[This story evolved from images seen combining in a moment as I was jogging past a house on a suburban street shortly after dawn]
I woke to a nudge at my side and a hand snaking over my waist and down my belly.
"I wanna. OK?"
Oh, Lord, I thought. This was why I didn't normally let them spend the night—even for an extra $25. They'd want it again. And they'd want it without paying for it. I guess letting them stay the night signaled to them that I wanted them to marry me.
"Frank," I murmured. "You used up what you paid for. You know the rules."
"I know you want it again. You know you want it again. Your dick don't lie."
My dick was trained to go full staff at a touch. This was how I made most of my money. But Frank wasn't all wrong. He was well built, not much into his forties, and kept fit in construction work. His cock wasn't phenomenal, but he knew what to do with it. And he was one of my regulars. Still, give it away for free once, and that's the end of getting paid for it.
"You're married, Frank. You gonna move in and pay my bills?"
"It's just a morning fuck, Danny. Just to get the day off right for both of us." He had his hands on my waist and turned me on my side, him wedged close in behind me. His cock was between my thighs, and he was already dry fucking me, with his cock head pushing against the base of my balls.
I was weakening. Maybe if I just let him get off this way, it would be OK. It felt good having his strong arms wrapped around me.
"I'll be good to you. You know I will. You can't get it any better than me."
That snapped me back. When they started getting possessive like this, we'd gone too far over the edge. I pulled away from him and, with effort, got back onto my back. His mouth went to my cock and his fingers snaked under me and went to my hole.
"No freebies," I said, trying to make my voice stern and dominating. I knew if I was going to hold the line, I needed to keep the upper hand. He could take me if he wanted to. I'm sure we both knew that. "You want another fuck, it will be another $50."
"How about $25? We're already here; it's not something completely new. It's just an extension?"
"Thirty," I said with a sigh. The one thing I knew for sure was that I wasn't going to let him spend the night again. He'd said his wife was visiting her mother and he'd told her he'd work the night shift then at the construction site. He had whined that he couldn't sleep alone. He'd been such a big teddy bear about it.
I didn't know for sure until later, after he was gone, that he'd even heard my counteroffer. In the end it was just a game, though, because when he left, he left $125 on the dresser. Regardless, before we could haggle more, he'd rolled onto his back and, in the same motion, had lifted me, facing away from him, with strong hands at both sides of my waist and had my channel wedged on the glans of his hard cock.
It was unfair; he knew I liked it this way.
"Frank. Oh, Frank!" I cried out, as my channel slid down on his cock. He encased my chest with one arm, latching onto one of my nipples with a thumb and finger; reached for my cock with his other fist; and bent his knees, digging his heels into the mattress to leverage off of while he got deep penetration with my butt wedged into his lap.
"Oh, god, Frank, oh, god!" I wrapped my legs around his bent ones and hooked the tops of my feet under his ankles—trying for all of the penetration of his cock that I could get. I locked my wrists around the back of his neck and we kissed until he nudged my torso to one side so that, with my arms still raised, he could bury his nose and mouth into one of my pits.
I groaned, knowing why I'd let him stay the night. He had some of the most arousing ways of fucking a man. And he was all man. Hard, solid, muscle—the experience of an older guy and the stamina of a much younger man.
* * * *
Frank was gone and it was still dark outside my apartment window. I had to do my run. I groaned and turned over, fully fucked and wanting to do nothing more than go back to sleep. But I had to be at the advertising agency at 9:00 a.m., and if I passed on the run this morning, the next thing I knew was that I'd be passing on it occasionally—and then often.
I rolled out of bed, smiled at seeing how much Frank had left on the dresser, opened the dresser drawer, and took out a jock strap and a pair of running shorts.
I stopped in the kitchen only long enough to eat an energy bar and drink several swallows of milk from a carton from the refrigerator and then I was off down the stairs, across the parking lot, and plunging into the trees on the path that led to the nature trail that wound itself through town.
It was still dark, but dawn was less than an hour away and I wanted to get the run in and be back in the shower before the sun came up.
I didn't stay on the main trail. There was a place where a small path veered off and over a wooden footbridge over a creek and then the railroad tracks and into a wooded subdivision, where the houses were pretty snazzy and set on large lots. By going down one street here, I could hook up to another trail running through this subdivision that was more private. These well-heeled folks didn't get up with the rest of us.
I was surprised, though, when I passed one French Provincial rambler, where there was a light on inside and a vehicle, an old Ford pickup, in the driveway. I hadn't ever remembered having seen a light on it this house this early, and the Ford pickup was completely out of character with the neighborhood. Thinking about it, I couldn't remember seeing any car parked there for weeks.
These were just observations that skidded across my mind as I loped down the street, my eyes concentrating on where there'd be a small break in the trees between two lots that would mark the woodland trail I sought.
Not long after passing the driveway of the French Provincial house, I sensed—and could hear—that I wasn't alone. I turned my head to see that there was another runner in my wake now. This was unusual; I'd never picked up a runner on the mornings I'd used this trail.
He looked all right, though. A big, blond crew cut, well-muscled guy. A good six inches taller than I was, and he had me by a good fifty pounds. A strongly chiseled face, with a prize fighter's bent nose. Maybe a soldier returned from Iraq. He looked too much like a gym guy and too young to live in this neighborhood. But he was running easy, obviously enjoying not having to do it alone.
I thought maybe he'd keep on down the street when I veered off on the woodland trail, but he didn't. He turned with me. He stayed behind me, but I could feel him close.
I didn't even think of the possibility of any personal danger, regardless of how strange it was to have someone running with me. If I had, I must assume I wouldn't have taken the woodland trail. In hindsight I wondered what I was thinking—or not thinking.
Thus, I was completely taken by surprise when, as we reached a small clearing with a picnic table in it, I felt my arm being gripped, and my body was snapped around and slammed down on my back on the picnic table.
The wind was knocked out of me, and what was happening was such a surprise, that before I could do or say anything—or react in any way—he was crouched close over me, breathing heavily, and had a hand stuffed down the front of my running shorts and wrapped around my balls.
"Get off me!" I then mustered enough energy to cry out. "What? Oh, God!" I melted into pain and my eyes began to water as he crushed my balls in his fist.
"Shut up!" he commanded. "I've seen you go into Chester's, haven't I?"
The pressure was released long enough for me to whimper a "Yes." Chester's was a gay bar not far from my apartment. It was where I hooked up with most of the men who paid me for sex.
"Fuckin' queer," the guy muttered. Then I lost interest in anything other than the pressure on my balls and what he now was doing with his other hand, which was grabbing my throat and squeezing so that he had me seeing stars and blacking out.
