Date: Fri, 11 Feb 2005 21:45:39 -0800 (PST) From: Master Terra D Subject: Carpenters tail I couldn't believe my neighbors had done this to me. I had a guy tied to my bed when the doorbell rang. I ignored it. I wasn't interested in those tasty peanut butter sandwich cookies with little girls in uniform sell. I'd buy some from the office. The bell rang again. I ignored it. A few minutes later, the phone range "This is Cecile, your next door neighbor?" I heard come through the answering machine. "I just thought you should know they're coming tomorrow and I know we're supposed to leave you alone, but we've run into a little snag..." They'd signed up for one of those decorating shows where she goes next door and he goes next door and they decorate each room, or rooms, or... Anyway the show's producer's asked me if it would be okay if they set up some stuff in my backyard. I should explain. The part of town I live in wasn't part of the original town. The town grew out to it, so I have a barn, carriage house and other outbuildings on a large lot between the 2 neighbors' houses. To avoid setting up on the street, which is also a highway, I consented to letting the crew set up in my backyard, on one condition: they left me alone. "...and anyway, the hotel messed up the reservations and we need a room for one of the crew." I rolled my eyes and smacked the boy's ass tied spread eagle to my bed. Having 40 people running around my property was one thing, but they wanted me to put up a crew member? Cecile left her phone number, and 3 hours later I returned the call. "Cecile, I understand your dilemma, but no," I said. "Please? We've maxed out the guest rooms in both our houses and the other neighbors. He can even sleep on the couch," she pleaded. "He who?" I asked. "He" had piqued my curiosity. Eye candy might make up for the 2-day stay of people on my land. "The carpenter. The one that's not annoying," she answered. "I can't remember his name." "And when's he arriving?" I asked. "Well, they're supposed to be here tonight and we start filming in the morning." Cecile had that tone of voice that told me there was a difference between "supposed" and reality. I glanced out the window and saw trucks pulling into my lane. "Yes, send him over when he's ready." I hung up. I was glad I'd sent the guy home before I returned the call. A brunette police officer leaving my property as a television show is arriving would have generated a lot of unwanted questions. I finished up my things and waited to see if indeed it was the un-annoying carpenter. Both are nice upon which to gaze, but the one's personality...let's just say if he was this guy and like he was in person as he was on television, I'd probably have to tie him up and gag him just to be able to avoid killing him. I noticed it was getting dark outside when the doorbell rang. It was the producer from the several months before when she'd visited to scout the location and Michael was standing behind her. He looked even better in person, tall, jet-black hair and a shit-eating grin. Well, I imagined it was a shit-eating grin. I was only a bit surprised to find out his name was Michael. "Stage names and all that," the producer had said before heading across the street to another room. I showed Michael around the place and showed him the couch, which I'd already made up into a bed. The couch folds down into a bed, and full bed sheets and other bedding fit it perfectly. I've had guests tell me it's more comfortable than a bed, and I can't argue with that. Michael said he had an early morning and hoped it wouldn't be a problem to "hit the sheets". I don't have a guest bedroom. It is a large, old house, but each room has a function, and none are for overnight guest; well, at least not the guests that would need their own room. "Exactly how early are you starting in the morning?" I asked. "Before the sun comes up," he smiled. I knew there had to be personality in there, but he was kind of being all business. "Make yourself at home," I said, and he started stripping down, grabbed a small bag and headed to the bathroom. I'd see him tomorrow night, and then figured he'd be gone. I went to my bedroom and pulled a book from the case, flicked on the bed-light and started reading. Around midnight, I got tired and decided to hit the frig for something to drink before turning in for the night. Michael had taken me very seriously when I told him to make himself at home. The tall carpenter was stretched out naked on the couch/bed and didn't have a sheet over him. I like my men hairy and his fur was hitting all the right buttons, and his dick.....let's just say it's a nice dick on a hot body attached to a handsome mug with a shit-eating grin. Well, I imagined it was a shit-eating grin. I was tempted to grab my camera, but I headed to the frig and got my drink, then headed to bed. Pre-dawn would come early. I awoke to the sound of a table saw catching on a piece of wood. It's a loud, loud, unpleasant sound. Then there was screaming, arguing and I quickly became annoyed. "What do you mean the nearest store is more than an hour away?" I heard as I headed to the shower. I made a mental note to shut the windows and doors and turn on the air conditioner. The previous days had been comfortable, but it was already warm for 10 a.m. I'd barely dried and dressed when the doorbell rang. It was Cecile and the producer, both bearing looks that had tired puppy-dog-eyes. "Just ask," I said. I'm not psychic. Cecile knows