Cum Times with the Construction Worker

When I bought the house that I live in now, the lot next door to me was empty and wooded. So when I heard this past summer that it had been sold and was going to be developed, I was not pleased. When the plans were set and the neighborhood was informed, my mood got worse: as large as the lot was, subdividing it into four and building a house on each quarter meant that at least one would be right up against my property line. There went not only my peaceful wooded view from my upstairs bedroom window, but all my privacy as well.

Sure enough, within weeks the bulldozers came and plowed down the trees, leaving only bare earth and rock. Then the house started going up, and my worst fears started to come true. I resigned myself to not being able to look out my bedroom window at the trees any more, and even became somewhat used to the ceaseless sounds of construction and hammering that started early in the morning before I went to work.

You might have thought that there would be some compensation in the fact that a crew of rugged construction workers were next door constantly, but no such luck. The bunch on this project seemed ragged and overweight, not to mention noisy and not particularly friendly. I started to think that the myth of the hot construction stud was just that, a figment of some Colt photographer's imagination. Even so, I continued to half-heartedly check out the crew when I got up every morning. It was something to do, and besides, I could hardly look at anything else out the windows on that side of the house.

Everything changed one Friday a few weeks after building had started. It was after my morning shower. I had dried myself off and put a towel around my waist, gone down to the kitchen and got myself a cup of coffee. The hammering next door was already audible as I sat in the kitchen. Looking at the clock on the wall, I realized I'd better get dressed and moving. I went back upstairs, but before getting my clothes, took one peek out my bedroom window at the activity going on. All thoughts of getting to my job early flew out of my head.

A new worker had appeared on the crew. He had to be new because there was no way I wouldn't have noticed him earlier. At the moment, he was down on the ground moving boards. He wore the obligatory blue jeans, which fit him like a glove, and tan work boots. His blue checked work shirt had two or three buttons undone, and revealed a glimpse of a muscled, hairy chest. He had quite a bit of hair, actually--I saw a dark blond head of it under his hardhat, a mustache and the beginnings of a beard, or maybe he just hadn't shaved that morning. But his face was what captivated me--it was classic, a strong nose and square jaw, and vivid, almost steely blue eyes.

I saw all this as I stared, fascinated, from my upstairs window. It must have been minutes before I realized that my dick had stiffened and was tenting the front of my towel. What's more, it was only sheer good luck that none of the crew on the ground had looked up and seen this show. Standing at the window, I was as visible to them as they were to me.

I moved away quickly. As horny as I was, I didn't want to be that obvious. At least the scenery next door had gotten more interesting. I hoped the new guy wasn't just a sub on the crew. That day at work I caught myself at idle moments daydreaming about his sinewy, tanned forearms, or the broad V-shape of his back in that work shirt, or, most often, how the denim of his jeans folded itself into a neat bulge between his long legs. I hoped that it wouldn't be my one and only glimpse of my construction man--I wanted to see more. Unfortunately I would have to wait the whole weekend to find out whether I would get that chance.

I was in a fever of anticipation all weekend. On Monday, I woke up half an hour earlier than my usual early rising time. Walking to the window, I looked out. None of the crew had arrived yet. The day was sunny and promised to be a scorcher. There was nothing to do except go about my morning routine. I took my shower and went down to the kitchen for breakfast. While sitting there reading the morning paper, I heard hammering next door. Work must be beginning. I had to see whether the new guy was back. The kitchen was on the same side of the house as my bedroom, so I cautiously took a look out the window above the sink.

I didn't see him for an minute, then there he was. It must have already been hot outside, because he was shirtless, wearing sunglasses and a tool belt. I was in heaven as I feasted my eyes on his thick shoulders and arms, his pectoral slabs, his large dark nipples, his furry stomach with just a hint of a belly--no gym queen six-pack here. He turned around and bent down to pick something up, and I got a look at the broad tanned expanse of his back, and his butt filling out his skintight Levis. This was almost too much. Standing there naked, I began to stroke my stiffening cock.

At that moment, the object of my fantasies straightened and turned suddenly toward the window where I was standing, almost as if he sensed someone watching him. Before I had time to react he was looking directly at me. I couldn't see his eyes behind the shades but I could sense his steely blue gaze. I knew there was no way he could see more than my head and shoulders, but I still blushed.

My first impulse was to turn quickly away, but he was such a picture of masculinity standing there in his jeans, hardhat, tool belt and shades that I continued to gaze at him despite my embarrassment. There were a few seconds of silent contact. There was no doubt in my mind that he knew what I was thinking, and what effect he was having on me. I finally moved away, shaking and breathing fast. Somehow this had gotten past the point of being a just a harmless fantasy. Without meaning to I had let the object of my half-serious obsession know my feelings.

