Delivery Boy Seduction

All participants are 18 or over.

*****

I knew what to expect when Mr. Collins came into the store. He usually winked and waved in my direction and let his eyes hold mine for several seconds longer than felt normal. He usually managed to stand behind me for a bit while I swept the floors or stocked the shelves with canned goods. I never knew how to respond to these overtures.

Mr. Collins was not the only regular customer who eyed me this way. Mrs. Barron and Mrs. Tusk frequently checked me out, letting their eyes linger on my ass or crotch just a little longer than propriety would allow. Even the widow Mulkey, a woman in her late fifties, flirted with me shamelessly. These ladies all tipped well for their grocery deliveries too and I did my best to win them over with my smiles.

Mr. Collins was the only man who looked at me as if I was a woman.

It was 1988 and I was eighteen, working as a clerk, gofer and delivery boy in the last family-owned downtown grocery store. I was tall, rangy and clean-cut. As I said, I swept the floors and replenished the produce section and restocked shelves of dry goods. I never had to act as cashier in the store, a fact for which I was profoundly grateful; my job allowed me more mobility than being chained to a cash register.

In those days, family-owned stores offered their customers extra value, and free delivery was one of the perks of shopping at Grant's Grocery. Some of the orders were cash-on-delivery while others were pre-paid. My employer, Mr. Grant, would use his car to make larger deliveries, but he often relied on me to deliver the smaller orders by bicycle. The bike was specially fitted with an extra-large basket that could hold banana boxes filled with groceries.

This Saturday afternoon, Mr. Collins followed me around the store, filling his cart as he went. The store wasn't very large, so it was impossible for me not to notice him. When I looked at him, he smiled, but it was a lewd smile full of knowledge and promise. It made me uncomfortable because I realized that his overtures were similar to the women who flirted with me. I knew something about gay people, of course, but I had never been the object of a gay man's attention. Part of me was flattered while the indoctrinated homophobe in me rejected his overtures, but unconsciously, I found myself appraising him furtively in return.

Mr. Collins was probably fifty. He was taller than me with a powerful build and wide frame. He carried a few extra pounds around his belly, but otherwise he looked quite fit. His muscular arms made mine look like sticks. Brown eyes looked out from under thick black eyebrows. His hair was black also, straight and full, with just a little grey at the temples.

When Mr. Collins brought his cart to the front and laid out his items for the check-out girl, May, she called me over. May was Mr. Grant's daughter, and her orders were as good as her father's.

"Can you box up this order for delivery to Mr. Collins' place?"

I nodded, and as May checked out each item, I neatly placed them in a sturdy banana box. The rows of canned goods and other non-perishables layered the bottom of the box while fragile items like eggs, bread and buns were placed on top.

"Best buns in town right here," Mr. Collins said, and for the first time, he touched me. He closed his hand over my ass and kneaded my buttocks. I stiffened but I was too embarrassed to draw attention to this invasion of my space. May might have thought Mr. Collins was talking about the buns she just registered, or she may have thought he was making a flattering remark about her ass; either way, she smiled patiently and had no idea that her customer was fondling her stock clerk's arse. I blushed a deep crimson and it felt like my ears were burning. Mr. Collins withdrew his hand to complete the transaction with the cashier, paying for his groceries in full.

"I have some errands to do around town," Mr. Collins said. "I won't be home until five. Can you deliver then?" It was Saturday afternoon. We closed at five and I was sure he knew it. Delivering the next day was out of the question because the old-fashioned family business was closed Sundays. Making a customer wait two days for his delivery was out of the question.

"Do you mind a few minutes of overtime?" May might have noticed my colouring; I'm sure I was still blushing furiously. "You can take the bike home for the weekend."

"No," I fumbled over my words. "No, I don't mind. I'll be there shortly after five, Mr. Collins."

"Good," he said, beaming at me. "I will be ready for you."

Mr. Collins left the store, and I looked at the time: three o'clock. I would be going to Mr. Collins' house in just two hours.

The man had been clever, I thought. By scheduling my delivery errand for the very end of the day, he had arranged that I was free from work the moment I reached his place. Perhaps he was planning something more than flirting. This thought simultaneously frightened me and, to my surprise, aroused me. Well, was it so strange to be turned on when someone finds you attractive? Maybe not, but this was a customer, not to mention a man old enough to be my father.

When five o'clock arrived, I loaded up my bike with shaking hands and May locked the door behind me as she closed up shop. With the groceries in place, I shoved off with an anxious grunt and rode toward the address written on the side of the box in marker. I knew the area slightly, certainly well enough to find my destination.

I arrived at Mr. Collins' address and rode my bike up the driveway. There was a car parked there. If he has a car, I wondered, why have his groceries delivered? I wondered if it was just a pretext for my presence here. I got off the bicycle and lifted the box of groceries out of its basket, letting the bike fall on the customer's lawn by the front door. The canned goods made the box heavy and I carried it with all my might; at eighteen, my shoulders had yet to broaden and the muscles in my arms were still underdeveloped. I managed to reach the door and ring the doorbell.

A moment later, Mr. Collins opened the door and greeted me, beckoning me inside with a familiar, cheerfully-intoned invitation: "Enter freely and of your own will." I remembered that this was the line Dracula used on Jonathan Harker as he crossed the threshold of the vampire's castle. I felt uneasy. Things hadn't worked out so well for Dracula's guest.

