(C)Tooluser March 2012

This story is fiction, and any resemblance to real people or places is entirely coincidental.

As always, comments and encouragement welcome, please email me at


I'd like to thank eveyone who emailed me with thoughts and comments about "Restroom Suck-off." It really does make a huge amount of difference when someone takes the time to drop me a line.

Stories told from the guy's point of view are rare on Nifty as one of you pointed out, so I thought it was worth while to pull this out of my "uncompleted" folder and polish it up.

I was encouraged by people saying that they did enjoy reading the whole story and didn't insist on sex in the first couple of paragraphs.

Still as someone commented, the "action link" did no harm, so I'm including it once again as a courtesy to Nifty's hornier readers.

This is written as a full story, but those horny souls who are already hard and leaking are welcome to jump straight to the action.

Hope you like it, anyway.


Codes: Mm, oral, interr, cons, gay, teen

The new maid

Spike Cooper groaned softly and swallowed another gulp of coffee.

“Serves you right,” Berenice said from behind him, drying up her breakfast plate with short, angry strokes. “Comin’ home in that condition! Don’t you go looking for no sympathy from me.”

Spike squeezed his eyes closed, and then forced them open again. He only got up at this hour of the morning because it was all the time they had together at present. There was no point having an argument.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he murmured, taking another sip. “You knew I’d be working these crazy hours when I took the job. It’s only for a little while.”

When he’d landed the promotion the job had sounded great: freedom from the office to handle the clients in their own space; bonding with them and ensuring their loyalty by showing them a good time while they cut a deal. He’d always been proud of the way he could handle his liquor; it seemed only sense to utilize that skill. Now he wasn’t so sure. Besides, sympathy wasn’t Berenice’s strong suit anyways.

“Don’t you baby me -- I know you go creepin’ off back to bed once I’m gone,” she said. “There’s a whole heap of stuff needs attending to around here. Don’t let me come home to find you just been heftin’ them barbells and such.”

Spike grunted. He knew what was back of all this. His strange hours meant he got time off during the week, and sometimes several days at a stretch when he’d been continuously on call with a client and his hours had built up. But Berenice regarded any non-weekend liberty as vacation time, and resented herself being stuck in the office while he wasn’t.

There was no percentage in pointing out that he’d only taken the promotion so that they could rent this house, and that she’d only wanted this place for two reasons: one, so that she could rub Alissa Jordan’s nose in the fact that she was “practically engaged” to a hot, rapidly rising young black executive -- though the ’black’ part tended to remain unsaid -- and two; that god-damned extra room.

“Was lookin’ on the web last night,” while you were out carousing, her tone said, “-and I found this great all-wood crib.”

Spike suppressed a sigh. He should have known better than to let himself hope that the analysis of their finances had finally won the argument about starting a family. Berenice didn’t think that way. Berenice wanted to be a mom, and what Berenice wanted, Berenice got.

“Not that it matters,” she added. “Amount of attention you been payin’ to me lately I might as well already be a dried-up old maid.”

“Aw, honey.” Spike took a last gulp of coffee and forced himself to his feet. “You come upstairs and I’ll prove you’re no old maid.” He tried to put his arms around her but she shoved him off.

“I’m not some bar-girl you can grope just whenever you god-damn’ please!” she said, glaring at him. “I know what you’ve been doing: I heard.”

“That was the client!” he said. “This is my job!”

“A fine job,” Berenice sniffed. “Hanging around in titty bars and getting drunk!” She began shrugging into her coat. “And don’t you forget - we got a new maid starting today,” she said.


Berenice eyed him with disfavor. “You been listening at all? Like I said, I fired that Consuela: sloppy girl. Scamming on us too, I just know it.”

“Right.” Consuela had been a pretty little thing: his pick from the agency after Marcia had quit. He’d gotten on well with her: she understood about his need to sleep during the day. They’d come to an arrangement over the vacuuming, with Consuela dusting, cleaning the kitchen and bathroom or tidying cupboards or, hell -- watching daytime soaps in the kitchen, he didn’t care, so long as she did it quietly. After waking, Spike would vacuum the front room, which was directly beneath the main bedroom, after she’d gone off duty, before Berenice returned from work. Consuela had been a happy, friendly girl who often fixed him a “breakfast” tray to come down to. Maybe that was what all the hints about him not “paying attention” had been about.

