Date: Fri, 11 Feb 2005 21:45:39 -0800 (PST)
From: Master Terra D <masterterradil@yahoo.com>
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

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Master Terra D
masterterradil@yahoo.com