Devin’s Bed and Breakfast

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this work are either products if the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright 2014 by D. S. M.

Thank you for reading this story! This is the first part of a larger novella that I've been working on for a few weeks. I would very much appreciate your feedback, comments, criticisms, or general support. You can contact me at I'd really enjoy hearing from you.


I was at dinner with my friends in a restaurant in Boys Town. We had been starting our Saturday nights like this for a while now. First we'd have dinner, then drinks, hit a club for some dancing, and if we were lucky we'd finish our night by hooking up with some guy (or guys). Tonight was different. I had a big announcement to make, a life altering change. I stood up, got everyone's attention, and told them my big news. It was greeted with blank looks and silence. So I repeated myself.

“I'm leaving Chicago.”

My friend Brad seemed confused. “Wait. What?”

“I'm moving to Missouri.”

Denial from Scott. “Devin, you are not!”

“I am. Next week, in fact. I bought a bed and breakfast in the Missouri wine country.”

From Alex, snark. “The words Missouri and wine do not belong in the same sentence, except perhaps to say: I drank too much wine and now I am in misery.”

And so it went. Eventually I gave them all the details. An old college friend of mine had found this amazing property for sale at a ridiculously low price. Located about an hour outside of St. Louis, it was three story farm house on a large parcel of land with a small winery. I looked at the pictures on the real estate listing, ran the numbers, and realized that it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I had done very well in my professional life, and had enough to buy the property outright. So at 29, after a lifetime in the city, I was about to become a country boy. We ate our dinner, drank our drinks, and said our farewells. With promises to come and visit me in my self-imposed exile, I said goodby to my friends.

Most of my friends wouldn't or couldn't understand why I would do something so crazy. I was successful. At 5'10, 175 lbs, with my dirty blonde hair, and green eyes I had no shortage of guys to spend my time with. I looked damn good in a suit or a tee shirt and jeans. Why give up a high paying job? A fabulous social circle? The energetic and vibrant city life? The truth was, I was bored. I achieved success early. I couldn't stand the idea of doing what I was doing. I needed a change.

The next week was a blur of planning, packing, and arranging the logistics of moving my life 350 miles to the west. The movers arrived and I emptied my apartment. My entire adult life went into the back of a large truck. One seven hour drive later, I pulled up in front of my new home.

The huge house was situated at the top of a hill, overlooking rolling fields of grape vines. The structure was a turn of the century masterpiece. Windows looked out in every direction. A wide front porch ran around the front. Several tall oak trees grew nearby. The sun was just beginning to set, and the sky was a vibrant golden orange. It might not be the Napa Valley but it was beautiful, and it was mine.

A few hours later, the movers were gone, and I was sitting on the front porch of my new house, drinking a glass of wine in the dark. I should have been exhausted, but I was filled with an excited energy. It was so quiet. I was so accustomed to the constant white noise of the city, that I felt like I was going deaf. I could hear the slight breeze blowing through the leaves in the tree, the creaking of the branches. And the stars: I had been camping when I was a boy, but I don't remember ever seeing so many stars in my life. I would occasionally walk out into the front yard and stare up at them like a mouth-breathing loon.

“Okay,” I thought, “One more glass then I'm going to bed.”

My bed was the only piece of furniture that was put together. I drained the last of my wine, took off my clothes and flopped down. In a strange bedroom, in strange house in a strange state, my bed was a familiar friend. The stories it could tell! I smiled as I drifted off to sleep.

Later that night I found myself standing, still naked, in the front room of the house. Strangely, everything was gone, no boxes, no furniture. The walls as bare as my skin. The only light came from the stars, and the pervasive silence saturated the air. Then, I felt something on the back of my neck. In an instant I knew I was feeling the breath of someone standing directly behind me. I was terrified to discover I couldn't move, I couldn't turn my head to see who or what it was. The light hairs on the nape of my neck rose up, and my skin broke out in goosebumps. I felt something warm reach across my abdomen, and the presence pulled me close, or pulled close to me. It was an arm, but I couldn't look down to see it. Why couldn't I movie? I was breathing hard now, wanting to run away from this unknown stranger but I was still frozen in place.

Then I felt something else, something warm and hard nestle into the cleft of my ass cheeks. I knew that sensation. I realized that beneath the fear was a sudden intense lust. The stranger pulled me closer again. His cock was large, and he moved it up and down my ass crack in a slow and steady motion. I should scream. I should fight back. I felt him at my hole, his head applying steady pressure. I wanted to tell him no and yes. He pushed forward.

I opened my eyes, as my orgasm washed over me. It was morning, and sunlight filled my bedroom. The birds in the trees outside were singing a merry song. I was laying on my stomach, in a pool of my own cum. I had just shot a load into my sheets from the disturbing dream. I rolled over, still a little out of breath. Was that a nightmare or a wet dream?

'I must of really been horny', I thought to myself. I couldn't remember the last time I had a wet dream. College? High School?