“So what’s her name?” he asked. “The new maid, I mean.” Some lumbering, safely unattractive old hippo, he had no doubt.

Berenice put her fists on her hips and smiled unpleasantly. “Went to a new agency,” she said. “Durned expensive, too. I don’t recollect the name, but it’s all guys, that I do know.”


Downstairs, the doorbell chimed. Spike paused, breathing heavily as he stared at the ceiling and then carefully raised the barbell above his head and hooked it on the bench-press stand. His muscles burned, and his bare back felt sticky against the vinyl. He was slick and shining with sweat, and he was still pissed with Berenice. The morals clause in his contract meant he never so much as laid a finger on a woman while he was working, and without the running and the weights, the booze and those big, heavy dinners would have him wearing XXL pants in no time.

The doorbell chimed again and he looked at his wristwatch. Ten-thirty, yeah, that’s when this new cleaner was supposed to get here. Even though this was a guy, not some timid little chit of a girl, Spike hoped he’d burned off enough anger that he wouldn’t take out his frustration on the help. That was shitty behavior: abuse pure and simple.

“Coming!” he yelled, and headed downstairs, pulling on his short kimono-style robe. He saw a shadow on the front door’s frosted glass and hurried, padding down the thickly-carpeted treads. “Just a minute!”

Spike fumbled with the lock, and pulled the door open. “Hi there-” he began, and then stopped.

The frail kid hunched on the stoop was short for a guy, barely five-five. His long jet-black hair hung in shaggy emo bangs over half his face, and although high cheekbones and a narrow chin suggested Asia somewhere in his ancestry, his eyes were hazel and his skin was skim-milk white, made to seem whiter still by the brown beauty mark at the corner of his narrow lips and the two silver rings piercing them.

He was skinny too, really skinny - there seemed to be hardly any chest at all beneath the black “consumed.by.love” T-shirt. The thick, studded leather belt seemed only to emphasize his slenderness.

The kid looked up, hooking his hair partly aside from his face. He was wearing striped, fingerless, elbow-length gloves in black, gray, and sugar-pink. Somehow the glove, or the knitted wrist-warmer he wore over it, made his arm look even thinner.

“H-hi,” the kid said, his wide-eyed, hazel gaze flinching down from Spike’s. “I’m Kyle Sandys? From the agency?” He ducked his head, and proffered a rainbow-printed card reading “Swish Cleaners: the bare essentials.”

“Sorry, uh- I was the only maid available at such short notice, but the message didn’t specify any particular type.”

“Maid?” Spike said, smiling. “Sure.” He stepped back. “Come on in then, boy.” He paused uncomfortably, aware of how inappropriate that “boy” would have sounded if someone said it to him. “Sorry, uh-”

“It’s okay.” Kyle reached back and worked something out of the back pocket of his tight black jeans. “I guess you have to be careful. See?” He proffered a driving license. “I was sixteen three weeks ago, so it’s okay for me to work as a maid now.”

“Oh. Right.” Covering his embarrassment, Spike inspected the card closely and returned it, noticing that Kyle was careful not to touch his fingers. “Well, I guess that’s okay then. Come on through to the kitchen and I’ll show you where we keep everything. Leave your shoes by the door, huh?”

It didn’t take long to show the kid his duties; Berenice had left a list, with careful underlined instructions to return all the ornaments to their original positions. Jeez. When had she gotten to be such a bitch?

Spike wasn’t sure how skinny little Kyle was going to manage their powerful, heavy vacuum cleaner. It seemed cruel to comment and embarrass the kid -- no doubt he’d gotten enough bullying and humiliation in high school -- so Spike decided he’d make himself scarce.

He’d go catch his last quota of zees. A pity he hadn’t been able to sleep earlier, but hell. If the vacuum cleaner woke him, he’d know Kyle had managed to work it.

“Right,” Spike said. “I’ll just leave you to it, huh?”

The kid flinched like Spike had hit him. “You don’t want to watch me?”

Oh, right: supervising the new staff to stop them pocketing the silver. Guess he shouldn’t be surprised the kid thought he wasn’t trusted after copping the attitude from Berenice’s shit-list.

Girls told Spike his smile was his biggest asset, though he was aware that guys he’d charmed in the past considered it his second biggest. Not that he’d done anything like that since messing around in high school. So now he smiled, wide, easy and friendly.

“Don’t you worry, Kyle. I’ll be down later, after I’ve freshened up.”

