Devin's Bed and Breakfast 2

Devin’s Bed and Breakfast Part 2

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Thank you for reading this story! This is the second part of a larger work that I've been working on for a few weeks. Just a little warning, there is more story than sex in this chapter. If you just want the sex parts, skip down to the end. Thank you to everyone who sent emails. It's very appreciated. I would very much like your feedback, comments, criticisms, or general support. You can contact me at dsm_76@yahoo.com. I'd really enjoy hearing from you.

CHAPTER 2

The next two days passed quickly and quietly. I still needed to find a contractor and someone to oversee the vineyard. I made a few calls and posted a few ads online. I couldn't do much of the cosmetic work I wanted to do inside the house until after the renovations were complete. Instead, I spent the next few days cleaning the yard and working on the landscaping around the house.

It had been a long day of work. I was covered, head to toe, in dirt and sweat. I stripped off my work clothes and jumped into the shower. The water felt good on my sore muscles. I thought I was was in pretty good shape, but two days of digging holes and pulling weeds and shown me a thing or two. As I scrubbed the dirt off my body, my mind once again turned back to what had happened with Art. It was such a strange experience. I wanted to talk to him about it but I was afraid he would react badly if I tried to contact him. Imagine my surprise when I got out of the shower to discover I'd missed his call, and he had left a voice mail.

"Mr Kirby, this is Art. Could you return my call at your earliest convenience?"

Hmm. He didn't sound angry. Just cold, or maybe cautious. Well, I thought to myself, No time like the present. I hit the redial button.

"Hello."

"Hello Art, this is Devin. Sorry I missed your call."

"It's okay," he paused. "I was hoping we could meet to discuss your renovation."

"Sure. How about tomorrow? Want to meet here?"

There was another pause, longer this time, as if he was trying to decide something. Finally he responded. "Okay, we will meet there. How about 9:00 am?"

"Works for me. I think it might be good to talk about what happened."

"Yeah. Me too. Good night Mr. Kirby."

I put the phone down. I had to admit the idea of seeing Art again excited me. I started playing with my dick, thinking about the hot contractor. I loved the feel of his hard cock in my mouth, the taste of his cum on my tongue. I quickly shot my load over my chest. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.

I woke up the following morning to the sound of my phone ringing.

"Mmmumlo"

"Mr. Kirby?"

"Yeah."

"It's Arthur. We were supposed to meet at 9:00"

My eyes popped open. What time was it? "Yes, Arthur. Sorry, I just woke up."

"I'm just pulling up now. Should I come back later?"

I was out of bed now, pulling on tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants. How did I oversleep? "No, not at all. I'll be right there."

I hung up the phone and made way way out to the front porch in time to see Art's car pull up. He got out, briefcase in hand, and approached the house. Today he was wearing a polo shirt and jeans, but he was just as hot. He approached the house, but seemed reluctant to come in. There was an awkward silence.

"How are you doing today?" I asked, smiling.

"Good. You?"

"I'm not sure I'm awake enough to be able to tell. You want some coffee?"

"That sounds good."

"I'm much more coherent once I'm caffeinated."

We walked through the house into the kitchen, where I got the coffee started, and hopefully the conversation.

"So...thanks for calling."

"Well, thanks for taking my call."

Uncomfortable pause. Say something. Anything. "I was going to call you but I thought maybe...not." I am so damn smooth.

"Yeah. I wanted to apologize for the way I left. Really, my behavior was beyond-I mean in the basement..."

"No, hey! I was...right there. With you, I mean." Nope. Not awkward at all.

"I've never done anything like that before. With a guy. It upset me and I stormed out. I should have handled it better."

Was I the first guy he had ever been with? No wonder he had freaked out. I looked him in the eye and said, "There isn't anything to apologize for."

"Regardless, I would still very much like to work on you-with you on your renovation project."

"I'd like that as well."

"Great! I worked up an estimate, based on the items we discussed."

It was a sudden change in subject that caught me off guard. We weren’t going to talk any more about the hot blowjob?

Art took some papers out of his briefcase and handed to me. There was an itemized estimate for the renovation I wanted, but the thing I noticed was that he referred to my house as the Duvall house.

"What's Duvall house?" I asked.

"Sorry, it's an old habit I guess. This place has been the Duvall house for years. I didn't know if you had a name for your bed and breakfast yet, so I just used that."

"Were they the original owners you mentioned?"

"Yeah. You really don't know the history of this place?"

"There's history?"

Art laughed. "You could say that. If you asked any of the locals about this place you might get any number of crazy stories. Ghost stories mostly."

I stood up from the kitchen table and walked to the counter. "I don't believe in the supernatural. Cream or sugar?"

"Just sugar for me."

I grabbed a couple of coffee mugs and poured. “So, what kind of stories?”