As I jumped in the shower, the unsettling dream started to fade. By the time I had unpacked my coffee pot, realized I didn't have coffee, Googled the closest grocery store, and started driving, it was completely gone from my mind.

The day flew by in a whirl of productivity. I picked up some groceries, along with some of the weird miscellaneous stuff you don't realize you need until you move into a new place. After I returned home, I spent the rest of the day unpacking my things, and trying to get organized. There was a pretty long list of things that needed to be done before the house could be opened as a bed and breakfast.

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when I heard a car pull up outside. I stepped out onto the porch as a tall, good looking black man got out of a newer model Nissan sedan. He looked like he was in his late 30s, and filled out his suit in all the right ways. He took off a pair of sunglasses and smiled as he walked towards me.

“Are you Devin Kirby?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The man held out his hand. “Mr. Kirby, my name is Arthur Sinclair, we spoke on the phone last week.”

Now I remembered. I had made some calls looking for a contractor to oversee some renovations. Arthur Sinclair had mentioned he was familiar with the property. I had meant to call him back and completely forgot to do it.

I reached out and shook his hand. “Of course. Please call me Devin.”

“Only if you'll call me Art.”

“Sure thing.”

We were standing on the porch now, and as we made small talk, I was able to admire Art up close. He had beautiful skin, the color of polished mahogany, dark brown eyes, and neatly trimmed goatee. Beneath his dress shirt, he had a well built chest. And was that a bulge in his pants? I banished those thoughts from my head. I wasn't in Boys Town any more. Midwest. Conservative. Contractor. Focus.


“I'm sorry, what?”

“When did you get in?”

“Oh, yesterday. I'm still unpacking, and trying to figure out where to to put everything.”

“I hope its okay, me dropping by like this. If it's a bad time, just say so. I'd be happy to come back later.”

“It's fine. Come on in. Things are still pretty disorganized around here.”

I held the door for him as he stepped into the front room. I tried very hard not to stare at his beautiful ass as he moved past me into the house. I mostly succeeded.

“I don't normally show up at the door steps of perspective clients, but as I mentioned on the phone, I have some history with this property. I was very happy to hear that someone had finally bought the place.”

“You mentioned your father.”

“My grand father, and my father both worked for the original owners of the home. They tended the grapes and oversaw the winery.”

“Really? Sounds like I need to talk to them when I'm ready to start production.”

“Unfortunately, they are both gone now.”

Oof. Open mouth, insert foot. “I'm sorry.”

I started shuffling boxes around, clearing a place on the sofa for us to sit down. Art continued to talk.

“Some of my earliest memories of my Dad were of running around the vineyard.”

“What were the original owners like?”

“I never met them, but there were lots of weird rumors. I'm sure you will hear all about them eventually. My father never said anything bad about them, but they kept to themselves. Actually, this is the first time I've ever been inside the house.”

“In that case, let's do the tour. That way you can see the place, and maybe I can get an estimate for the renovations I'd like to do.”

“All right. Lets do it.”

“Well,” I laughed, “This is the living room.”

Art smiled. “I thought it might be.”

Whoo...that smile. That smile was dangerous. Focus. “Lets start with the attic.”

We climbed the stairs, and made our way to the second floor. Most of the work I wanted to do up here was cosmetic, as the house hadn't been updated in decades. The attic, however, was going to be a huge project. We climbed a second set of stairs and entered the large loft area at the top of the house. It was dark up here, and very warm. Four windows, set into the front and back of the roof were the only light.

I gestured into the empty space. “So, I'd like to convert this into a suite.”

Art walked to one of the windows and looked out. “The view is amazing.”

“Exactly. I think this room will be a big draw for guests.”

“Well, it won't be cheap. I'll need to bring in your central air and heat, re-insulate and add a ceiling, drywall, you want to add plumbing?”


Art took out a tape measure, some sort of electronic gizmo, and small pad of paper. Then removed his suit jacket. “Can you hold this for me?”

Happily, I thought. He made a few quick measurements and ran the gizmo over the wall. I was impressed. As he reached up with the tape measure, I stared at his wide back, and observed his thick neck. I really waned to see what the rest of him looked like. I forced my eyes away to keep from staring. My cock was starting to get hard. What was wrong with me today?

“Alright. I'm ready when you are.”

I smiled. We made our way back to the first floor.

“Okay, so this hallway leads to the back of the house. There are two bedrooms here on the ground floor.”

He followed me, as I lead him down a short hallway. The bedrooms were to the left.

“I'd like to take out the wall between these two rooms and turn it into a self-contained studio. That will give me privacy and guests get the rest of the house.”

Once again he was using his tool on the wall and making notes.

“I think taking out the entire wall would be a bad idea, but you could open it up some, maybe a nice archway between the two areas.”

We made our way into the second bedroom, the one where I slept last night. Art was already in the room when I remembered I hadn't cleaned up my mess from last night. He worked his way around the room. He had loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. I prayed my cum stained sheets wouldn't be noticed. I sniffed the air. Did it smell like sex? I slipped into the hallway, hoping to mask my embarrassment.