Kyle parted the curtain of his hair and gave him a brief, questioning look. “’Kay,” he mumbled, flushing, the pink showing clear beneath his skin like syrup added to a strawberry shake.


The powerful, jet-engine scream of the vacuum cleaner jerked Spike awake. He grinned. “Smart kid,” he said, and stretched. He was funky after his exercise, and decided a shower would be courteous before getting dressed and going down to check on the kid’s work.He was sure it’d be fine, anyway. He rolled naked out of bed and padded through to the bathroom.

He stood under the warm, drumming water idly turning over means to convince Berenice she had nothing to worry about from bar girls. His body reacted, partly from warm memories, and partly from the sheer pleasure of stroking his exercise-pumped muscles, but he resisted the urge. Jerking off alone in the shower was for kids and losers.

Despite the pressure in his balls, he still felt surprisingly mellow after his sleep, as he stood brushing his teeth and staring at his reflection in the cabinet’s mirrored door. On impulse he slid the door open and smiled at Berenice’s collection of creams and beauty aids. For all her savvy in other matters it was like Berenice had a blind spot where beauty advertisements were concerned. She was always buying some wacky crap; this time it looked like she’d been hit by the vitamin bug.

A good idea for him too, Spike thought, since he was not only exercising hard, but eating bad at the same time. Not the “Well Woman,” pills: the only chest he wanted was the one he’d gotten from pumping iron, thank you.

Downstairs the vacuum cleaner stopped. Spike was pushing those “Well Woman” and a couple other hormonal things aside, rummaging for plain multi-vitamins when he found it.

An innocuous, new, brown and sage box, with “Mother Nature” in a swirling, foliated typeface. Below, in smaller type: “a natural way to predict your most fertile days and so enhance your chances of conception.”

Spike was staring at it when he heard a yell of fright, and a crash from downstairs.

It wasn’t the splintering crash of breaking glass that scared him so much as the quiet, after. Dropping the box, Spike drew breath to yell: concerned to see if the kid was okay; then figured noise would only scare him. He shoved open the bathroom door and ran out into the hall, leaping down the stairs three at a time and leaving big, wet down the wall’s smooth, ivory-white plaster.

The sight of discarded shoes by the mat reminded Spike he’d heard glass break. He scuffed into a pair of trainers; was momentarily distracted by the sight of a neat, folded pile of clothes on the hall chair as he hopped around, hooking the trainer around his heel, feeling his dick and balls flapping and worse: responding to the freedom and fresh air. Well, hell there were more important things than his dignity: the kid could be hurt, bleeding. Anyway, they were both guys. He ran into the front room.

The shelving unit was wrenched half-off the wall, and Kyle was kneeling on the floor frantically gathering glittering shards of crystal. Though stupid, that wasn’t what made Spike’s eyes bug out.

Aside from a pair of pink-and-gray striped thigh-highs and matching elbow-length fingerless gloves, the kid was stark naked and appeared to have no hair south of his eyebrows.

Now that Spike could get a better look, he decided that skinny was a little harsh. Okay, Kyle wasn’t sweating over the dumbbells like himself, but his pale, spare body had a lean elegance and his snow-white little bubble butt was definitely cute.

So was the startled, wide-eyed look Kyle gave him from beneath his hair.

“Hey!” the kid squeaked, moving as if to straighten up.

“Stay right there!” Spike snapped, not breaking stride, concerned at the patch of dark red he could see on the kid’s glove. “You hurt yourself on that glass and I’ll tan your ass!” Not the most logical way to express the situation, but Kyle froze long enough for Spike to crunch across the glass and pick him up bodily in a fireman’s carry.

“Hey! No touching!” the kid squeaked, sounding breathless. Well, Spike reflected, he had just gotten a big hard shoulder in his midriff.

“Relax,” Spike said, straightening up. The boy’s bare, silky body felt warm and firm against his shoulder, and he reached up and patted the small, smooth ass up by his ear. “This is a rescue. You still bleeding?”

“I’ve bled worse,” Kyle said, in a small voice.

“Right, we’ll rinse that off straight away,” Spike turned and headed for the kitchen. He could feel the kid starting to shiver. Shock, he guessed, stroking Kyle’s smooth thighs.


“You can put me down.” Kyle’s voice sounded a little strange. “It’s okay.”

“Not ’til I’ve checked your feet, too,” Spike said, shouldering open the kitchen door. “Don’t want you fucked up, your first day on the job.”

