitalia, neatly arranged and packed inside the spandex, moved with his every step, and he immediately noticed what the guest had his eyes on.
Acting as business-like as possible, Buster stepped up to the deck surrounding the hot tub, hiked his right leg onto a chair and put his right hand, football-player style, on his hip. "Sir," he began, "we don't usually do that here." He then paused, waiting for the inevitable next question.
"Roger's the name," the guest said, offering his hand.
Buster coyly let a few seconds pass, then slowly moved toward Roger. "Buster, sir."
A firm handshake thickened the "chemistry" they'd already established, and Buster's attitude softened--even as his dick got hard.
"Nice to meet you, Roger," Buster said. "I was working out back when you checked in. This is not like them, but Ron and Casey have taken a sudden trip out of town, and I'm in charge here 'til they return. Usually, they wouldn't allow this, but I'm going to bend the rules a little and, yes, offer you a cocktail." He paused and gazed down Roger's broad, awesome chest. "I wouldn't figure a man in as good shape as you would be drinking!"
"Oh," Roger replied. "I figure one won't hurt--I'll-let the heat in this tub sweat all the alcohol out. You know how to make a martini?"
"Sure do," Buster replied. "How do you want it?"
"Vodka. Up. Olives."
"Be right back," Buster said.
As Buster walked toward the house, Roger grew hard at the sight of the tight, young buns moving inside the spandex. As Buster was making the martini, the telephone rang.
"Hey, Buster, this is Bobby. Just wanted to see what you're doin' tonight. How are you ringing in the New ..."
"Dude," Buster interrupted, "there's this freakin' Adonis out in the hot tub, and I'm makin' him a martini! Ron and Casey won't be back 'til tomorrow. This is fuckin' unbelievable, and it's all I can do to stay away from this hunk!"
"Go for it," Bobby exclaimed. "What you ought to do is get him off the property--that way, you won't get into trouble with the managers. Maybe we could all meet out at that new bar down the road."
"I'll think about it," Buster replied. "Let me call you back after I take him the martini."
Carefully carrying the plastic cup he'd poured the drink into, Buster returned to Roger and handed him the martini.
"Excuse the cup, sir," Buster said. "Have to go by the 'no glass rule' out here!"
"No problem," Roger replied as he took the cup.
Through the steam and the pulsating, hot bubbles, Buster could see Roger's hard-on, which practically rose above the surface of the water.
"Aren't you going to join me?" Roger asked.
"Thanks," Buster replied. "But I'm on duty." he paused, sat down and spread his legs, revealing the incredibly big, round form of his balls which hung below his hugely protruding play-pole. "If I may ask, what's a good-looking man like you doing alone on New Year's Eve?"
Roger drained his martini and set the cup on the ledge of the hot tub. "Man, it's a long story. I just broke up with my partner, and I figured a little time away would do me some good. Figured I'd be alone, but I didn't count on running into someone who looks like you."
Buster sighed, then remembered Bobby's suggestion. Suggestively rubbing the spandex over his snug cock, he said, "You know, it's funny. As long as I'm on this property, I have to be Mr. Platonic; once off the grounds, I'm on my own time--free, if you catch my drift."
"Any good bars nearby?" Roger asked.
Pretending to wrack his brain, Buster thought about it for a couple of moments. "Well, I hear there's this new bar a few miles down the road from here. Called Jeans Lounge--that's like blue jeans, if you catch my drift."
"I catch it loud and clear," Roger replied. "What say, later on, we go down there for awhile. Think you might want to party some?"
"I guess I could leave the answering machine on," Buster said. "Meet me in the driveway about nine o'clock."
As he took a long, hot shower, Buster grew hard thinking about Roger. He'd never dated any of the B-and-B guests, and this slight bending of the rules turned him on. After toweling down, he remained naked as he dried his long hair, then tied it into a ponytail. Skipping underwear, he slipped on a pair of tight, black jeans, a long sleeve T-shirt, and a leather vest over that. He then slipped on a pair of athletic socks and heavy boots. He sprayed some cologne around his neck then brushed his teeth. His heart pounding, he locked the cottage and proceeded toward the cabin cruiser of the car that Roger had arrived in.
Wearing jeans, a flannel shirt unbuttoned halfway down and the same kind of boots Buster had on, Roger was waiting in the car as Buster got in.
"Evening, guy," Roger said, as Buster closed the door. "Is a kiss okay?"
"Soon as we get off the grounds!" Buster replied.
As soon as Roger backed onto the highway he pulled off to the side of the road, put the car in "park," and reached over to Buster. Buster left his arms down as the two exchanged a passionate French kiss.
Back on the road Roger said, "I hope I'm going in the right direction. Where is this bar?"
"You're going in the right direction in more ways than one," Buster replied. "I'll show you where to turn, about four miles down, right."
"I'm surprised a hunk like you didn't already have a date tonight," Roger said. "You ever had a partner?"
"Oh, I had one alright. We broke up last Summer when I went to work at the B-and-B and he went off to college." Buster paused, then chuckled, "He'll probably be here tonight. Don't run off with him."
"You got nothing to worry about there, big boy!" Roger replied.