I have a key to the theater and the theater has a very nice table saw (which Cecile knew; she'd donated it). The producer sent 3 crew members and a truck and me, and away we went. The temperature was climbing up and up. By the time we got back, the sun was high and the temperature was topping 80. I started closing windows and doors, then jotted down the cute crewman's cell phone number. I'd get rid of the carpenter and have the cute crewman over. It's a very large house and the day had gotten hot by the time the table saw was hooked up and in operation. It would take at least 3-4 hours before the house cooled down. I decided to take a siesta, sleep away the hot temperatures and enjoy a cooled house when I awoke. I set the alarm and drifted off to sleep. I was shook gently awake by a strong hand, attached to a nice hairy body with a handsome face that sported a shit-eating grin. Well, I imagined it was a shit-eating grin. Past his face I noticed the dark outside and glanced at my clock, blinking the song of the "your electricity has been cut off" lyric. "Sorry, sir, but I think I may have broken your shower," he said. "Exactly what time is it?" I asked, annoyed by several things. "It's about 10 p.m. We got behind and I worked late to finish some projects," he explained. I gestured to the blinking clock. "Oh, and we had some electrical problems." He tried the grin, but couldn't quite do it. "The show will cover that," I stated. Not a question. Now I was pissed. Then I noticed his attire. A towel. "What about the shower?" "Well, I turned it on and I got soaped up and rinsed and right as I was reaching for the shampoo, the water stopped," he said. "You turn the faucets off?" I asked. "Yeah," he answered. "Good," I said, rolling out of bed and heading toward the bathroom. "You sleep naked, too. Cool," he grinned. If he'd said "nice ass" right then, he would have been cutting wood the hard way the next day. As it was, I stopped outside the bathroom and opened the electric panel. It is an old house, and sure enough, the breaker for the water system was thrown, as were about half the breakers. "What the hell did you guys do, anyway?" I demanded, flipping switches. "Dueling designers," he kind of whined. "Let's just say there's a good reason I was working late." "You should be fine now," I sighed. "If you want, I'll give you a relaxing massage when you're done and you can drift right off to sleep." "Thanks, but I need to finish and sleep. The moment we have daylight, I need to be out there." By 10:30, he was snoozing, naked again, on the couch/bed, and I was regretting I didn't push the massage. He was sleeping on his stomach. He didn't shave his ass. Well, you can't fuck them all. The 2x4 flying through my kitchen window woke me up at 8 a.m. At 8:15 a.m. I was making it very clear to the producer that I would need an electrician and cash before the end of the day. Apologies are good, but cash is better; I would be getting both. And a new window. By the "reveal" I was sure this would be billed as the most messed up episode ever. In addition to the electric problems and the windows, I now needed siding, 2 doors and a new front porch (don't ask; they're still trying to figure it out). The neighbors had faired better, but only because they had newly decorated rooms. One was minus a garage and the other received a visit from the fire department. At least my buildings were still standing, not counting the porch. I happily watched the show trucks and vehicles leave, but noticed Michael had left his stuff in the house. I wasn't in the mood to flag down the last truck leaving and figured they could send a courier. A minute later there was a knock at the back door. It had to be the back door. You couldn't get to the front one. "What!" I exclaimed in frustration. I looked up at that shit-eating grin. Well, I imagined it was a shit-eating grin. "Sorry." "Oh, you're still here. Good, you left your bags," I said, gesturing to the living room and walking away. "No, I'm staying the night," he stated, as if I was confused. "Pardon? I don't think the house can take any more," I chided. "Seriously." "No, the show's over. I have some time, so I volunteered to stay behind and fix your window and porch," Michael said. "And I wanted to take you up on that massage." I stopped in my tracks. "The last 2 days have done a number on the muscles." The tone was straight-guy serious, playful but not interested in anything beyond a massage. "Why don't you shower up and I'll get a massage ready," I said. "On the second floor?" he asked through that trademarked shit-eating grin. I now had an idea it might actually be a shit-eating grin. One room on the second floor was a kind of steam room/play room. It was specially built with a table in the center. One of my boys liked to be fisted, a lot, and we'd found steam really opened him up. "I don't believe I showed you any rooms on the second floor beyond the guest bathroom," I stated. "I thought I had the bathroom, but obviously had the wrong door," he said, sheepishly. "The massage table looked comfortable in that room." "Go wash up and I'll get the room ready," I smiled, slapping his ass. An eye twinkled. I started the steam room and picked out a couple of my favorite, edible massage oils. Michael was about to receive a very memorable full body massage. The mango oil warmed and I closed the steam room door. Michael stepped out of the bathroom, not having dried. "Enter," I said. I still wasn't sure where