Slender though he was, Kyle was no lightweight, and Spike was glad the kitchen counter was no further away.

“Gonna sit you on the drainer, right?” Spike said. “So get your ass ready for a shock.” As he crossed the kitchen, Spike felt a firm warmth pressing against his shoulder, but didn’t have time to concern himself with thinking about anything other than getting the kid patched up.

“Here we go,” he said. “You just let yourself slide down my body, and everything’ll be fine.”

Damned if all this warm, smooth skin-to-skin wasn’t having an effect on himself, too, for all this was a boy he was holding. Spike could feel his dick swelling some. He bent his knees and hugged the boy’s thighs as he tipped him backwards, dropping him onto the steel drainer next the double sink.

“Hey!” Kyle said, falling backward spraddle-legged onto the drainboard with a clank and a thud.

“You okay there?” Spike said. “Put that bleeding arm under the cold faucet while I fetch the first-aid kit from the cupboard under here.” As he crouched down, he noticed the boy was hard - a neatly circumcised and nicely shaped head, and tight, young-guy balls hugged up tight to the base of his dick. Impressive, too: he’d often noticed how the skinnier a guy was the bigger his dick seemed.

Spike shrugged. Well, he was pretty stiff himself. He bent and groped for the plastic box where the antiseptic and Band-Aids were kept.

“So, what was that all about?” he asked, straightening up. He couldn’t help smiling as he saw the boy’s gaze following his swinging dick. Darn if that didn’t make it grow some, too.

“Huh?” Kyle jerked his gaze up from Spike’s dusky, swelling groin to meet his eyes.

Wow, Spike thought. Such huge, wide eyes, speckled like forest leaves at the first hint of fall. Lips less pink than his cheeks, now. Dark hair like a curtain falling. Yeeow! the boy was hot; put him in mind of one of those pre-Raphaelite dudes, except for that godawful dyed hair: kid could do with talking to Berenice.

“Well, uh, I was trying to clean that glass stuff,” Kyle mumbled, “and--”

“Yeah,” Spike said, fumbling open the box and fishing out the disinfectant. “Sure. But I mean -- why naked?”

“What?” Kyle jerked his head up.

He wouldn’t have thought the boy’s eyes could widen any further.

“But that’s our thing,” Kyle said. “We’re boy maids. That means we clean your place naked. Why did you think we’re so expensive?”

“Oh, uh. Right. Gotcha.” Darn, did he feel a rube! Spike could feel the blush hot in his skin like the sun behind church glass: mocha with Montana sunset, it must look.

“Only in the ordinary way, you’re not supposed to touch,” Kyle added.

“That must be rough on your customers,” Spike said, deadpan.

“There aren’t any! This is my first day and my first job, and-”

“Gotcha.” Still embarrassed at his gaucherie, Spike turned his attention to the boy’s cut. “You, uh, haven’t put it under the faucet,” he said, turning it on.

“’S okay,” Kyle said, hugging his arm against his side. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure, you don’t wanna get your glove wet. No sweat, I’ll peel it off-” Spike said, taking the boy’s wrist.

“No - I don’t-”

“Then I’m dialing 911,” Spike said, “-or your agency. Whatever. You’re at work, you’re hurt-” of course, dumb ass! He’s worried about the money. “-I’ll pay the medical-”

“NO!” Kyle said. “I mean - please don’t! Look - I can roll it down, my glove, I mean--” he began to do so, fumbling at the material.

“Hey, easy -- no need to rip it, let me.”

Kyle surrendered, meekly letting Spike roll the sodden material partway down his forearm.

“Don’t worry about the red,” Spike said. “Little cut can loose an awful lot of claret.”

He moved Kyle’s arm close to the running stream of water. “Cold,” he said, in warning.

“Mm,” the boy grunted.

He felt Kyle’s arm tense. A moment later the water was washing away the blood and it was indeed a very small cut, less than a finger-joint in length, and shallow.

“Yeah!” Spike said, shutting off the water. Unbelievable the feeling of relief that surged through him. He found himself smiling as he rummaged one-handed for medical supplies. “Just a band-aid and then clearing up to do.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m fired?” Kyle sounded so doleful that Spike paused with the ball of antiseptic-anointed cotton wool in mid-air.

“Not yet,” he said, and winked.

