Handyman was here

[geekisme78]

Prologue

When an attractive stranger walks past you, wouldn’t you start fantasizing about him in his birthday suit? What’s even better, a chance to run your hands all over that body — perhaps even his (now aroused) cock? What if you just happen to stumble upon this said good-looking stranger, asleep on the bed? Well..

If the adrenaline of messing around with a sleeping man turns you on, Handyman13 is here to share his tales.

Handyman13 is a maintenance worker at a mid-range hotel, while he’s a pretty decent guy overall, and treats his job, well, like a job. He does have a rather devious side beyond his mellow facade.

Being the owner of a master key that can access all hotel rooms (you’ll be surprised how many clogged toilets he needs to deal with in a day), He has had his fair share of accidental walk-ins: horny couples not hearing his repeated knocks, or it can be as innocent as the guest just happen to be wearing a pair of ridiculously effective noise-canceling headphones. Once he even stumbled into a scene that was most definitely setup for a porn shoot — he was handed a decent tip (aka hush money) from that debacle. But, what he loves the most, when luck is on his side, is walking in on an unconscious man in bed.

Being a hotel that’s located in the middle of downtown, the men who venture into this place run the full gamut (Handyman13’s sexual preference is pretty clear at this point, no?): you get the suits from the conference center that is directly linked to the hotel lobby, you get dads hauling his whole family on vacation, and the nearby seaport is constantly unloading passengers from god-knows-where. During his lunch break, rather than staring at his phone waiting for the next Grindr notification, he would take his food truck tacos (the place has the tastiest cachete), to the nearby plaza with a fountain, and on the marble steps, watches the ebb and flow of people through his employer’s shiny glass doors.

To be continued…

 

[geekisme78]

CH 1 : Blaine Moore (Real estate agent)

‘REAL ESTATE FORUM — CONFERENCE ROOM A2’. The vertical sign with its San-serif, all capitals, stands proudly in the middle of the hotel lobby, directing its attendants to the conference center one walkway over. The event is well on its way by the time Handyman13 rolls into work, evident by the absurd amount of people in business attire.

‘Probably no tacos today,’ he thinks. Since he took the morning off, it’s probably not a good look to leave the premises again after just showing his face. Besides, a big conference event means catering, and catering means leftovers — whether it’s sanitary or not (the hotel management most definitely disapproves), none of the staff here would deny free gourmet sandwiches and bite-sized hors d'œuvres, himself included.

As he’s in the reception backroom reviewing today’s tasks (while stuffing his face with mini crab cakes), one of the female receptionists storms in, reaches over his work set up, grabs two macarons, and shoves both of them into her mouth. (Now his forms, phone, and the stash of crab cakes, are sprinkled with an array of pastel crumbs).

Through her gritted teeth, pouted cheeks, and sporadic sprays of even more crumb, (‘Geez, are expensive macarons always this powdery!?’ Handyman13 wonders), he learns one of the guests was complaining about his room’s air conditioning. “Apparently it was so loud he couldn’t sleep, and he wouldn’t turn it off because he hates stale air, what a baby.” she continues, “As you know, the hotel is booked solid, thanks to that weekend-long forum. (another spritz of powder) I had to comp him one night’s stay and promise he has priority maintenance in order to shut his mouth hole.” she finally takes a breath, “Man being man.”

Handyman13 just smiles, and finishes off his now passion fruit-infused crab cakes. “When you make your round on the 12th today, just start with 1215.” she says as she heads towards the employee washroom.

- - -

‘1215 / MOORE, BLAINE’ Handyman13 stares down at his work tablet as he ascends to the 12th floor. He realizes why that name sounds familiar; he just saw it on the paper programme that got brought in with the leftover deviled eggs — apparently he’s one of the conference speakers scheduled for later this evening. “I would be angry if I need to speak in front of hundreds of people and I’m sleep-deprived.” He sympathizes.

- - -

“Maintenance. Coming in.” Handyman13 calls out in front of room 1215, after giving three substantial knocks on the door. Still not hearing a response, he swipes his master key card and swiftly opens the door. Usually an engaged privacy latch would be the last indicator that the room is still occupied, but the door to 1215 opens without interference, and swiftly closes behind Handyman13.

In front of him are scattered clues of a typical solo guest on a business trip: a carry-on hardshell luggage lays open on the rack, leftover plates and tray from a previous room service (he sees remnant of fries), an idling laptop on the table, a suit jacket draped haphazardly over the chair, and the minibar has definitely being indulged (looks like Blaine Moore is a whiskey kind of guy).