this was going. For all I knew, he'd seen the set up and presumed I did massage from my house. Well, I did.... Michael stretched out on the table, face down in the well for the head. I smiled, admittedly lewdly, at the muscled, hairy ass. I coated my palms with warmed mango oil and applied it to his shoulder blades. He sighed and relaxed. I started kneading the muscles. I worked methodically, applying proper and my own techniques, working down the back, grazing over the ass and then paying attention to each leg and foot. I worked back up to the butt, doing a legitimate ass massage, then spreading his legs, opening a view to his hole, hidden among swirling dark hairs. I then did an illegitimate massage. "If anything doesn't feel right, let me know," I instructed. Massage, like sex, requires communication, even if it's only the most basic of communication. "Yes, sir," he sighed. I drizzled mango oil into the top of his ass crack and watched at the oil oozed through the labyrinth of ass hairs until it pooled in the creases of his asshole. I then slowly massaged 2 fingers up and down that ass crack, applying pressure so his hole would be accustomed to some pressure. "Wow, that feels great. You should teach the California masseurs some time," he complimented. "Thanks," I grinned, gently nudging his scrotum while massaging his taint. While I had massaged most of the oils away elsewhere, I left a good portion on his hairy ass. "Turn over," I said. "Oh. I'm done," he coughed. "Thanks." "No, you're only half down. A full body massage does front and back," I clarified. "You've done a wonderful job. Where's the towel?" He appeared to ignore my comment. "Roll over for the front side." Silence has its place, but here it was starting to annoy me greatly. "Michael, roll over." He slowly complied, and I immediately saw why he'd not wanted to roll over. "Damn, Michael. I'm glad you did that slow. You could have taken an eye out," I snickered. He was obviously embarrassed by his stiffened penis, but just as obviously had enjoyed my massage. I had noticed him shifting a few times when I'd started working on his ass. "Sorry. I..." "Don't worry about it," I said, applying some warm peach massage oil to the top of his feet. "It happens." I continued his front, but noticed his dick barely went down. I left it alone as I worked up his torso and did his chest, then arms, then face. As I worked his ears, I leaned down. "Enjoying this, Michael?" I asked. "Yeah, man. This is wonderful," he grinned. "You always get an erection when you get a massage, Michael?" "No." His eyes popped open. "Um, I mean..." I cut him off. "Don't worry. I'm very discreet, boy." "Boy?" "Sorry. Let me finish the massage." I kneaded down his abs and worked his inner thighs briefly, then started a massage that instantly made him groan. I circled one hand around his nuts and dick, and the other hand massaged his balls, then started stroking his dick, but just up. He'd sigh and his eyes closed. I leaned down into the massage and tasted precum and peaches, and heard a kind of purring sound a cat makes when it's perfectly contented. I just licked the very tip of his cock. The hand around his dick released and started massage the mango oil on his ass. His back arched and I used the opportunity to raise his legs. I licked down his shaft, tasting more precum and peaches, then licked his balls, going lower. "Roll over," I instructed. This time, he didn't hesitate a second. "On all fours," I added. I leaned in and tongued his shit hole, tasting mango and musk. "Oh, wow!!!" My tongue tip swirled around the creases of his shit hole, bringing each nerve to life and making Michael's legs quiver. I saw a strand of precum flow from his pecker. I had my fill of his ass, and I didn't think his legs and arms could take more. "Roll over," I said again. "There's more?" his eyes got large. "Much more, but we'll only touch the tip of the fuckstick tonight," I joked. I milked his carpenter's cock as I climbed atop the table and him, lowering my ass on his face. Time to see if that grin would really eat shit, or at least my shitter. I hand-nuzzled his nuts and 2-fingered massaged across his ass pucker to the point it was grabbing those dual digits. "Taste," I said. I felt a tongue tentatively scrape across my pucker. I'd oiled it with the peach, giving him a pleasant taste to help in his instruction. I rubbed his left nipple while I increased the pressure on his shitter. He didn't take long to be eating my shit hole with a hunger I'd seldom experienced from the novice. "Been eating ass long?" I smiled "No. First time," he laughed through his true shit-eating grin. No more imagining on my part. I slipped a finger up his shit hole and cum began shooting from his endowment, spraying his hairy torso and chest with jism. His ass clamped down on my finger, and I started a finger fuck as his ejaculation subsided. I hit his prostate and his back arched powerfully and he came again. As the second wave ended, I withdrew the finger and dismounted his face and the table. He lay there, panting. "Like that, Michael?" I asked, knowing the answer. "Yes," he said. "You can call me `sir', Michael," I offered. "Yes, sir." "Well, you can't sleep here," I said. "You know where my room is. I'll be there is a few minutes." THE END Men and boys, thanks for your comments. If you send something, remember to put something in the subject line, or I think it's spam and delete it. Master Terra D masterterradil@yahoo.com