“It’s just it’s my first job. Mom said I’d never get one, not with dropping out of school the way I did. Aaoww-_fhsss!_” Kyle sucked in his breath: hissing through his teeth as Spike applied the antiseptic.

“We’ll work something out,” Spike said. “Sorry we’ve only got cutesy-kid Band-Aids-” Another of Berenice’s baby-obsessed little weirdnesses. He felt the anger rise up again and delayed, rummaging amongst the plasters while he forced it down, finally selecting a blue geometric character with its arm in a sling. He taped it over the wound. “There.”

Deciding to capitalize on success while the boy’s oddly docile mood lasted, he lifted Kyle’s foot and began to check it for glass splinters.

Spike’s big fingers could close completely around Kyle’s slim ankle, and the striped thigh-highs the kid was wearing served to emphasize the lean curves of his legs.

The boy shifted forward to sit on the edge of the drainboard, and the view proved very distracting. Kyle’s small, white ass sure looked cute with the boy’s leg lifted like this, showing off the pale chocolate crinkle of his tight-folded hole. The thought of working his big, fat cock up between those sweet, baseball-sized little buns had Spike’s cock swelling again. He distracted himself with a minute examination of each foot, carefully smoothing his fingers over the sole and heel, relieved to find no glass.

“You seem okay,” he said at last, letting go. “Now, about the glass-”

“Okay,” Kyle said. “I know.” The boy twisted round on the countertop, reached out and slipped his hand around the base of Spike’s cock. He was breathing a little faster, his smooth, pale chest lifting and falling as he stroked along Spike’s dark stalk to the darker brown head. Before Spike fully realized what he was about, the kid leaned closer, his hair swinging forward as he opened his mouth and sucked Spike’s stiffening meat inside.

At the sudden wet heat of the boy’s mouth, Spike felt himself boning up like one of those rescue rafts when someone pulled the ripcord. The urgency of his response surprised him, though judging by the gulp-and-cough the boy gave, not as much as the sudden increase in size surprised Kyle. But the next moment the boy was back on it again, his mouth stretched wide as he sucked down on the top couple of inches of Spike’s fat, dark meat, drooling as his slender, pale hand massaged the rest.

“Oh, yeah, kid, yeah!” Spike growled as Kyle worked on his dickhead. Fuck! The kid had a tongue stud! He was no innocent either: he knew exactly where a guy’s sensitive places were, and how to work his enhanced little tongue on them, moaning softly all the while. “That’s a good little sissy boy.”

Spike leaned one hand on the countertop and put the other on Kyle’s head, encouraging him deeper, enthralled at the sight of his hard, dark meat sinking into that pale little face.

Kyle peeked up at him, and seemed reassured by what he saw. “Mmmm,” he moaned around Spike’s dick, then let go of it to reach down and urgently massage his own with his now-slick hand. The kid was fully hard and had nothing to be ashamed of in the shower, even allowing for the effect of having shaved off his pubes. His walnut-sized balls were tight to the root in their hairless pouch, and his pretty, cut dick bobbed against his smooth tummy in time with his sucking.

“Mm, yeah, that’s some seriously good head, Kyle,” Spike said. “You are one helluva sexy kid, you know that?”

Slowly, keeping his hand in place on the boy’s head, Spike began humping Kyle’s mouth. Not deep: that wasn’t the point; just a slow purposeful, powerful movement that let little Kyle know who was in charge.

“Yeahhh. Hope you’re liking that as much as I am,” Spike said.

Spike heard Kyle moan in eager submission as he pushed more of his wide, dark cock into the boy’s mouth, and felt the vibrations shivering along his cock and down into his balls. In and back, in a little more and back, he began the slow, silky motion, easing his big hard cock deeper and deeper into that lovely warmth.

Not that Kyle needed encouragement: Spike could feel the boy sucking on his invading hardness, wriggling his tongue. Damn, it was so hot, the way that meek, shy emo-boy looked up at him.

“Mnnnhhh-” Kyle’s moans took on a more urgent, needy tone as Spike slowly stroked the top fourth or so of his dick in and out of the boy’s sucking mouth.

The boy brought his knees up, half curling into a fetal position, his hand massaging that handsome boy-dick in long, squeezing strokes timed to his soft moans; his black lashes fluttering on every slow in-stroke of Spike’s glistening dark meat; his small, studded tongue working overtime on the big, black invader.