What's atypical about the scene, though, is that Mr. Moore is very much still IN the room.

On the unmade king-size bed Handyman13 can clearly sees a body; Mr. Moore lies motionlessly on top of the duvet, eyes closed, still fully dressed in a button up shirt and dress pants. Socks are on his overhanging feet, but the loafers have been shaken off, carelessly scattered by the bedside. There’s a rhythmic rise and fall to Mr. Moore’s chest, so Handyman13 can confidently confirm he doesn’t stumble on something much more morbid.

Clearly Mr. Moore belongs to the group of sloppy individuals who forget the additional protection the privacy latch offers. But one thing Handyman13 would have to agree with Blaine Moore — this AC unit is ridiculously loud.

To be continued…

 

[Il2wu51]

Welll, is Mr. Moore on his back? Are his trousers tented? The audience needs to know!

 

[geekisme78]

CH 2 : Blaine Moore (Real estate agent)

Cool air flows quietly through the vent as Handyman13 climbs down from his ladder. What amazes him is that Mr. Moore actually sleeps through it all, and he wasn’t even being extra considerate with the banging and the clanking. Before he started on the work, Handyman13 did walk right up to the slumbering guest, and gave his shoulder a nice, weighty shove. That was when he noticed the orange earplugs in Mr. Moore’s ears, as well as the empty glass and the open packet of extra-strength sleeping pills on the nightstand (looks like he took 2 tablets). Clearly someone was desperate to get some shut eyes before his time to shine on stage.

That was also the first time Handyman13 had a good, uninterrupted look at Blaine Moore’s face. ‘Sculptural’ would be the fastest way to put it: straight, angular nose, which is in perfect proportion with his wide forehead and slim (but full) eyebrows. Thin lips and squared jawed, the dark stubble feels age-appropriate — while he definitely won’t be mistaken for a youngster (Handyman13 guesses around mid-40s), the blemish-free skin shows he’s someone with a skin routine. His hair is deep brown like dark chocolate, kept long and fully swept back, ending just about the bottom of his deck. It would be feminine on someone else, but the angularity of his features give the overall impression of a lion’s mane, just tamed with hair product.

That was more than 20 minutes ago, now Handyman13 has done what was requested, he sends in a completion report on his tablet, puts away his tools, and is ready to depart, leaving Blaine Moore with the delight of waking up to a noise-free room. He gives one last glance at the solo male on that king-sized bed — and instantly regrets it.

Because Handyman13 now sees an obvious tent has risen between Mr. Moore’s legs, which definitely wasn’t there when he turned his back on him to focus on the mechanical. Like the myth of a rattlesnake hypnotizing its prey, The taunt fabric around the crotch area is putting Handyman13’s curiosity into overdrive, obliterating all logic and morals. Once again, this time with determined steps, Handyman13 approaches the bed.

Blues. The first thing surfaces in Handyman13's now hazy mind. Mr. Moore’s dress pants are navy blue, his button up shirt is light blue, a black leather belt (with square silver buckle) breaks the monotony. He can’t explain why, but Handyman13's hands, as if suddenly gaining their own consciousness, reach for the neon orange earplugs, and promptly remove them from Mr. Moore’s ears. “Ah, now the visual harmony is restored.” Handyman13 thinks, “Besides, I’ve resolved your problem for you, you don’t need them anymore.”

As for your other ‘problem’...

Since his hand is already there, Handyman13 runs it through Mr. Moore’s hair, this slight disturbance sends notes of citrus, spearmint, and even a hint of smoky vanilla into the air. Handyman13 cannot tell what’s from the hair product, and what’s derived from this man’s natural body chemistry. No matter, he likes it. The scent gives him another boost of blind courage, as he runs his fingers down the real estate agent's stubble chin, his neck, until he arrives at the first shirt button around Mr. Moore’s neck.

Beyond this would be the point of no return, Handyman13 is well aware. As of now he hasn’t done anything that would mark his presence, but if he let his animal urge to continue guiding him, and the guest woke in the midst of his scandalous act, the result would be unthinkable.

To be continued…

 

[geekisme78]

CH 3 : Blaine Moore (Real estate agent)

He has done it.