I got dressed quickly and left for work without looking back. Better cool it for a while, I thought. He's probably straight, and more likely than not a creep. I didn't really think he would do anything to me, but you could never be sure. So for the rest of the week I forced myself not to pay any attention to the goings-on next door. I only looked at the site after work when all the builders had quit for the day and gone home. It didn't work, though. Images of my blond construction man continued to flash through my mind. I knew that sooner or later I would have to get another look at him. I'd just have to be more careful and not reveal myself.

The Thursday night weather forecast predicted rain, and sure enough I woke Friday to a soft patter on my rooftop. I already could see through the window that the rain was light, but steady, and would probably continue the whole day. No building crew was going to be working next door today. I felt mingled relief and disappointment. After my usual morning shower, I stood at my window, dressed only in my briefs, looking meditatively at the house next door. Construction had progressed fast and the outside was just about finished. Some of the second-floor windows had not yet been put in and gaps remained in the walls. One of these was directly across from my bedroom window. Suddenly I became alert. Through the gap I had seen someone moving upstairs. Was there some intruder or vandal inside?

I was wrong. I stared unbelieving at the unfinished window as the tall figure of the blond construction worker appeared. It was cloudy, of course, so he was not wearing sunglasses, and I got a full view of his square-jawed, craggy face and the clear blue eyes that had hooked me the first day I had seen him. The new house was so close to the property line that perhaps only twenty or thirty feet separated us. He was near enough that I could see every detail of him, what he was wearing--the same tight jeans, and a blue checked work shirt today, open to the waist. He faced me and raised his arms to the top of the window frame, causing his shirt to rise, and giving me a perfect view of his torso. After a moment, he slowly broke into a smile. Even on this gray morning his teeth were brilliant white against his tanned face. One hand dropped to the bulging fly of his jeans and rubbed his crotch once, twice.

As if in a dream, I duplicated his gesture, rubbing my own cock through the straining cotton of my underwear. I moved slowly, afraid I would somehow break the spell. His tongue darted out of his mouth for just an instant, a provocative gesture. Lowering his other arm, but without looking away from me for an instant, he started to unbutton the fly on his jeans.

Despite my fear of doing something that would drive him off, I was seized with a desperate desire, and raised my right hand to the window, gesturing in invitation. He shook his head and smiled again, pointing at me. I put my hands under the waistband of my briefs and skinned them down my thighs. My erect cock sprang free and I grasped it with my hand. Across the way my blond fantasy man made a spinning gesture with his index finger. He wanted to see more of me. I turned to show him my butt, stepping out of my briefs, bending over and spreading my cheeks, hoping I would meet with his approval.

He must have liked what he saw, because when I turned back around he had unbuttoned his fly completely, and was sliding his jeans down his hips. He was wearing no underwear, and I saw that the fur on his stomach thickened into a dark blond forest of pubic hair at his crotch. He reached into the center of the private region he was letting me view so brazenly and took hold of his own semi-erect meat. The cock was less tanned than his hands, so it showed well--uncut, thick, with low-hanging, hairy balls. His big hand skinned the foreskin back and forth over the darker head as he jerked it into full erection. I thought it must be a good size to be visible so clearly from this distance.

We stared at each other through the light rain. His steel blue eyes stayed locked on my window, holding my gaze. He knew he had me in his spell. He continued to masturbate, slowly, deliberately, stopping only to put his hand up to his mouth for more lubrication. My breathing quickened and I jerked my own cock faster as I watched him perform for me. His other hand caressed his chest, his stomach. In a few short minutes I was close to cumming. At that instant, he grinned at me again, showing his white teeth. His tongue shot out again in that wonderful obscene gesture. I imagined it tickling my balls, my right nipple, my dickhead.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I cried out as I reached the point of no return. Cum shot from my engorged organ and hit the glass window pane and wooden sill, running down the glass in pale thick streaks, dripping on the floor. My knees buckled. My eyes closed involuntarily, but seconds later I forced them open--I didn't want to take my eyes off my construction stud for one instant.

He had seen me shoot my load on the window. I saw that his hand was moving faster and faster, until it was almost a blur. Then, he threw his handsome head back. His eyes closed and his mouth opened in a soundless cry, and I knew what was going to happen even before I saw the white liquid spurt from his cock in his big hand. His chest heaved with the force of his orgasm. Separated by glass and distance, we had shared our passion.

After a moment, he straightened. He shook the cum from his hand and wiped the rest off on his jeans. This was oddly charming and I chuckled. My blond hunk pulled his Levis up, buttoned them and then looked at me again. I hadn't moved from my stance by the window, and looked back at him framed and decorated by the white streaks of liquid on the glass--a perfect image. He smiled, not seductively now but in a friendly way, and gave me a thumbs-up gesture before he moved away from the window. The spell was broken.