In the back of the house was the kitchen, and Art met me in there.

“You can put that on the counter if you like.”

I realized I was still holding his jacket.

“Oh, sure thing.”

“So, basement?”

“Yeah. Its right down here.”

The door to the basement was here in the kitchen. We made our way downstairs and I tugged on the chain to turn on the overhead light. I hadn't really explored this part of the house yet. The area was expansive but had a very low ceiling. Structural supports were scattered around like the trunks of trees. The floor was set with large flat stones, not concrete. Art walked around, and examined things. He reached up to look at something, and I noticed he was sweating.

“So the water heater and your furnace are down here. Looks like they are pretty new.”

I was hot too, which was strange, as the basement was cool and just slightly damp. I felt feverish. My dick was hard, and I was grateful I was wearing jeans. I turned away casually, and adjusted my seven inches. The second I touched myself, I felt a surge of pleasure that was almost overwhelming. What the hell? I never got this worked up. The second I got Art out the door I was going to have to jerk off. I took a breath and turned back around.

Art was standing there looking at me.

“You okay?”

I was about to answer when I noticed something. He had a huge bulge in his dress pants that wasn't there before. I stared, mouth gaping. I should say something. I should look away. I should get us back upstairs. I should... I should take that bulge out of that man's pants and put it in my mouth.

Art didn't say anything. He glanced down, and realized what I was staring at. “Sorry. I uh...” He trailed off. Losing his train of thought for a moment. He reached down to try to flatten out his bulge. The moment he touched himself, his eyes rolled up in his head, and his knees went weak. He reached out his other arm to the low ceiling to steady himself, and a moan escaped his lips.

The next thing I know, I'm on my knees in front of him. I ran my hands up his legs until I reached his bulge, feeling it harden and throb beneath my fingers. He undid his belt with a quick gesture, and unbuttoned his pants. I pulled down his zipper, and pulled his pants down to his ankles. His hard cock strained against a the fabric of his tighty whities. I moved my mouth over the fabric, eliciting another moan. I pulled down his underwear and his package jumped out like an striking snake. It was nine inches of beautiful pleasure, and I moved my head to rub his meat with my face, nuzzling his length against my cheek. I could smell his maleness, strong and musky. I looked up at his face.

Art seemed to be conflicted. One moment he seemed confused, then scared, then hungry for more. I didn't have any conflict. I knew what I wanted. I reached up and guided the head of his cock into my mouth. It was velvety soft and hard as rock. I ran my tongue against his piss slit and was rewarded with a dollop of thick precum.

“Oh fuck yeah,” he breathed.

I wanted more. I moved my tongue around his big head, lavishing his delicious glans with attention and saliva. I worked more and more of his length into my mouth, sucking him down as far as I could. Some tiny part of me, the the deepest recesses of my mind may have wondered if I had lost my mind, but I was too busy stuffing my mouth with cock to care. I felt Art's hand grab the back of my head, as he fed me his meat.

“Damn, you are a good cocksucker.”

My mouth was too full to agree. He was still using his other hand to steady himself, but now he was working his hips, fucking my face. I had freed my own thick seven inches from my jeans, and was madly jacking away with one hand. With the other, I massaged his heavy balls. All I could think about was draining those big fuckers. His thrusts were getting more insistent, deeper.

“You are a horny bitch. I could smell your sex in the bedroom. Yeah, take that cock, bitch. Take it.”

I let go of his balls and grabbed onto his hip as he thrust his cock in and out of my throat. I should be choking, gagging, but I couldn't stop. I needed this. I could feel his tension growing and knew he must be getting close. I felt my own climax building.

“Here it comes...drink it. Drink my fucking spunk.”

My mouth was suddenly filled with thick, hot cum. He let out a loud growl as he pumped his load into me. I tasted him, and swallowed it all down. This set me over the edge and I shot my own load. Four, five, six big shots of cum, blasting all over myself.

Art pulled his cock from my throat and turned away. We were both breathing heavy, and took a few moments to recover. I stood on shaking legs, and did up my pants. Art was already dressed.

He looked over at me.

“What the hell was that?”

I shook my head. I wasn't sure what to say.

“I've got to go.”

Art moved quickly up the stairs, grabbing his jacket as he passed through the kitchen. He seemed angry, or upset. I followed behind, confused, suddenly feeling the need to explain or apologize. I caught up with him in the living room.

“Are you okay?”

“No I am not okay.”

“I'm sorry. I don't normally blow random guys. You seemed like you were into it.”

He opened the door, he half turned, unable to face me or look me in the eye.

“I'm not...I've never done anything like that before in my life.”

He quickly bolted out the door, jumped into his car. I watched him drive away, and I marveled at the afternoon's events. There in the basement, I felt like I had lost control as my desire overtook my senses. I couldn't remember any other time in my life where I felt so overwhelmed by horniness. Was something wrong with me?

Regardless, it looked like I was going to have to find another contractor.