Have Table, Will Travel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Stanley was a traveling man. He traveled with a table, and if you were nice (or just horny), he'd let you climb up on it and he'd see to it that your muscles would be relaxed. All your muscles. Especially that one.

Before I get started, I should introduce myself. Call me Stanley, for now. I like to keep my personal life separate from my hobby, so it’s my business name. Young - well, 28. That’s still young, isn’t it? Fit - but not a muscle man, or a body builder. I don’t have a six pack of abs. Probably because I enjoy one every now and again. I’m somewhere between a swimmers build and a dad bod. More dad bod every year. My skin is smooth, blemish free, and pale. I’m a bit under average height. My penis is 5 inches, which is nicely proportional to the rest of me, so I think it looks good. It hardly matters most times, because I don’t often worry about hauling it out for admirers.

I should admit from the start that I’m a fairly shallow man, and this relates to my business. No, in all fairness, I should just call this a hobby. I have a job that pays the bills, and it’s not something you’d care to have me elaborate upon. My hobby, though, might prick your interest. See, I enjoy cock. I know, I know. You’re thinking, “Hey, Stanley, don’t most gay guys like cock?” (I’m assuming that you already know and expect me to be gay, otherwise why are you reading this?)

I can only admit you’re correct. But, and this is where the shallow part comes in, I’m not really interested in anything else. I don’t want to fuck, or be fucked, or have you suck my cock. No, I just want to worship your staff of life, and coax from it your essence, and then move on to the next. I’m not saying that I’d turn down a second date on those terms, but I’m not going to be pestering you about it. You can call me for an appointment or not.

I should explain that. Some years back I realized that there wasn’t that big a pool of cocks to choose from in the bars. In any case, I really hated the bars. I’m not much of a drinker, and I don’t like sucking off someone who’s drunk. News flash - you’re not as good as you think you are.

I thought of a clever ruse. I live in a state that does not require a massage license. My day job meant that I have more than a passing understanding of anatomy and physiology. So, I bought a table, got some oil and a boom box, and put out an ad targeted for my area. I charge $35.00 for half an hour; $50 for an hour. My ad is carefully worded - I won’t relate the details, because I don’t need the competition, but when first read, it sounds innocent. But, upon rereading…if you’re a clever man, you will suspect there’s something else being offered. And, if you’re just aching for a good rubdown, I offer fast, friendly service. You can see my schedule, figure out when a convenient time is for you, and set up an appointment on-line. And that is how I came to be at the house where the following occurred.

The neighborhood was on the edge of respectable. I was surprisingly well acquainted with it, as a matter of fact. The population demographic was composed of people on the way up, and people on the way down. I imagine they waved to one another as they passed. The street was dark and quiet. I slung my duffel over one should and counter-balanced it with the portable massage table. The house number under the porch light by the door confirmed I was at the right place. I didn’t see a pushbutton for the bell, so I knocked confidently on the door. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself (it was obvious in any case) to the man opening the door, because he frantically waved me in, looked up and down the street then closed and locked the door and turned off the porch light.

I got the feeling he didn’t want any neighbors prying into his business. I took a moment to assess him. His skin was the color of cafe au lait. I know that you’ve heard that a thousand times before, but I’ve got no other words that do it justice. His hair hung in dreads, and he was wearing a ratty t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. He was obviously close to freaking out, so I pretended I hadn’t noticed his semi pressing against his leg showing through the cloth and began setting up. The buckles snicked as I unlatched the table, I flipped it and, viola, table for one. James (well, that’s the name he gave when making the appointment), was trying to hide his hardening cock. Taken together with his obvious nervousness, I decided I’d better get him on the table ASAP, before he could think up an excuse to back out and push me out the door.

I told him to lay face down, and he pretty much jumped at the chance to hide his cock from me. I think he had himself convinced that I hadn’t noticed. My strategy was obvious - it’s not the first time I’ve had a client getting cold feet, and I went into a long and boring spiel about tension and the immune system, and psychological stress, and as I droned on he relaxed. I focused on his hands at first, and massaged and flexed them, then continued up the arm, kneading the muscles and rotating the joints to improve range of motion. I noticed that he flinched a bit when it was his shoulder’s turn. He admitted to having hurt it at work recently. The joint wasn’t hot to the touch, so I doubted it was serious. Still, I exercised an abundance of caution, keeping the range of motion limited, but hopefully enough to encourage circulation.

