The Cable Guy’s Secret Offer
It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon when the doorbell rang. I had just returned from work and was lounging in nothing but a pair of tight black boxers, enjoying the blast of the air conditioner. When I peeked through the blinds, I saw a young man standing on my porch wearing a technician’s uniform for the local cable company.
He was striking—deep brown skin, a lean, athletic build, and warm hazel eyes that seemed to hold a hint of mischief. As we spoke through the screen door, my gaze drifted downward. Even through the heavy fabric of his work trousers, there was a prominent, heavy bulge that made my heart race. I didn’t need a new internet plan, but I suddenly found myself inventing a reason to keep him there.
I invited him inside, asking him to take a seat in the living room while I quickly threw on a t-shirt. As he began his rehearsed pitch about high-speed bundles, I wasn’t listening to a word. I was mesmerized by the way his thighs strained against his pants and the rhythmic movement of his hands. The conversation shifted from data speeds to personal lives, the tension between us thickening with every passing second.
I decided to take a risk. I leaned in and asked him if he wanted to make some extra cash on the side. He looked surprised, his expression flickering between confusion and curiosity. When I explained that I simply wanted to watch him pleasuring himself, he played the part of the hesitant professional for a moment, but the flush creeping up his neck told me he was intrigued. He agreed, on one condition: I wasn’t allowed to touch.
He stood up and slowly slid his trousers down, revealing a pair of crisp white boxers. When he finally freed himself, my breath hitched. He was magnificent—thick, pulsing, and perfectly formed. I watched in silent adoration as he began to stroke himself, his breath hitching in time with his movements. The sight of his pleasure was almost too much to bear.
After a few minutes of intense friction, his voice broke into a low moan. He looked at me with desperation in his eyes and whispered that he couldn’t finish alone. He asked if I would help him. I didn’t need to be asked twice. I dropped to my knees, my hands gently guiding him toward me. I tasted the salt and heat of him, swirling my tongue around the head before taking him deep into my throat.
He groaned loudly, his fingers tangling in my hair as I worked him with a hunger I hadn’t felt in years. He gasped that no one had ever felt this good. The climax hit him like a wave, and I welcomed the hot, thick burst of his release, swallowing every drop. I lingered for a moment, cleaning him with slow, sensual licks of my tongue.
He didn’t want the money. He simply smiled, dressed himself, and pressed a slip of paper with his phone number into my hand. As he walked away, he promised that next time, he might bring a colleague along to help with the installation.