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Let’s face it, when a man gives you a pair of panties and you wear them for him, the rest of your life is pretty much mapped out. You’re going to be sucking cock and maybe, if you suck that cock well, you might be given some privileges; some extra considerations.
I know. Bryan made me the panty wearing cock sucker I am today. But I did get those privileges.
For starters, and for all you haters out there, it wasn’t my idea. I mean who decides in their late 20’s to give up pussy and devote themselves to worshipping a man with a huge cock?
Before you answer, please take note of what happened to me and why I was unable to resist the call.
It all began when I answered a help wanted ad for a grounds keeper / pool boy / house sitter. None of those jobs or tasks required much of an education which was right up my alley. The Job Corp GED I got when I was 16 hadn’t resulted in any high paying jobs in culinary arts as promised. Menial labor, burger flipping, Uber driver, construction site helper were the jobs I got and the jobs I hated. I mean I couldn’t even get a job in a Fulfillment Center where they work you as though you’re a robot.
My one room, not one bedroom mind you, my one room, sparsely furnished apartment on the wrong side of town was no haven. To go out or come home I had to dodge drunks lying on the sidewalks, dopers pan handling everywhere, trash blowing in the streets, burned out cars, broken glass, and rats as big as Chinese Pugs. Maintaining a yard and pool at a real honest to goodness house seemed like the dream job to me.
“Who knows,” I thought to myself on my way to a pay phone. “Maybe I can quit these toothless, drug addled skanks I’d been shagging with my eyes closed while praying that Suzie Rotten Crotch didn’t share some STD with me. I might score some rich chick at the place I was applying to work. Maybe save some bucks and get a car.”
I was filled with those thoughts as I dialed the number. “Jackson residence. Jamison speaking.”
“Hi, I’m John Wordsworth and I’m calling about the job for the maintenance man. Is it still open?”
“We’ve had a few calls and a couple interviews. Mr. Jackson hasn’t decided yet. Would you like to make an appointment for an interview?”
“Yes sir. Sounds good.”
“Tomorrow at noon. Please be punctual. Mr. Jackson insists on punctuality. If you’re late, do not bother coming.”
“Noon sharp. I’ll be there at 11:45.”
“Sir. Noon does not mean 11:45.”
“I got it. Thank you.”
Click.
“Hmm. The guy sounds like a real asshole.”
What to wear to an interview for a yard and pool maintenance gig?
“What was it Kristofferson sang? Oh yeah, “I fumbled through my closet for my cleanest dirty shirt…”
I did exactly that. I hand ironed some of the wrinkles out of my pants and checked the bus schedules for the 20th time.
Funny how the bus ran on the poor side of town and stopped well short of the affluent homes and businesses. I had to walk more than 2 miles up hill until I came to the address. My watch said it was 11:59.
I walked through the gate through a sculptured yard. Bushes trimmed into shapes, trees beautifully in bloom. In the driveway I saw a Bentley, a Porsche, and an old school Mustang Boss 409. “Whoever this Jackson is,” I thought, “He must be cool.”
The large wooden door was imposing. I knocked at precisely noon. The door opened at my second knock. “Mr. Wordsworth?”
“Yes sir. You must be Mr. Jamison.”
He looked me over and said, “Oh dear. Well, I suppose everyone must be someone,” he said rather smugly.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“This way please. Mustn’t keep Mr. Jackson waiting.”
I followed this Jamison guy and thought he must be a twink. I mean he didn’t so much walk as he sashayed, chin up, with one hand on his hip.
I was led to through the spacious house and into the backyard. A very large, well-built black man lay spread out on a lounge. A couple well-built white girls splashed around in the pool.
Jamison introduced me to Mr. Jackson.
“I’m Bryan Jackson. My friends call me Bry. You can call me Mr. Jackson or sir. So, John, is it?”
“Yes sir Mr. Jackson.”
“Alright johnnie it is. Tell me, why should I hire you?”
“God,” I thought. “Is everyone around here an asshole?”
“Frankly sir, I have no experience in the job as it was advertised. What that means is that I have no preconceived notions of how it should be done. That’s good news for you and why you should hire me is because you can tell me exactly the way you want it done, and it will be done exactly that way.”
Mr. Jackson sat up and instead of looking at me over his sun glasses, he removed them. He studied me for a few seconds. Then he broke into a huge smile. “Damn good answer johnnie. Didn’t see that one coming. The others I’ve interviewed so far have all dished out a load of bull shit. Well done.”