By now, I figured he had begun to think this was actually a therapeutic massage. Men can be so wonderfully oblivious. “Just a moment,” I said softly, “your shirt needs to come off. No; don’t move. I can get it.”
And then, he was just in pajama bottoms. I had plans for those, later. For the next ten minutes I concentrated on his torso. I’d have liked to kiss my way up his spine, but I was still playing it safe. In any case, I find the expanse of a back to be sensual, and I enjoyed bringing him pleasure by doing so.

He was breathing slowly, and I decided it was time to shake things up a bit. “Let me get this out of the way,” I said. Just lift up a little bit, I suggested as I inserted my hand between the table and him. For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to cooperate, but then there was a gap between the table and his belly and I got a hold of the waistband and slid it down while my other hand dragged it off his ass. I felt his cock against my forearm for an all to brief moment, and then I shucked his pants down his legs and off. I folded them over a chair and turned back to pick up where I left off. At that moment there was the slam of a door from the back of the house followed by a shouted greeting. James spasmed on the table, and would have tried to get up, but I threw a towel over him and held a hand down on his back. I whispered quickly, “No time. Just lay there, and for all he knows you’re getting a massage for a bad shoulder.”

I don’t know if he had frozen like a rabbit, or if he understood my plan, but I started up my spiel about tension and stress again. As soon as the stranger walked in, I introduced myself and assured him I was nearly done with his shoulder therapy, and I’d leave them to their evening in short order. “Yeah, Cousin Curtis, I hurt my shoulder at work and the dude’s here to fix it.” It was a suspicious thing to do, and Cousin Curtis looked suspicious. He went to the sofa, sat down, and watched silently. I went back to my spiel, finished, returned to gentle range of motion, joint warming, and gentle massage.

Fifteen minutes later, there was no sign that Cousin Curtis intended to leave. He appeared content to sit on the couch and watch as I pretended to be doing something about Jame’s shoulder. I made a mental note to not address James by name, in case my instinct for fake names proved right. That would guarantee I’d not be asked back. But it was obvious that tonight wasn’t going to have a happy ending. By then, though, I’d been there half an hour, the minimum time you’d expect for a house call massage, so I wrapped up my patter, told James that his shoulder should improve in a few days, and to see a doctor if it didn’t. Before I began to put away the oil, Curtis interrupted. He had overdone it at the warehouse, he said, and was just a mass of sore muscle. He wondered if I could find the time for another massage, so long as I was already here. He asked my price, and then asked for a discount as I was already here and wouldn’t have to spend money on gas.

Cousin Curtis was a hustler. A force of nature, and not the kind that easily took no for an answer. Nonetheless, it would have been easy for me to say no, considering how he’d ruined my evening. Instead, I exchanged the fitted sheet for another and  said, “Sure, hop on the table.” Cousin Curtis had that kind of confidence that makes me want to do things. If nothing else, I’d have something to think about when I got home to relieve my own muscular tension.

Things took a turn for the interesting immediately. Curtis was not shy. He saw no reason to have anything on during his rubdown, and shucked out of his clothes in no time. Unlike his cousin, he had a close cut hair style. Broad shoulders, great guns, and a firm chest that tapered down to a slim waist. He had a bit of an outie bellybutton, and a sparse triangle of hair that pointed to his cock. His cock was a beauty. Hanging down between solid thighs, it was seven inches, soft and fat. His balls were concealed behind it. I wanted to lift if out of the way and suck on them.

He lay down on the table on his back. His skin was marred by stretch marks where his muscle growth had outpaced his skins elasticity. The thin, lighter colored stripes contrasted with his deep brown complexion. The pigment darkened almost to black at his nipples and cock. I considered advising him to turn over, but couldn’t bear to lose sight of that dark rod.