“About what you would expect. My dad always used to say it was just small town people with small time minds.”

“But you said they were weird. The former owners, I mean.” I returned to the table and handed Art the cup of coffee.

“They were. Let me start from the beginning.”

I sat down across from Art and nodded for him to continue.

“Malleville and Leila Duvall moved here from St. Louis in the late 1800s. You'll hear a lot of stories about Leila Duvall. They said that she was a witch, and that she cursed Malleville, bewitched him with a love spell. But my Dad always said it was Malleville who committed the ultimate sin.”

“Duvall was a white man from a rich St. Louis family, who had the audacity to marry a woman of color. This was after the Civil War, so you can imagine how well that went over. You may hear some talk that he was run out of town, but my father said that Malleville's father sent them out here to get them out of the public eye.”

“They built this house and started the winery, bringing money and jobs to the area. Of course, that didn't keep people from talking.”

Art looked at me.

“I'm guessing that if you don't believe in the supernatural, you don't believe in curses either?”

I laughed. “Nope.”

“I don't usually believe in stuff like that either. My Dad would dismiss most of what people said about them, but he believed in the Duvall curse. Malleville and Leila had five children, but only the two youngest survived to adulthood. The other three died young, and bad according to most stories. Neville and Phoebe, the two surviving children, never married and people talked that they were more than just siblings. They would live here together in this house until their deaths. Phoebe, the youngest, ended up going crazy. Neville was a recluse, coming out of the house only when he absolutely had to.”

“So what happened to him?”

“He died alone, right here in this house. The last of the Duvall family. My father found him.”

“Wow.”

“He died back in the late eighties.”

That took me by surprise. That was almost three decades ago. “Who lived here after that?”

“Well see, that's when the stories of the curse really took off. The first people who bought the house after Neville died only lived here a few weeks. They sold the place and moved out east somewhere. The next buyers lived here for a year, but they were killed in a car crash. It was all very mysterious since the police found blood in the house. There was an investigation, but nothing ever came of it since the only people who could answer their questions were dead. Then, about 10 years ago one of the local teens went missing. After a few days, he turned up out of his mind, babbling about the evil Duvall house.”

“So, the house has been occupied off and on. But no one ever seems to stay long, though. Mostly this place has just sat here, empty, and the local legend has grown. Incest, voodoo, devil worship, you name it. Most will say that the ghost of Leila Duvall haunts this place, running off anyone who tries to live here.”

I laughed. “That's awesome.”

“I tell you a story of mysterious death and supernatural woe and you say 'awesome'?”

I couldn't help but smile. “Sorry. That was rude of me.”

“Just what exactly is it about your new home being haunted that’s awesome?”

“Because when I advertise this place as a haunted bed and breakfast, it's going to make tons of money.”

Art laughed, and shook his head.

“So,” I indicated to his paperwork. “Lets sign some contracts.”

I sat at the table and Art stood behind me, showing me where to sign and where to initial. I was finding his presence behind me to be a slight distraction. I could feel his body heat when he leaned over to point at something in the paper work. Occasionally his body would brush against my back, and I could feel the muscle beneath his clothes. I really didn't understand why this man was having such an effect on me, turning me into a horny teenager. I took a breath and focused in the task at hand. A short time later, the 'i's were dotted and the 't's were crossed. I had myself a contractor.

I collected myself, stood, and turned to shake Art's hand.

I started to say something bland like it will be a pleasure working with you. But as our hands touched I felt a jolt of electricity, like I've been walking in my socks through deep carpet. The moment stretched out, his hand holding mine. I looked into his eyes and, like before, I saw conflict. Equal measures of lust and fear seemingly at war with each other.

As for myself, not an ounce of conflict. Just lust. I couldn't think of a single time in my life where I felt such an overwhelming desire. It was a physical ache that had no rational explanation.

I felt a tug on my wrist and allowed him to pull me close to his warm body. Our faces were now just a breaths apart. He seemed to be struggling.

“I can't,” he whispered

Then his lips were pressed against mine, one of his hands moved the small of my back while the other caressed the back of my head. My hands were busy pulling the polo shirt out of the waistband of his jeans. I wanted to touch him, feel his skin. My cock got rock hard, tenting out the soft fabric of the sweatpants I was wearing.

I could tell this encounter was going to be different than our last. The feeling was less rushed, we both seemed to want to take our time. His tongue pushed past my lips with a hungry thrust, and I met it with my own. I moved my hands across his broad chest. His skin was smooth as silk. My fingers found his nipples and they hardened at my touch. I felt him gasp against my mouth, but he didn't stop kissing me.

His hands had drifted down my body, to the waistband of my sweats. He slid them inside, and cupped the bare skin of my ass. He pulled me close, grinding his body against mine. I could feel his big cock through the tight fabric of his jeans. I reached down, and unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down. They fell to the floor, and his underwear quickly followed.

