At 4:45 I decided to go out onto the balcony and wait for Sam to get home from work. I don't like face-to-face confrontations so I generally avoid them, but his snub of me this morning was eating away at my heart.
I wore navy blue nylon gym shorts and a matching cut-off tee shirt. Powder blue string bikini briefs underneath the shorts completed my outfit.
I screwed-up enough courage to sit on the chair directly in front of his glass door. There was no way he wouldn't be able to see me when he arrived home.
I sniffed my armpits. They were still fresh. Whatever happened with Sam, I would still have plenty of time to soak in a bubble bath before my seven o'clock in apartment 640.
4:50 -- no Sam. 4:55 no Sam. 5:00 -- no Sam. 5:05 -- no Sam. 5:10 -- no Sam. 5:15 -- no Sam. 5:20 -- no Sam. 5:25 -- no Sam. 5:30 -- no Sam.
I gave up at 5:35 and went inside with a heavy heart. Whatever I did to make him mad was bad enough for him to change his routine. He always comes home around five. Since I began doing it for him, he's never missed his five o'clock handy.
I sat at the computer and deleted many emails. To pick up my spirits, I opened 'Nicky and Daniel's Wedding Reception' file again and scrolled thru the photos.
My job had been cocktail server and my uniform consisted solely of a pink bowtie and a very tiny pink thong. It brought a smile to my face when I remembered how uncomfortable and agitated I became with that darn string between my asscheeks rubbing against my anus all night long.
There were actually quite a few photos of me serving the guests so I was able to follow the progression of my unruly prick that evening. Mister Halifax had been the wedding photographer so I guess it made sense he kept an eye on me.
The night started out normal enough. I went from table-to-table delivering tray loads of champagne. Many of the men couldn't resist patting and stroking my exposed buttocks but I was able to concentrate enough so my prick stayed flaccid.
Once the guests were finished with the light appetizers and snacks and I began delivering shots of Fireball, that was when things sort of spiraled out of control.
Many of the guests insisted I drink a shot of the cinnamon-tasting whiskey with them and they became very handsy -- boldly squeezing my butt and stroking my smooth thighs. Soon, my prick was at half-mast and the head was poking out the top of the thong.
That cunt, Little Timmy, was the one who did the most to embarrass me. He took advantage of my vulnerability every time I had a full tray of drinks and had to use both hands to carry it.
First, he rolled and pinched my nipples until they were hard -- a full inch in length. That caused my prick to stiffen further, but most of it was still tucked inside the thong.
I was becoming slightly inebriated and the next time around with the tray he stopped me and kissed me full on the lips ramming his tongue in and out of my mouth.
Well, that did it -- French kissing always does. My boner sprang to life and popped out into the open and I heard cheers and applause from the nearby tables.
I was going to set down the tray and adjust my hard-on back into the thong when Little Timmy whispered in my ear, "Don't you dare -- you're gonna walk around like that the rest of the night!"
So there I was with my prick jutting straight out bobbing ahead of me and my hairless balls swinging between my legs while I delivered drinks. Now the men kneaded and stroked my flesh in earnest.
The next time around when the last shot glass was gone from the tray, I had to sit next to a man, reach under the table and stroke his cock until it exploded. At some point, someone ripped the flimsy thong off me and I was totally nude the rest of the night. All pretense of civility was now gone.
I don't know how many under-the-table handjobs I gave that night. It seemed like every man there wanted at least one. Sometimes I was tightly sandwiched between two men and gave them double-fisted handjobs.
All I remember is when I got home, my hands, wrists and most of my legs were sticky with dried or drying sperm and semen and I never once shot a load of my own.
Of course, I took care of that problem the moment I went inside my apartment and went to bed.
***
I hadn't heard Sam come home so I decided to run a bath.
I carefully measured a cup of the special bubble bath liquid into the water. Not only did it have a nice fragrance, but it also contained a solution that removed my body hair. Two birds with one stone.
I carefully put on the shower cap. I certainly do not want to lose the hair on my head.
I flipped over the sand hour-glass and stepped into the tub. Mister Alderson had given me the hour glass, which was really a half-hour. He insists I sit in the sudsy water until the sand runs out.
After thirty-minutes, I pull the plug, and while the water is draining I stand under the hot shower rinsing the soap off my soft and smooth body.
In the bedroom I slide a clean white jockstrap up my legs. I stand before the mirror, pose with my hands on hips, and admire my bulge in the crotch of the jock. The small pouch gives me the illusion I have a 'manly package' and it makes me feel better about myself.
I slip into my standard work uniform: pink short-shorts, and the short pink tee shirt that exposes my flat, lower tummy and navel. I decide against wearing the pink socks. I'm sure Timmy the Cunt will strip me naked when I get there anyway. I slide the pink flip-flops on my feet and go back to the computer.
I fight the urge to go out on the balcony to see if Sam had come home while I was in the bathroom. I don't want to appear too desperate and needy.
I update my work schedule to include the new woman, 'Mistress Marcia' two nights from now.
That means I'll be working for Mistress Bernice tomorrow night and the new woman the following night. I am positive Mistress Bernice told the new woman about my distaste for going down on women which means for sure I'll have to eat cunt two nights in a row. YUCK!!
The job I am looking forward to the most is the 'modeling' shoot with Mister Halifax on Sunday. He said he found a cute, new boy named Manolo, and he and I have a lot in common, whatever that means.
***
At 6:50 I check myself in the mirror one last time then leave the apartment. As I walk up the stairs to the sixth floor my dick begins twitching inside the jock. It's like it has a mind of its own whenever I have a job in apartment 640.
Little Timmy is two-inches shorter than me heighth-wise, but two-inches longer than me dick-wise. He has a dominating personality that excites me, but I will never admit that to him or anyone else.
I rap three times on the door and soon am face-to-face with him. He is wearing simply black boxer briefs and his prick is tenting-out the crotch. He and Mister Hanson must have been making out on the sofa. I guess I stared too long at his bulge.
He laughed and said, "You be an obedient little boy tonight, Johnny, and I just might let you slide your pussy back-and-forth on my cock!"
I don't embarrass easily, but he has a knack for putting me in my place.
I see Mister Hanson smiling at me from the sofa. He is dressed only in a red thong and the purple head of his hard cock has escaped the waistband and laying flat against his firm belly. More than once I have wondered who the real bottom is in their relationship.
Once the door closes behind me, Timmy takes me in his arms and we kiss. I never resist him. An important aspect of my work is to appear to be an eager and willing participant no matter how distasteful I may find the job.
As usual, the French-kissing gives me a stone-hard boner. Timmy strips me between kisses and I stand there with a hard-on in my tiny white jock. With his tongue in my mouth, I feel his hands on my hips. He pushes the jockstrap to the floor. He breaks the kiss and joins Mister Hanson on the sofa. I am left standing naked and aroused, and out of breath gasping for air.
"Time for inspection -- come over here, boy!" he orders.
I am two-years older than him but he always calls me 'boy.'
"Yes, Timmy," I dutifully reply.