I oiled up, and began to ply my trade. He had remarkable muscle tone, and I had to work hard to loosen his tight shoulders. (Fun fact: everyone has tight shoulders. If you want a friend, give them a neck rub.) Now, James was the silent type, hardly making a sound during the shoulder rub. His cousin was the opposite. He gave constant verbal feedback, as well as groans of relief as I worked the knots out of his traps, and gave advice and encouragement as I worked my way through the major muscles of the chest and torso. I was about to switch to his feet and begin working my way up his thighs, but he stopped me. “Man, there’s a spot that’s still tense. Right around my belly button. I hmmm’d, and considered, gently kneading the external oblique (just below the last of the six pack). Not an area where you’d expect to find an issue.


“A bit lower.”

I obliged and my fingers entered the close cropped field just above the origin of his cock. “How about here?”


James, from his position on the couch, wasn’t at an angle where he would have seen anything, not that he’d looked up from his phone since he’d settled down to pout. I  turned my head and saw that James was watching me with a big grin. “Is this the sore muscle,” I asked and ran my hand down the shaft, lifting it where it lay between his powerful thighs, and squeezed it tightly in my hand.

“Oh, yeah,” he moaned. “That’s the one.”

I motioned with my head to where James sat behind him. “Now?” My tone asked, “Are you sure?”

“It’s my house,” he said.

“You’re the boss,” I said. “I’m confident that I can take care of that for you. Let me just get a sense of how bad off you are.”

“Oh,” he admitted, “I’m very bad off.”

I relaxed my grip, and as the blood I’d squeeze from his cock rushed back, it began to rise. I gave soft gentle strokes, featherlight touches to begin, as I took the time to really feast my eyes upon it. His cock had been big at the beginning. As a matter of fact, I’d wondered from the first if he had been sporting a woody, but now that I’d begun to give it my attention, I found that his fattie was only the beginning. The swelling head expanded, its lighter tone contrasting with the deep black of his cock’s flesh. The oil on my hands transferred to his skin, which gleamed.  I put one hand to work playing with his balls, feeling the short and curlies tickling my fingertips. I looked back at him, and he mouthed, “Suck it.”

I decided on an all out assault. I’d been alternately teased and frustrated this evening, and I wasn’t going to take a chance. At the very least, I was going to get his cock in my mouth. His cock was still soft enough that I could accommodate him all. He was bent a bit, pressing against the back of my throat and filling my mouth from side to side. Curtis, abandoned any restraint, and greeted my attack with a shouted, “Yeah,” and pushed my head against his belly with his hand. His cock was close to choking me, but I relaxed and went with the flow. Soon enough his hand dropped away and I pulled away to let his cock flop heavily on his belly.

“What the fuck?” James, who I’d begun to think had fallen asleep, had finally realized that something unusual was going on. In the loudest voice I’d heard from him, which was still pretty quiet compared to Curtis speaking voice, he said it again. “What the fuck man?” He sounded like a kid who had lost his favorite toy. In a way, I guess he was.

“Oh, set your ass down on that couch,” Curtis demanded. “Or, just go to your room. I’m trying to relax here.”

“But, you can’t! What would Gran say?” I began to congratulate myself on being wise enough to take advantage of my chance while I had it. But, instead of things going south, Curtis directed my head back to his cock, and I figured that as long as he wasn’t kicking me out, I’d get down to work.

It was, perhaps, the second most memorable blow-job that I’ve ever given. I don’t think I’ve ever sucked on someone’s cock in the middle of a family argument. In case you’re interested, I got the impression that Curtis and James grew up together, both being raised at the time by their grandmother. Boys will be boys, and there was some sexual experimentation that lasted until they were both about sixteen. That’s when they were caught at it. Curtis, now, was not the type to be told what he could and could not do. James…he was the other type. So, typical stuff, really. Long simmering resentment, feelings of being abandoned, and James being an overall judgmental prick. I probably missed some nuance, but it didn’t much matter to me.