Spike moved powerfully back and forth in the kid’s mouth. As well as the power rush, he found himself secretly amused at the way Kyle was covertly watching his low-swinging balls. “Like one of those hypnotist’s watches, maybe,” he thought. He felt a wave of powerful affection for the boy, and slid his fingers through Kyle’s coarse, dye-fucked hair, rewarding him with a little more meat.

Kyle whimpered and edged closer to Spike’s groin, arching his neck to give Spike a clear shot down his throat.

“Oh, you sexy little bitch,” Spike groaned, feeling his balls aching and full as he humped that slippery little cave, “and --darn!-- would I like to go balls-deep in your hot little mouth right now-”

Kyle moaned and shifted closer to the edge of the countertop, drooling around Spike’s meat as he fisted his own.

“Whoa there, boy.” Spike held the kid off and drew his slimy cock back a little. “No you don’t.” He let go Kyle’s head, and popped his pale little bubble butt a sharp slap.

Kyle squeaked and mumbled “Mm thorry,” around Spike’s dick, although what he looked was flushed and excited.

“That’s better,” Spike said, taking the word for the thought. “Suck on my cock, boy. Like you were. Ohh, yeah. Because what I was saying-- Uhhh!”

Spike had to break off for a moment as Kyle wickedly stimulated his cockhead with his clever little tongue. Whether he was cheekily getting his own back or angling for an ass-spanking Spike wasn’t sure. Possibly both.

“-I was saying,” Spike repeated, through his teeth, “-that someone is a heartbeat away from being drownded in my ball-juice!”

Kyle sucked him deep; pink lips in a wide “O” down Spike’s glistening, fat joint, but only to about the same place as before. After a sexy, lubricious swallow that did nothing for Spike’s self-control, he let the hard cock slide out of his mouth again until he was once again working that wicked, eager tongue-stud on Spike’s cockhead.

“Darn, so you’re a little cumhound too,” Spike said, feeling the urge building, his balls tightening, grinning down at the flushed, excited boy lip-teasing and nursing at his cockhead. “Oh fuck!” he gasped: “cummi_nnng!”_

Kyle opened his mouth, so Spike saw the first white cum-rope spurt from his dickhead, then the boy tilted his head back as Spike moaned and came again: another hard liquid-pleasure shot into that glistening pink and pearly white mouth, and again, puddling around the boy’s silver tongue stud, who coughed, gulped and finally swallowed.

Spike closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the countertop moaning “uh-uh-uh” as his balls unloaded, his dick pulsing and twitching; outright whimpering as Kyle’s cummy, slick lips teased him into another violent cum, pulsing warm, sticky jizz into that expert little mouth.

When Spike opened his eyes again, Kyle was grinning up at him, his lips puffy and red; teasing his lip rings with the tip of his tongue and looking for all the world like a naughty kid caught playing with cellulose paste. White drooled from one corner of his mouth and covered his cheek, splashed his nearer shoulder and trickled from his collarbone too.

His lean tummy glistened as well, and Spike frowned for a moment, puzzled, and then the penny dropped. “Darn,” he said. “Sorry I missed your cum, honey.”

“It’s okay.” Kyle shrugged. “You were kind of busy, and anyway I nearly missed it too.” His eyes sparkled and he giggled, blowing his attempt at a cool demeanor. “That was intense. Do you always cum that much?”

“Not always,” Spike said, and then, impulsively: “a lot depends on how cute my playmate is.” He was pleased with himself at having avoided saying “girl.” He didn’t want Kyle to feel he was some freak “experiment” or something.

“Yeah. I guess it would.” Kyle sighed and sat up. “So I guess we’re square for the breakages?” The sparkle had quite died out of his eyes.

To Spike, it didn’t seem the moment to say that he’d intended to simply sweep the mess up and forget about it: the kid had really given his all.

“Way more than square,” Spike said. Darn, but the kid was hot, and only a part of that was due to his recent jizz-bath. “I hated that ugly-ass vase.”

Kyle managed a dutiful smile. “But I guess your, um, partner liked it,” he said.

“Yeah,” Spike said, though he now doubted Berenice rated herself as low as partner in their relationship. He squeezed Kyle’s shoulder affectionately.

“It’s cool,” he said. “You want to go shower up while I put things to rights? And get dressed after: shoes as well,” he added, trying to imply the problem was still broken glass rather than how cold he guessed Kyle would get, being so skinny and walking around with his skin damp and all. He didn’t want the kid getting a chill.