Art stopped kissing me long enough to push my sweatpants off my hips, where they joined his jeans on the floor. We both pulled off our shirts. Now completely naked, we embraced again. His mouth quickly found mine. Our tongues entwined. His nine inch cock, now hard as a rock, pressed into my thigh. My own seven inches enjoyed the warmth of his skin where they touched. I don't know how long we stood there, I was lost in the sensation of my hands exploring his body, as he did the same.

At some point, I wrapped my hand around his thick cock, while the other tweaked one of his nipples. He gently thrust his hips, moving his hard shaft through my hand. I broke our kiss, and ran my mouth down his neck. I licked, kissed, and teased my way to his other nipple. I planted a soft kiss right on top, before starting a gentle sucking on the tip.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped. “I didn't know...that would feel...good.”

I switched sides, sucking on the other while still teasing the first with my fingers. He was still fucking my other hand, and his pace increased.

He pulled my head away, and quickly tossed the papers from the kitchen table onto the counter. Then he hopped up on the table itself, pulling my body between his legs, guiding my head down. It was my first good look at the cock I had been lusting after for days. In the dark of the basement, I couldn't see just how beautiful it was. Now I could see how his dark skin glistened with precum, the thick shaft topped with a fat head. I opened my mouth to taste him.

I licked the tip, tasting cum and skin. Then I had the whole head in my mouth. I started moving my tongue against his shaft, as I worked my lips up and down his cock. He groaned. Soon I was bobbing my head up and down, taking as much of his monster cock into my throat as I could. He said nothing, but his ragged breathing and inarticulate groans told me everything I needed to know. I felt a slight pressure as he pushed more of himself into my mouth.

Then, something very unexpected happened. He pulled me off of his cock and pulled me up to his mouth. We kissed as we turned in place, then he easily lifted me up onto the table. He leaned over, and took my cock into his mouth. At first he was tentative, sucking just the head. Then he grew bolder, sucking me deeper into his mouth.

I was blown away, pun intended. He was so freaked out earlier, so uncomfortable. Now he was sucking cock?

I was thoroughly enjoying his growing skill when he stopped and stood, once again meeting my lips with a kiss. I was a bit dazed. He pushed me further back on the table, then climbed up as well. “Suck me,” he said as he moved into a sixty nine position. His hard member was pushed into my face as he resumed sucking on my cock. I opened my mouth, hungrily took his length back inside.

Soon we were in a nice mutual rhythm. I couldn't say how long we were at it, I was too lost in the twin pleasures of sucking an amazing cock and getting an amazing blowjob. I noticed that Art began to thrust his cock into my mouth, picking up speed. I began massaging his balls knowing he must be getting close. Faster and deeper he fucked my face, never letting up his own intense attention on my cock. I felt his balls constrict, and a flood of cum shot into my mouth. I savored his taste for a moment, before swallowing it down. That set my own orgasm off and I shot my load into his still working mouth. We both rocked and shuddered as the last waves of pleasure rolled over us.

We both lay there for a moment on the kitchen table catching our breath and coming down from our high. I looked over and gave him a smile, and was surprised once again see the look of confusion and fear on his face.

“Don't freak out again. It's okay.”

“No it's really not,” he replied as he started to dress.

“Listen I'm not going to tell anybody. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. That was pretty damn amazing.”

“You think I'm ashamed? I have coworkers that are gay, friends that are gay, Family that's gay. I love gay people and if I was gay I sure as hell wouldn't be ashamed of it. But for thirty three years I've been undoubtedly heterosexual. Never crossed my my mind. Until you came along.”

Was he saying I had turned him gay? I mean, its a flattering thought, but did he know how ridiculous that was? He looked down for moment. "I should go."

I opened my mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. I pulled on my sweatpants and followed him to the front of the house. At the door, he stopped and turned to me.

"Devin, if we are going to work together, this can't happen again, okay?"

"Sure."

I was troubled as I watched him walk to his car and drive away. I tended to avoid straight guys, so my experience was pretty limited. But Art didn't seem ashamed or guilty about what had happened. He seemed genuinely confused. I had to admit he did seen to have a strange effect on me as well. Basement blow jobs and kitchen table trysts were not exactly my normal behaviors. It was as if my libido had increased since I had moved into the new place.

My train of thought slipped away as I stood there, admiring the amazing view from my front porch. The summer morning sun was bright, a gentle breeze was blowing through the grape vines. Everything seemed calm and beautiful. The ordered rows were green and beautiful to see. The vines clung neatly to wired frames throwing dappled shadows on the soil below.

Then a question formed, something obvious I hadn't thought to ask. If the house had been empty off and on for years, who had been tending the grapes?