As they entered the smoke-filled bar, the beat of the loud rock music immediately created a party attitude, and Buster began dancing as he and Roger walked to the bar. Through the noise, Buster managed to tell Roger what he wanted to drink, then found a table for two. Roger returned with the drinks, sat down, and the two locked their deep, dark eyes.
"Here's to the New Year," Roger toasted. "And you."
"Same to ya!" Buster replied, as they clicked their bottles of beer together.
Much to Buster's relief, Bobby was not alone when he walked in, about an hour later. With Bobby was Bruce, a friend from college. After they got their drinks, Bobby and Buster made eye contact, then Bobby went over to the table.
Introductions were made, then Buster pulled Bobby aside. "Dude, you don't know how relieved I am that you aren't alone tonight!"
"That's some brick shit-house with you, bro!" Bobby replied.
"Yours ain't so bad, either," Buster continued. "You know of anywhere Roger and I could go to be alone?"
"Be right back," Bobby replied.
After what seemed like an eternity, Bobby returned to the table and pulled Buster aside.
"Dude, I just talked to a friend who works here. He told me about a cabin behind this place--oh, shit, I already knew about it--I've been there--"
"Cut the bullshit," Buster replied. "I know you're still in the business. I'm not. Now, the cabin?"
"It's yours for the next couple of hours," Bobby said, retrieving a key from his jeans pocket. "This is with the condition that I can come out to the B-and-B in the morning and have breakfast!"
"As long as what you eat's on the table!" Buster replied, grabbing the key.
Buster returned to the table, where a bored-looking Roger patiently awaited. No words were spoken as Buster flashed the key, shiny under the strobe lights, in front of him.
As Buster and Roger walked, arm-in-arm, through the chilly woods to the cabin, Roger asked, "How's your friend going to get his key back?"
"By coming for breakfast in the morning," Buster replied. "He knows there'll be no hanky-panky there, so I advise you to keep your clothes on then, too!"
Roger grabbed Buster firmly and replied, "Meanwhile, I'm about ready to get out of 'em!"
Roger and Buster entered an already warm, centrally heated cabin, replete with wet bar and soft, seductive lighting. Before Buster could offer Roger a drink, Roger swiftly began to strip down. Buster joined him, and within minutes they were on the bearskin rug, in front of the gaslight fireplace.
"Want me to turn on the fire?" Buster asked.
"You're hot enough, man!" Roger whispered.
For the next few minutes, the two hot-bloods sat on the rug, legs akimbo, facing each other. Roger made the first move, slowly sliding his tongue into Buster's eagerly open mouth. After several minutes of deep French kissing, Buster moved his left hand onto Roger's incredibly huge cock, and began stroking. Roger licked the palm of his right hand, just below his thumb, and applied it to Buster's succulent shaft. With his right hand Buster ran his now warm fingers over Roger's hairy chest, then pushed him to the floor.
"I'm usually the top man!" Roger cried out.
"Not tonight!" Buster said, as he swiftly turned Roger's hot body over, got up on his knees and began rimming.
"Ah," Roger moaned. "You can do anything to me now!"
With that, Buster mounted the hairy visitor, applied a light coat of spit to his own even more incredibly huge dick and entered Roger's more-or-less willing asshole.
As Buster thrust back and forth, Roger slid into a state of total bliss. Midway through this action, Buster paused and asked, "You want me to lube it some more?"
"Shut up!" Roger replied. "With you, I don't need it!"
The way Roger said the word "you" pumped even more blood into Buster's hard-on, and he stuck it in deeper. As deep, in fact, as eleven thick inches of swollen dick can go up a hungry butthole. Then, after a few more pumps, Buster's hot, plentiful man-juice fired into Roger's fuck-hole.
"Oh!" Roger cried, as Buster withdrew. "Do me again!"
Buster sighed and laid back on the rug. "Go get a warm rag and clean this mess up!"
Roger could barely manage to get up, but obeyed Buster's command. After Roger washed the rag, he returned to the rug. "Your turn."
"My turn?" Buster teased.
"I said, do me!" Roger shouted, whereupon Buster grabbed Roger's still hard cock and began beating the long, fat meat until Roger exploded all over Buster's chest.
"Your turn now!" Buster said.
"My turn for what?" Roger replied.
"To get the fuckin' rag and clean me off again!" Buster answered.
By this time Roger knew who was in charge. As they walked back to the car, he again asked about Bobby. "You sure that guy won't try anything in the morning?"
"He knows who's in charge," Buster replied. "And, 'til the owners of the B-and-B get home, I am!"
Once they were back on the grounds of the B-and-B, Roger turned the car off. He then leaned over to kiss Buster, who coldly turned away.
"What's the matter, guy?" Roger asked.
"Nothing," Buster replied. After a long pause, he turned to Roger and said, "I'm back home now, back to business. If you knew what I did before I came to work here, you'd be grateful for this. Good night, friend. I'll see you at breakfast in the morning."
With that, Roger and Buster got out of the car, and both repaired to their respective residences where they would have safe, sound sleep. After the sun arose, things would be back to normal. Roger, however, would never forget those few moments with Buster, and Buster appreciated the respect, for now, of this guest, one of many at the "R and C Bed-and-Breakfast."
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