“Does that mean I have the job,” I asked ataşehir escort bayan hoping I did.
“Not quite so fast son. Tell me about yourself. Have you ever been arrested, charged, fired? Do you do drugs or abuse alcohol? Have you been treated for an STD?”
“No to all the above sir.”
“Tell me about your education.”
“This is where they separate the cream from the milk,” I thought to myself. “Here’s where I usually get the heave ho.”
“Mr. Jackson, sir, I have no formal education beyond the GED I earned when I was 16.”
“Where did you have your training for the test?”
“Job Corp sir.”
He looked surprised when I admitted that but didn’t say anything. I figured I was out on my ass, another promising job I won’t get.
“I’ll be going now.”
“Huh? Going? What the fuck johnnie?”
“Well Mr. Jackson, when people hear where I got my education, they usually end the interview then.”
“I’m not them, man. You’ll find that I’m fair. I want what I want and if I get what I want, then I’m satisfied with whomever gave it to me.”
I heaved a sigh of relief.
Even the girls in the pool quieted down.
“What are you, about 5’7”.
“Yes sir.”
“And you must weigh a whole 130. Am I right?”
“133 sir.”
“Turn around. Let me look at you.”
Now that request sounded a bit odd but I did what he told me to do.
“Nice ass on you johnnie. Tell me, when you were in Job Corp, were you with white boys or black boys?”
“Black sir. I mean there were a couple white guys like me, but 99% were black.”
“Uh huh. Did you have any problems?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did they hit on you, try to get you to suck their cocks, fuck your pretty butt?”
“Oh no sir Mr. Jackson. Nothing like that happened. We got along pretty good.”
“Well. You got along well.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. The reason I asked that is because I have lots of friends that come over for parties and game days. Most are black men and women, with a generous helping of white women sprinkled in for entertainment; some white boys too. I need to ask one more thing.”
“Yes sir?”
“Do you have any problems with black men dating or fucking white people?”
“None what so ever sir.”
“Where do you live?”
I told him my address. He shook his head. “That won’t do for one of my employees to be living in a place like that. See that little cabin over there,?” he said pointing out beyond the tennis court.
“Yes sir.”
“It’s empty now. Consider it yours, your new home. That’s where you’ll live while working for me. When can you start?”
“Right now, Mr. Jackson,” I said ecstatic that I’d actually gotten the job.
“Great. Go home, get your shit, come back here. Jamison will make sure your new home has everything you’ll need.”
“I’ll be back in a couple hours sir.”
He laughed. “Tomorrow is good enough. Say ten?”
“Yes sir and thank you so much Mr. Jackson. You won’t be disappointed sir. I give you my word. One last question sir, if I may. How much does it pay?”
“$500 a week and more in incentives,” he said putting his sun glasses back on and reclining.
As if on cue Jamison appeared. “Welcome aboard Mr. Wordsworth. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
“Thank you, Jamison,” I said as he walked me through the house and out the front door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Right. Ten sharp.”
“On the button,” I said.
It seemed the sun was finally shining on this dog’s ass.
I’d come up rough. My mother had 7 kids by three different husbands. My father whom I’d never met left her when she was pregnant with me and already having had my two older sisters. Her second husband, my name sake, was a mean drunk but didn’t show his true colors until mom had two more kids by him. The beatings started when I was 5. By the time I was 11, I’d become used to his cruelty and just accepted the whippings without showing him emotion. That’s when they stopped. When I was 13, the old man, Emmett Wordsworth, who had adopted me, beat my 6 year old brother because he committed the sin of playing with the hose one hot August afternoon.
It’s a day I’ll never forget. I was the janitor at the laundromat where mom worked. It was around 4 and we were closing for the day in an hour. My sister dragged my little brother into the place and his head and face were swollen and badly bruised. She told how Emmett used the back of his hand, the hand with the Masonic ring to punish my little brother for playing in the water on that hot afternoon.
Mom sent them home and shortly thereafter here drives up Emmett. 5 kids, mom working part time to feed us and pay the mortgage and this drunk asshole drives up in his new Ford. I met him at the door with a long screwdriver in one hand and a hammer in the other. I threatened to kill him if he didn’t get his shit and leave.
I’d taken those beatings myself since I was escort kadıöy 5. I knew he’d never stop.