After a moment, I started slowly to the bathroom to clean myself. I don't know why I didn't pull my clothes on, run downstairs and try and intercept him, but somehow that was enough for now. We had shared an experience we would both remember.

I don't remember much else about that Friday. I relived the morning's encounter dozens of times at work, but it seemed like a dream, especially since I had never touched my fantasy man. Thinking about it made me hot enough, though, that I jacked off surreptitiously in the men's room in the afternoon. I arrived home exhausted from the week and from the excitement of the day. I thought of going out, but was too tired--besides, I knew that no one I met would live up to my construction worker. I had decided that our mutual jacking off would probably be as far as we ever went, and this made me depressed. I watched TV for a while, trying to distract myself from my obsession, and went to bed early.

The next morning was sunny--the rain had stopped. I felt more cheerful and the events of the day before were already receding in my mind. After all, as hot as the encounter had been, there had been others just as hot, and there would be more in the future. I decided to go out and run some errands. By the time I got back, it was early afternoon, the sun was high in the sky and the day had turned stifling. I got in the house and jumped into a quick cool shower, then got out and put on a pair of old denim cutoffs. Well, there was work I could catch up on from the office. I got some reports out and sat in the living room reading. I don't know how long I had been there when the doorbell rang. This was odd. I wasn't expecting anyone I knew and this was not the usual time for Saturday mail or UPS deliveries. I was a bit wary as I got to the door, and I opened it cautiously. The next moment I nearly fell over.

There was my blond construction worker, all six-feet plus of him, standing on my doorstep. He had dressed up for me--even though it was Saturday he was in his work clothes, the jeans, the boots, a blue work shirt, tool belt and hard hat. I was speechless. He grinned broadly at my reaction. Finally, I opened my mouth to try and say something, but as my eyes traveled downward what came out was simply, "Oh, fuck!"

He had changed his usual work costume in one small way--the button fly of his jeans was open and his cock, the foreskin only partially covering the head, curved thickly outward toward me. I could reach out and touch it--or do other things.

I tried again. "Oh fuck," I gasped, looking at this prize, now mine for the taking, it seemed. "That is so goddamn hot."

At that he laughed. Of course his voice was deep. "Like it?"

I looked up again at his smiling craggy face. "Are you a dream or what?"

He laughed again. "You're a funny guy. Can I come in before I get arrested?"

In answer, I opened the door wider and stepped back. He stepped into the front hallway and closed the door behind him. My dream man was mine. At last, my hand closed around his dick and I felt the heat of his organ. In a moment I was kneeling on the floor of my front hallway, my hands on his blue-jeaned butt, sliding this beautiful cock into my mouth. I peeled back the foreskin with my lips, lubricating the head with so much spit it ran out of my mouth and dripped onto the floor. I heard him sigh and his big hands pressed against the back of my head as I continued to suck him. He began to fuck my face and I choked a bit as his dickhead hit the back of my throat, but I didn't care. He stopped, though, and tried to withdraw, but I continued to urge him into my mouth. I heard his voice over my head say, "Hey man, are you okay?" in a concerned tone. I looked up through watery eyes as I smiled and said, "Never better, bud."

"I figured after I saw you staring at me on Monday you were hot for me."

"Good guess," I chuckled, as I resumed kissing his thick shaft. "Hey, yesterday was pretty hot."

"It was. Thought I'd take a chance today and come by. Don't know what got into me, but I thought I'd show off a little, I guess--I'm actually kind of shy, believe it or not."

"Well, shy guy," I said, "Do you want to go upstairs and fuck my butt?"

He laughed again. "You don't waste any time."

"Is that a yes?"

"Show me the way, man."

So we headed upstairs, him following me. I felt his hand caressing my ass as we climbed the stairs. We got into my bedroom and his arms encircled me from behind. I leaned back against his broad chest, breathing hard as one big hand tickled my right nipple, then began unbuttoning the top of my shorts and sliding beneath. My loosened cutoffs slid to the ground and I stepped out of them, turning around. I felt his breath on my face and an instant later his mouth was on mine, the tongue that had flickered so provocatively yesterday darting into my willing mouth. As we continued to kiss I quickly unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders, then set to work on his jeans. As I got them unbuttoned and pushed them downward, he moved to unfasten his tool belt but I stopped him.

"Leave that on," I said. He grinned again.

"Okay, but let me get these boots here." He suited the action to the words. In a few moments he was naked except for hardhat and tool belt. At last I had my construction fantasy man exactly the way I wanted him. Looking at him, all I could say was, "God, you are so hot."

He smiled, and said, "Turn around and bend over."