The damage wasn’t so bad as Spike had first thought. Most of the ornaments that had slid off the shelves as the cheap wall unit twisted had bounced and rolled on the thick carpeting. Only the big vase and a couple of “artisanal pieces” had hit something hard and shattered. The main problem were the wall plugs that had pulled out. Easy to fix, but his tools were out in the garage.

Slipping upstairs to get something to cover his nakedness, Spike was amused to hear soft moans and gasping from the bathroom. “Poor kid,” he thought. “I recall when one cum wasn’t enough for me, either.” He paused a moment, listening, but when he heard what sounded like his own name he hurried on to the bedroom, feeling oddly ashamed.

Spike was tightening up the last screw on the wall plate when he heard Kyle come into the room. He turned and grinned down at the kid from the top of the step ladder. “Firm as a rock, see?” he said, pushing at the unit by way of demonstration. “You don’t need to worry about that falling on you again.”

“Uhuh.” Kyle’s gaze seemed to be less on the shelving and more on the checked shirt and cut-down jeans Spike had thrown on for decency. Both had been bought some time ago, before he started seriously working out and now were a little tight in places. “You, um, really want me to come around again?” he asked as Spike climbed down the ladder.

“Sure. You don’t think I’d welsch on our deal, do you?”

“What? Oh no, of course I didn’t think that!” Kyle said, going pink. “Only the agency might have something to say, that’s all.”

“Well if they give you any grief, give me call.” Spike started to recite his number and then paused when Kyle tugged on a beaded lanyard and pulled a fancy smart phone out of his pocket.

“Talk to it, and it’ll remember your number,” Kyle said.

Spike carefully recited his cellphone number. “I’m working crazy hours right now though,” he said. “So don’t be surprised if you get my voicemail, and I don’t call back right away.”

“Sure,” Kyle said, softly. He took the phone back and his thumb moved over the screen, like a caress. “It’s really kind of you to give it to me, Mr. Richmond.”

“Spike,” Spike said. He pointed. “That’s what it says on your phone, Kyle; that’s what I want you to call me. Now, I’m gonna have to leave for work in about thirty, forty minutes. Can I leave you to dust and tidy up while I rinse off and get dressed? After that I can give you a lift towards town, if you need it.”

Upstairs, Spike showered and then restored the Mother Nature box to its place in the bathroom cabinet, frowning. He and Berenice needed to talk, that much was plain, but he intended to do so at a time and place of his own choosing.

He returned downstairs in his sharp office suit and favorite necktie, enjoying the clean, crisp feel of his shirt against his skin, the way he always did at the beginning of the day.

Kyle was waiting obediently by the front door. Spike took a moment to check the boy’s work, purely for the half-wicked pleasure of complimenting him and seeing him blush once more.

“That’s great, Kyle,” he said. “You’re a pretty good maid, you know that?” He was, too: this wasn’t B.S.; the kid was neat and methodical. It wasn’t his fault that Spike hadn’t kept up his maintenance chores, really he was lucky the kid was willing to return at all; he must’ve been scared. On impulse Spike pulled out his wallet and thumbed out a couple of notes. “Here,” he said. “For you.”

“Oh no,” Kyle said. “I couldn’t, Mr. Richmond: really.”

“I insist,” Spike said, folding the notes into the boy’s reluctant hand. He opened the front door. “Now would you like a lift into town?”

Kyle shook his head, no, as he stepped outside and Spike recalled the boy had a learner’s permit. Doubtless he’d driven over here illegally, without the required qualified driver. Stupid.

“Oh, well, I’ll see you then,” Spike said as behind him the garage door hummed and rose. He had to practically bite his tongue to prevent himself commenting, but Kyle already looked unhappy despite his tip, and despite Spike’s assurance that he wasn’t fired.

Kyle half raised his hand in a shy little wave that he abandoned almost before he began. For a moment Spike thought he was going to say something, but he only chewed at his lip, his tongue probing at his lip rings as he stared up at Spike. Then he ducked his head, his hair slipping forward over his face, turned on his heel and began walking swiftly down the drive.

To be continued in part two.

Well, I hope you enjoyed that.

For those of you following my other story on Nifty “Heaven Next Door,” sorry about the delay; I am working on the next chapter (rather slowly) Hence this rescuee from my "unfinished" folder!

Comments, feedback and general chat sincerely appreciated, as always. Please mail me at:


Best wishes,