To my astonishment, he did. I think he was relieved that he no longer had the burden of not keeping 5 kids and a wife to keep housed and fed on his alcohol soaked mind. Now he could drink all day every day.
That’s exactly what he did until he died in a head-on collision two years later and drunk as usual. My only regret was that he didn’t live long enough for me to pay him back with regular ass kicking’s.
So now, as the oldest son, the responsibility of keeping our home and not moving into a low income apartment project fell to me. I worked odd jobs, stole and sold what I had taken to fences. I quit going to school. For 18 months I made the house payment. From 14 until I was 16 I was the man of the house.
Working by day and breaking and entering at night. I was headed for jail and I knew it. Mom decided to enroll me in the Job Corp to keep me off the streets and out of prison.
So it was that I ended up learning to cook while studying for the GED. I nearly aced the test and as soon as they handed me my certificate, I left.
I was 17 and on the streets. I could have been a drug addict, a convicted felon, or dead. My life and how I chose to live was up to me and I elected to go the straight and narrow. I never felt like I was part of the family so I didn’t move back home. I did what I could to scrape up the money to rent the miserable places I called home.
By then mom had taken up with another guy. I gathered my sibs around me and told them that I would not be staying at the house but should this guy get out of hand, I’d be close enough to take care of business.
And then it was on to a series of unfulfilling dead end jobs, cheap efficiency apartments, skanks for one nighters.
Now, maybe I can start to do something with my life. “This job, I was thinking, “I can’t blow it.”
The next day Jamison greeted me at the door, welcoming me which surprised me. I figured the faggot would be stuck up. To the contrary, he was jovial and funny. He congratulated me on getting hired and assured me that this job would be unlike any job I’d had before.
He was also informative.
“Mr. Jackson has lots of parties, johnnie. Some get out of hand and you’ll see things.”
“Um, what kind of thing might I see?”
“Sex. delicious sex between black man and black and white women. The women don’t hesitate to get naked first and usually initiate the orgies.”
“Wow. Do you ever get to join in?”
He shot me a mischievous look, giggled, and smiled, “Sometimes white bois show up and then the real fun begins. Remember, and this is important. What happens here, stays here.”
We got to my quarters as Jamison called them. It was small cabana but larger than any of my apartments had been. It had a bedroom; a fucking bedroom separate from the main living room. A kitchenette and a bathroom.
In the corner there was a 55″ flat screen TV. “This is stuff dreams are made of,” I smiled to myself.
It was all I needed. It was more than I’d ever had.
The bed was queen sized with a very nice mattress. The kitchenette was appointed nicely with every pot, pan dishes, and silverware one could want. It even had a coffee maker. I mean I was in hog heaven.
“The TV has a channel that allows you to see what’s going on at the pool area. There’s a DVD player and some interesting movies and also a stereo in the cabinet beneath it.”
“In the closet you’ll find sheets and pillow cases and a blanket for the cool nights,” Jamison pointed out.
“In the drawers you’ll find the uniform Mr. Jackson requires you to wear. I’ll wait outside while you change into it and we’ll go see the boss.”
I pulled open a drawer and pulled out a shiny pair of red satin short, shorts. “What the fuck is this?” Under those was a few T-shirts. What looked like the proverbial wife-beaters turned out to be spaghetti strapped shirts in pink, light purple, and white.
“Hey Jamison,” I yelled. “I can’t wear this crap. It’s for girls.”
“Johnnie. Watch your tone. Mr. Jackson has a reason for having his pool boy dress like this. It’s to remind him of his place and he certainly doesn’t want his hired help to attract the women he has at his parties. I’m afraid those clothes are non-negotiable.”
“But my ass will hang out of those shorts Jamison. They’re too small for me.”
“Nonsense. Now be a good boy and put them on. You may wear which ever blouse you choose.”
“Ha. I knew they weren’t for guys,” I thought triumphantly.
I pulled the shorts on and saw my boxers hung below. “That will never do,” Jamison admonished me. “You must take those off.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said skinning back out of the shorts.
Jamison turned his back as I pulled my underwear off and pulled the tight shorts back on.
I chose the white shirt and pulled it maltepe escort over my head. It didn’t quite reach my belly button. “What about shoes Jamison? Do I wear mine or did Mr. Jackson have some others in mind to totally queer me out?”