When Handyman13 undid Blaine Moore’s first shirt button, he realized he has just threw an metaphorical snowball down a wintered mountainside; his hands traveled down Mr. Moore’s torso, faster and faster, gaining speed as he released buttons from their holes one after another, like an unstoppable avalanche propelled by gravity. Until finally, the accumulated frozen mass crashed into the deep of the valley, as Handyman13 yanked out the tucked dress shirt, making a ‘shuushh’ sound as it slid against pants and skin. With the undoing of the last button (which was noticeably warmer to the touch), Handyman13 finally let out the breath he was holding, as fabric fell to either side of this sleeping man’s body, soundlessly like the icy particles still lingering in the air, long after the intense impact has concluded.

Blaine Moore is fit, but not in a chiseled, 0% body fat, built-by-gym-equipment kind of way, instead as someone who maintains a balanced lifestyle, and probably has a lifelong athletic drive. His pecs are round, filled out, and surprisingly smooth (considering the amount of hair on his head). Handyman13 imagines them glistening like polished marble, as a shirtless Mr. Moore jogs down the beach boardwalk. While his mind is envisioning the sleeping man’s exercise routine, Handyman13’s fingers graze over Mr. Moore’s left nipple; contained within a quarter-sized areola, its defined border marks a clear division between the sepia darkness and his tanned beige skin. Handyman13’s fingers continue their gentle contact, circling the tip as Mr. Moore’s nipple muscle contrasts, joining his dick as the second body part that has hardened upon arousal.

Even though this scene is now utterly ludicrous (A hotel employee fondling a seemingly unwakeable hotel guest), Handyman13 is starting to find this one-sided play extremely gratifying, arousing even — he doesn’t need Mr. Moore moaning in bliss, talking dirty, or touching him back to achieve gratification, just watching his limp body coming alive under his touch is more than enough — and no one is here to stop him, not even Blaine Moore himself.

As if suddenly grasping the scope of his power, Handyman13 gives the real estate agent’s right nipple a solid squeeze, the intense stimulation sends an jolt through Mr. Moore’s body, his limbs convulse, his head yanks back, stretching his neck, and let a terse, guttural groan, before everything sinks back to their previous placidity.

“That was slightly foolish.” Handyman13 reflects, “but hot.”

Letting his hands continue moving downward, perhaps the contraction helped it, but Handyman13 can’t believe he has overlooked the definition on Mr. Moore’s stomach. Again, not model washboard ab level, but the delineation is readily visible. Besides, Handyman13 always appreciates a real, manly physique rather than something like a plastic Ken Doll. His let his index finger dips into Mr. Moore’s navel, makes a whimsy loop, then carries on with its journey. It is here where the trail of brown hair starts to show, before it grows in length and quantity, and disappears beneath the pant’s fabric.

Before Handyman13 releases that ‘present’, he wants to feel it through the wrapper. So he sits up from the bedside, and tiptoes his way to the end of the bed, where Mr. Moore’s legs are spread. He has to pull them further in order to nestle himself between those strong thighs. Liked being tucked into a weighted blanket, Handyman13 simply remains still for a minute, shuts his eyes, and lets the heat of another male body transmit into his (and vice versa). After this momentary meditation, Handyman13 takes in a deep breath, open his eyes, and place one of his hand on Mr. Moore’s bulge. As expected, it’s hard, and warm to the touch. To make its silhouette more pronounced, Handyman13 wraps his fingers along its length; Mr. Moore’s penis is not thick, but at about 2 fists long, it has an elegant proportion. When Handyman13 reaches the fabric around the head, the heat it emits intensifies, and while the dress pant doesn’t look wet, he can sense the warm wetness beneath — perhaps Blaine Moore is already precumming?

“Looks like I need to hurry.” Handyman13 whispers.

To be continued…

 

[geekisme78]

CH 4 : Blaine Moore (Real estate agent)

Handyman13 can see the wet spot soaking through Mr. Moore’s gray (it’s not blue!) boxer briefs, now that he has undone the belt, and pulled the pants down to the real estate agent’s knees. Feels like he has already lingered in Room 1215 for far too long (he’s surprised he hasn’t gotten pinged for yet another urgent emergency somewhere else in the building), his left hand reaches for the underwear’s elastic waistband, and pulls downward.

Blaine Moore’s dick, as if spring-loaded like a mouse trap, flings outward, making a wet slapping sound on his own stomach (the unconscious man’s body jolts). Bit by bit, as it settles in its new neutral position (pointing 30 degrees upward), another clear bead of preum drips from its eye, and almost bullseyes the belly button.