What did matter is that I had Curtis’s cock, and that it showed no signs of being spooked by the family argument. Quite the opposite - I think that the session lasted longer than it would have, just because it’s human was distracted. Every now and again Curtis would, almost absentmindedly, hold the back of my head in one hand and ride my face. But, for the majority of the time, I was free to do as I pleased. I used my mouth and tongue on the underside of his shaft, following the path his semen would take until I was at the source. Curtis, for all the size of his cock, had fairly small balls. I could easily fit them both in my mouth, and did. I sucked on them while rubbing the head of the cock. The balls, already drawn tight under the shaft, broke out in rough gooseflesh, and the sack almost flattened against his shaft. The cock in my hand felt like a rod carved from solid wood, covered in a thin silky layer. There was a vein on the top of the shaft that bulged enough that I could feel it as it shifted under my fingers.

Reluctantly, I released his balls, and followed the vein I’d felt up along the top of Curtis’s shaft. Once at the border between cock and head, I licked the sensitive ridge, and it was only when Curtis groaned loudly in response that I realized the argument had finished sometime while I was distracted. I took a moment and enjoyed a look at the wonder my labors had revealed. Curtis’s cock was at full mast. I didn’t pull out a measuring tape, so I’m just guessing, but I figure he was every bit of eleven inches. Give him the benefit of the doubt, and call it twelve. The girth at the base was more than I thought I’d be able to take. I tested my assumption immediately. I’m a fair hand at deep throat, if I do say myself, but even with Curtis’s hand pushing down and his hips thrusting up, there’s just so much that can be done.

Accepting that I could only take him so far, I pulled back and lavished attention on his head. It quickly began to overwhelmed him, but before it spilled over, I swallowed his shaft as deep as I could, then gripped the overflow and squeezed hard. I held him there for as long as I could and, as black spots began to swim before my eyes I withdrew to where I could breath. I held the head of his cock firmly against the top of my palate with my tongue. I the muscles in Curtis’s thighs trembled as he held himself half off the table. I took the opportunity to rub his balls, and press a thumb firmly between them and the tunnel that would soon fill with cum. I slid my mouth down to where my hand held his shaft, and then pulled back quickly, repeating over and over until as fast as I was able, until I had to pause and breath again. I could taste the beginnings of his ejaculation, and I swept my tongue back and forth broadly along the glans.

“Oh, fuck, I’m going to cum!” Again, I rode his cock with my mouth as quickly as I could, and the taste of Curtis’s bitter load, which was sweet to me, great stronger with every moment. I kept him within my mouth even after the last of it was deposited down my throat. As his hard on faded, I kept pace, until his fat and happy cock once again filled my mouth completely. I would have been content to stay that way indefinitely, but Curtis wasn’t much for long goodbyes, so after five minutes he gave me my packing orders. I packed up quickly, ignored Jame’s accusing look, thanked Curtis for his patronage, gave him my card, waived my fees, and was out the door. All in the space of five minutes.

The argument had begun again before I was completely out the door. “What about me?”

I heard just enough as I was stowing the gear to figure out that Curtis had figured out almost the second he’d walked in why I was there. Seems that they used to take turns, and when it came to an end all those years ago, James was left owing. Until he paid it back, no way was he  going to get a blow job under Curtis’s roof.

It worried me that they wouldn’t work something out. I hate it when one gets away, and I never got a chance to see what James had to offer.

Submitted: February 09, 2020

© Copyright 2021 T. R. Kaley. All rights reserved.

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Why didn't you just make it a double 'header' s to speak if you like cum that much and blow the other cock for dessert?
Aif you were trying to raise some cocks with ths one I am convinced you did.

Sun, February 9th, 2020 12:31pm


Sorry, but by the time Curtis was finished, he was ready for bed. He's up at 4am weekdays, and he wouldn't be able to get to sleep knowing there's a stranger in the house. He also enjoyed having his little revenge on his cousin, so there was a bonus entry in his books. In any case, Stanley had another appointment that evening.

I have a disturbing amount of backstory to my characters. Way more than can fit into a short story. ????

If it helps, it's my impression that Curtis has kept Stanley's business card, and is considering making an appointment for himself. If James finds out, he'll definitely horn in on that.

Sun, February 9th, 2020 6:34am

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