“Mr. Jackson will decide on your footwear once he see how you look in your uniform. I can tell you now though, you’ll need to shave all that nasty body hair. It’s one of Mr. Jackson’s pet peeves. Now let’s go meet him. We’re running behind and Mr. Jackson hates us wasting his time.”
“Looking good johnnie,” Mr. Jackson greeted me. “Like I said yesterday man, nice ass. Lose the body hair.”
I blushed and said, “Jamison told me that a few minutes ago sir.”
“You make sure you help him jamie.”
“I’ll get you some appropriate shoes later. For now, go about your duties barefoot.”
“Where would you like me to start sir?”
“Get that pool rake and get the leaves out of the pool johnnie.
I retrieved the long-handled rake and awkwardly began to skim the leaves from the water.
“Not that way son,” Mr. Jackson said. “Here, let me show you.”
He came up from behind me, reached around me, and took the handle, his hands over my hands. I felt the warmth of his body as he drew us close together. I felt his cock in the crack of my ass. When I tried to wiggle free it only heightened the feeling.
“See johnnie,” he whispered. “Hold the rake this way. Use long strokes,” and he began to rock forward and back his cock riding up and down my buttocks.
I felt so small in the big man’s arms. Small and helpless. “I, huh, um, I think I have it now Mr. Jackson. Thank you.”
He pulled away and as we parted, his hand found my bottom. A slight squeeze made me jump and squeak. “Good boy johnnie. After you finish with this, we’ll have some lunch and get to know each other better.”
“I had a sneaking suspicion what that meant.
I finished cleaning the pool and Mr. Jackson called me to join him at one of his pool-side tables. Jamison smiled as he brought our lunch.
Setting the tray down, he opened the cover to reveal two delicious subs and cold beers. “Will there be anything else sir?”
“Thank you jamie. That’s all for now.”
“Uh Mr. Jackson sir. May I ask why you call him jamie?”
“The same reason as I call you johnnie,” he said with a serious tone. “Look. I’m a black man and you’re white. jamie is white. In order to establish a proper pecking order, I use your names in the diminutive. Did your GED classes teach you that word johnnie?”
“Yes sir. I know what that means.”
“Good. I use the diminutive to help keep you in your places. For me johnnie, it’s all about control and appearances. Now let’s eat.”
I was beginning to understand and Mr. Jackson made sense to me. He was the boss.
As we ate Mr. Jackson seemed to be studying me. He had me tell him about my childhood and commended me for sticking up for my little brother as I had. “Takes balls to confront a man much bigger than you johnnie. Real balls of steel.”
I shrugged it off.
“I’m happy to see you are a brave young man. There might be times when you have to face things you may not want to face here. Especially during some of my parties.”
After our lunch, Mr. Jackson led me around the grounds. He showed me where the yard maintenance equipment was and once in the shed our bodies made contact again. He came up from behind me and with his hands on my hips, he leaned down and whispered in my ear,” I can do things for you johnnie. I can make up for the childhood you missed out on.”
Then his hands traveled around to my stomach and again his cock was nestled in the crack of my bottom.
His large bare chest on my back, his hands on my tummy, his cock rubbing against me made me get hard myself. Me, the pussy chasing boy from the poor side of town being seduced by a rich guy and responding. “What the fuck is wrong with me,” I wondered.
Mr. Jackson felt my breathing become faster and chuckled. “Good boy,” he said releasing his hold. “I’m happy to know we’ll be good friends, the two of us.”
We left the shed and Mr. Jackson had me accompany him back to his chaise. He sat, straddling it and I got a glimpse of what had been rubbing against my ass. His cock looked so very big in his bathing suit.
He saw me looking. “See why the women like me?”
“Yes sir.”
“Some boys too johnnie. Think about that.”
“Okay. Yes sir. What do you want me to do next?”
“Relax man. This is your first day. The work here isn’t constant. You’ll find time to enjoy the place as does jamie.”
He told me that grass cutting and trimming the bushes were not for me. “I have a lawn maintenance crew that does the work johnnie. Your job is to make sure they do it well and do it as scheduled.”
“So really all I actually have to do is keep the leaves out of the pool?”
“There is a little more to it that you’ll either love or hate but we’ll get into that when the time comes.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he was holding his cock when he said that.
My own dick needed attention too.
***
Okay good people: comments and emails are welcomed even if you hate where this is going.
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