Who knows what sort of sexual fantasy is going on in that sedated mind, but clearly Handyman13’s uninvited actions have exacerbated it even further. He makes an ‘O’ with his right hand, and slowly pushes the stranger’s erected member through it. Even with it being lubricated with ample precum, the tight squeeze around its mushroom tip proves to be sensitive still. “Ugrr…” Handyman13 hears a low groan, and as he looks up, even though Mr. Moore remain stationary, he notices the slightest tightness between the real estate agent’s brows — the once rested expression is now blended with a hint of lustful desperation.

Handyman13 continues works his right hand up and down Mr. Moore’s rock-solid shaft, which is now fully coated in precum, glistening like a bronze trophy. Once in a while, as Handyman13’s hand makes its way to the summit, he uses his index fingers to massage the head, at the same time scoops up more precum to grease the rest of the erect penis. Remembering how Mr. Moore reacted when he played with his nipple, Handyman13’s left hand travels up the increasingly aggravated torso (smearing some precum on Mr. Moore’s abs along the way), and gives the dark nub a twist — which proves to be the act that pushes this dormant man over the edge.

“Huh. Eh… Uh… Huh. Huh…” brows frown and his face tightens into a scowl, Blaine Moore utters a series of incomprehensible grunts, as his stomach tightens and releases in rapid succession, in time with the creamy eruption from his excited member. The very first load, clearly benefits from the most penned up energy, lands hard on Blaine Moore’s Adam's apple.

“Fuck.” Handyman13 murmurs.

While the rest of his cum doesn’t quite have the same stamina, with each commanding pull, more oozes out, until finally there’s a sizable pool of milky goo gathered at the base of Moore’s shaft, slowly making its way through his bush.

Eyes remain closed, Mr. Moore lets out a long breath of satisfied relief, and everything seems to fall back into normalcy, except for the slight sulfur smell in the air, and Handyman13’s hand, covered in cum, still wrapped around the base of another man’s penis.

Now Handyman13 is the breathless one, still trying to control his adrenaline and euphoria, after having brought another man to climax without awakening him from his sleep.

To be continued…

 

[tatibeautybrook]

I'm addicted. Keep going.

 

[Cairn]

CH 4 : Blaine Moore (Real estate agent)

Handyman13 can see the wet spot soaking through Mr. Moore’s gray (it’s not blue!) boxer briefs, now that he has undone the belt, and pulled the pants down to the real estate agent’s knees. Feels like he has already lingered in Room 1215 for far too long (he’s surprised he hasn’t gotten pinged for yet another urgent emergency somewhere else in the building), his left hand reaches for the underwear’s elastic waistband, and pulls downward.

Blaine Moore’s dick, as if spring-loaded like a mouse trap, flings outward, making a wet slapping sound on his own stomach (the unconscious man’s body jolts). Bit by bit, as it settles in its new neutral position (pointing 30 degrees upward), another clear bead of preum drips from its eye, and almost bullseyes the belly button.

Who knows what sort of sexual fantasy is going on in that sedated mind, but clearly Handyman13’s uninvited actions have exacerbated it even further. He makes an ‘O’ with his right hand, and slowly pushes the stranger’s erected member through it. Even with it being lubricated with ample precum, the tight squeeze around its mushroom tip proves to be sensitive still. “Ugrr…” Handyman13 hears a low groan, and as he looks up, even though Mr. Moore remain stationary, he notices the slightest tightness between the real estate agent’s brows — the once rested expression is now blended with a hint of lustful desperation.

Handyman13 continues works his right hand up and down Mr. Moore’s rock-solid shaft, which is now fully coated in precum, glistening like a bronze trophy. Once in a while, as Handyman13’s hand makes its way to the summit, he uses his index fingers to massage the head, at the same time scoops up more precum to grease the rest of the erect penis. Remembering how Mr. Moore reacted when he played with his nipple, Handyman13’s left hand travels up the increasingly aggravated torso (smearing some precum on Mr. Moore’s abs along the way), and gives the dark nub a twist — which proves to be the act that pushes this dormant man over the edge.

“Huh. Eh… Uh… Huh. Huh…” brows frown and his face tightens into a scowl, Blaine Moore utters a series of incomprehensible grunts, as his stomach tightens and releases in rapid succession, in time with the creamy eruption from his excited member. The very first load, clearly benefits from the most penned up energy, lands hard on Blaine Moore’s Adam's apple.

“Fuck.” Handyman13 murmurs.

