Page 12 of View From the Bottom

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 whiffof 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 spentrunning 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 haircurled 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 brimwith 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 potentsensation 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.

---