I obeyed, grasping my ankles and bending double to give him maximum access to what he wanted. He knelt down, removing his hardhat, and I felt his hands part my cheeks, his warm breath tickling the sensitive flesh in between them. Then his wet tongue darted into my crack, quickly reaching my asshole. I began to moan quietly.

"Mmm man, feels so good--eat my hole, yeah."

He slurped and sucked the tender flesh with abandon, softening it up for the greater invasion to come. At last he stood and his hard dick bumped against my butt. "Ready for it, man?"

"Yeah. Let me get ready." I knew exactly how I wanted him. I went to the bedside nightstand and got the lube and condoms I always kept there. Then I reached under the bed and pulled out a narrow rectangular mirror. I carried it to the window and laid it on the floor with the narrow edge next to the sill. My partner watched all of this preparation smiling, and just a bit puzzled. I walked back to him, knelt down and took a few more strokes on his dick with my mouth before I tore open the condom packet. I peeled back his foreskin and unrolled the Magnum carefully onto his exposed, flaring cockhead. Then, squeezing a handful of lube out of the plastic bottle, I applied it to his latex-covered shaft.

Rising and grasping his now slippery cock, I guided him to the window where I had placed the mirror, the same window where we had had our mutual jackoff scene days ago. Grasping the sill and bending over, I placed my legs on either side of the mirror. Looking down, I could see my crotch reflected in the glass, my cock and balls dangling downward. But the hottest part was yet to come. "Fuck me, stud," I said.

He moved into position behind me and I saw his condom-covered cock and balls enter the reflection in the mirror as he positioned his pole between my cheeks, behind my balls. He pushed and I saw the thick flaring head disappear into me. I gasped in pain as my sphincter clamped shut on it. He wasn't as gentle this time--he continued to push in slowly but relentlessly. I sucked in great mouthfuls of air, trying to relax and accommodate him. Despite my pain I was tremendously turned on, watching his shaft slide slowly into the hole between my cheeks even as I felt it fill my insides. At last, I saw that his crotch was pressed tightly against my butt, his balls hanging right next to mine. I had taken all of him into me.

A pause, then I saw the machinery of his body stir into action as the glistening cylinder began its relentless cycle, sliding out, rushing into me and causing me to grunt, as his pubic bone slammed into my butt, then out again, slamming me again, gradually increasing the pace. I heard his breathing quicken as he continued to fuck me. I braced myself against the sill with both hands and continued to look down at the mirror, totally absorbed in the reflected scene, the piston of flesh driving into me like part of a great engine.

"Oh god," I whispered.

He heard me, and asked, "Feel good, man?" He did not slacken his pace for one second.

"Yeah, man," I said. "Fuck me hard, yeah, pound my ass."

"Take it man," he said.

"Yeah, I can take it. You give it to me," I replied.

"Oh fuck," he gasped, "I'm getting close."

"Yeah man, shoot it. I want you to cum in my ass. Come on, shoot that load."

"Want you to cum with me man. Shoot your load all over." He grasped my hard dick with his spit-slickened hand and began to jack it in rhythm with his thrusting. The combined sensations sent me over the edge in seconds. I raised my head and cried out hoarsely as my cock began to pulsate in his hand, emptying its load and overflowing his palm, thick drops falling onto the glass and blotting the image of our fevered rutting.

"Fuck man here it comes," he shouted. I felt his shaft throbbing in my asshole and knew that he was filling the condom with his own thick juices. "Uggh, oh shit," he cried, making several other incoherent sounds and gasps as he lunged one last time into me.

My knees could no longer support my weight. Letting go of the window sill, I sank downward. He sensed this and bent his knees with me, keeping his dick inside me as we reached the floor. I was on all fours, my knees apart, my spent dick trailing in the cum on the mirror. I felt him carefully lower his weight onto my back and place his head next to mine, his arms encircling and caressing my still heaving chest. I turned my head, and we shared a sidelong kiss.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Great, man," he replied. "Hope you are too."

"I'm doing just fine. What's your name, anyway, construction man?"

He chuckled. "Stan. Guess we were kind of in a hurry, huh?"

I smiled. "Guess so. My name's Rob, by the way. Thanks for stopping by, Stan."

At that, Stan broke into laughter, so that his body was shaking next to mine.

"What's so funny?" I asked, starting to laugh too.

"Sorry," he replied, "Usually, when I'm meeting someone, I'm like, you know, shaking hands or something, not pounding their ass with my dick. Just struck me funny, that's all."

"Hey, we run a friendly establishment here, what can I say?"

At that Stan laughed even harder. "You are one funny guy," he said again.

Well, Stan didn't become the love of my life, but we have stayed buddies, though the house next door is long finished, and I don't get to see him strut his stuff every weekday morning. He still comes by once in a while, though. He's even let me put my tool in HIS box.

written by ivrys88

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