While the rest of his cum doesn’t quite have the same stamina, with each commanding pull, more oozes out, until finally there’s a sizable pool of milky goo gathered at the base of Moore’s shaft, slowly making its way through his bush.

Eyes remain closed, Mr. Moore lets out a long breath of satisfied relief, and everything seems to fall back into normalcy, except for the slight sulfur smell in the air, and Handyman13’s hand, covered in cum, still wrapped around the base of another man’s penis.

Now Handyman13 is the breathless one, still trying to control his adrenaline and euphoria, after having brought another man to climax without awakening him from his sleep.

To be continued…

This is such a bloody hot story , getting wet while reading it ...

 

[12843061]

Definitely following

 

[geekisme78]

CH 5 : Aftermath

At around 6:35pm, the hotel lobby is once again filled with guests for the rest of the conference. Real estate agent Blaine Moore is chit-chatting with a group of equally well-dressed individuals, all wearing an event lanyard around their decks. Mr. Moore is wearing a navy blue blazer, black belt with a minimalist silver buckle, and topped with a crisp white button up, impeccably filled out by his physique. To any casual observer, he looks put-together and stage-ready, since he’ll be speaking at the 7pm panel.

But there’s one pair of eyes that can’t help but notices the two lines of folded creases on Mr. Moore’s shirt, running ever so faintly up his torso, intersecting with the position of his nipples as if their presence was intentional.

Behind the reception, Handyman13 shifts his glance back down to his end-of-day paperwork; it’s rude to stare at guests with such a persistent fascination. He knows with certainty this white shirt is a last minute substitution — it was still folded in the suitcase when he was in Room 1215. Handyman13 recalls after he has jerked off Mr. Moore (still can’t believe he slept through the whole thing!), how the puddles of cums gradually liquified from their gel-like state, letting gravity pull them across the human body like snails leaving trail. Unsure what was the decent way (is there even one?) to remove oneself from such a bizarre scenario, Handyman13 simply packed up his tools and left Mr. Moore in the state of undress, dick out, and covered in jizz. He is sure by the time Mr. Moore awoke from his pill-induced slumber, his light blue button up would have turned a shade darker, and stunk of cum.

- - -

Later that evening, Handyman13 returns home after a series of transit changes; living so far outside of Downtown can be a drab, but this is how he’s able to afford a decent rental that is bugs-free, renovated, and comes with a new AC unit. So he tries to keep his gripe down every time it takes him more than 2 hours to get home.

Today wasn’t the worst, the Chinese takeout he picked up right by the bus stop (the first of three in order to complete the route) is still (sort of) warm, which means he can dig right in without needing the microwave.

And he’s ravenous, without a doubt, triggered by the strange event that happened earlier. “Definitely crossed multiple lines there.” He reflects upon it as he swirls his fork in the chow mein, “but I enjoyed it nevertheless.” Handyman13 is always more keen to observe during an act of pleasure, taking mental note of his partner’s raised eyebrow, or a twitch of the thigh muscle, rather than being on the receiving side of things. “Does that make me weird?” He pauses for a few seconds, then shrugs as he chases his mouthful of noodles with a gulp of cold beer. “I’m way too tired now for a self analysis.”

After gobbling down his dinner, Handyman13 sits back on his couch, arms spread and legs stretched out. “I wonder if Mr. Moore enjoyed it.” With that thought, he mindlessly grabs his penis over his sweatpants, finding it already semi-hard. He continues to ponder as he sits up and collects the empty food containers spread across the table. Even though ethically he has clearly invaded someone’s privacy, on a physical level Mr. Moore must have found relief — Handyman13 wasn’t the cause of the arousal, he was simply the assistance that released the caged-in energy. His foot steps on the garbage can pedal as his hand let go, the containers falls the vertical distance, barely misses the lid as it’s still finishing its upswing.

On his way to the shower, Handyman13 reaches into his messenger bag on the kitchen counter and pulls out a lightly stained cotton rag. He has a bin filled with them on his cart at work. It's what he uses to wipe his hands between jobs, as well as whatever surface needing a little rubdown before he can do his job. He saved this particular one from the load he left with the hotel’s laundry facility, because it’s the one he used in Room 1215. He can see the grease and gunk from fixing the room’s air conditioning, but as he puts it closer to his nose, he can smell Mr. Moore as if he’s still naked and discharged on that hotel bed: a hit of citrus, spearmint, smoky vanilla, and his maleness.

To be continued… (new chapter, new hotel guest?...)

 

[12843061]

Excellent story, hoping for more chapters!