I entered the house, prepared to carry the groceries to Mr. Collins' kitchen, and I started to kick off my shoes until Mr. Collins told me not to worry about that. I followed him to the kitchen with my burden.

"That looks heavy," Mr. Collins said. "Why don't you set it down on the counter?"

I obeyed, relieved not only to be unburdened of the heavy goods, but also at the completion of business. I could leave now without giving Mr. Collins any opportunity to accost me. Yet, I found myself delaying over courtesies.

"Thanks," Mr. Collins said.

"You're welcome," I replied automatically. "I, uh, I guess I'll get going."

"I have a bad back. Aren't you going to help me put this stuff away?" He had cleared the lighter products from the box, leaving the rows of canned soups and vegetables.

Bad back, my ass. I measured my dwindling chances of escape, but right now I was acting as my boss' representative for the store; what would he do? He'd put the customer's wishes first.

"Uh, sure," I said meekly. "Where do you want these canned goods?"

"I keep the cans in there." He pointed at a cupboard under the counter. I hefted the box off the counter and set it on the floor. I opened the cupboard door and saw that the interior was nearly empty. "Can you put them in as far under as you can?"

In order to do that, I had to get on my knees and lean into the cupboard, supporting my weight on my left hand while my right hand was occupied in loading the cupboard, can after can. I was suddenly very conscious that my position showed off my ass to Mr. Collins; my jeans were loose at the back and I was sure I was exposing the crack of my arse, plumber-butt style.

Even as the thought occurred to me, I felt a feather-light finger tracing its way down my lower back toward my ass. Startled, I jumped and hit my head on the top of the cupboard even as I placed the last can.

"Ow," said Mr. Collins. "That sounded like it hurt. Let's pull you out of there and get you to a seat."

Slightly dazed and seeing stars, my customer helped me to my feet. He walked me out of the kitchen and into the living room. I needed no urging to sit down on the couch. To my surprise, Mr. Collins lifted my feet up onto the cushions and lay my head back against a padded armrest.

"I'll get you a Tylenol and a drink of water. Stay here."

My wits were gathering back together, but my stress had been relieved by the blow to the head. Perhaps I was still a little stunned, but instead of planning my escape, I was curious to see what would happen next.

Mr. Collins passed me the pain remedy and the water and I swallowed the pill.

"You're going to have a goose-egg there for a while. I'm sorry I made you jump when I touched your ass."

There it was, out wide in the open.

"I thought you'd enjoy it like you did at the store."

I tried to protest. My denial sounded weak to my own ears.

"Please don't deny it. I've stared you down in that store lots of times and you've never flinched from looking back. You returned my interest even if you didn't know that was what you were doing."

Was he right? I mean, yes, of course, I had an idea that Mr. Collins was interested in me sexually, but had I shown any sign of being aroused by his attention? I thought of all the times he had looked me up and down, or stared at my ass, or let his hand fall to my backside, as he did today. Even now I was feeling tension in my underwear as my penis began to uncoil and stretch at thoughts of gay interaction. My physical reaction was undeniable and it didn't go unnoticed.

"Look at that," Mr. Collins said, pointing at my crotch. "I can see that bulge growing in your jeans. Admit it: you're curious."

I denied it and he scoffed.

"Well, a little maybe," I waffled.

"Do you need an ice-pack for that bump?"

"No. I'm feeling better already."

I was about to announce that I was leaving when Mr. Collins knelt on the floor in front of the couch. He set his right hand on my crotch and began to slowly, gently knead my genitals through my jeans. I groaned with unexpected pleasure as he leaned in, cradled my head in his left hand and drew in closer. I looked up at him expectantly as he closed the distance between our faces.

Our soft lips met tentatively at first and then in a hungry, wet, sloppy kiss. My head throbbed more with the excitement than in pain from the bump on my head. Mr. Collins' tongue slipped past my lips and dominated mine, winding its way in an endless spiral. His stubble scratched my jaw and my cheeks and I realized I would look red as an apple after this session. I passively accepted all of this. I felt my cock twitching under the denim and beneath my zipper.

I was being ravished by a man and I was enjoying it. I began to kiss back in earnest and, after a few moments, Mr. Collins must have thought my resistance extinguished. He broke the kiss and leaned back.

"Are your parents expecting you for dinner?"

"Yes."

"You need to call them and tell them you won't be home. Do they have Caller ID?" That was still pretty new technology in 1988.

"No. They don't even have a touchtone phone." Why was he asking that? Why was I telling him this? "The only telephone in the house is a rotary dial phone."

"Good." Mr. Collins reached over my head to the end table and picked up the phone with its old-style cord. He proffered the receiver and I accepted it. I told him my parents' phone number and he punched the numbers in. "Tell them you're staying over at a friend's place. Pick a friend your parents won't check up on and be convincing."

My mother answered the phone just as Mr. Collins opened my fly and pulled my underwear down far enough to free my cock.

"H-hi, Mom," I said as Mr. Collins engulfed the head of my dick in his mouth and began twisting his tongue around it. "Oh-ohhh!"

"Where are you? Supper's almost ready."

"I'm with—a friend... I'm staying... the night. I'm staying... uhhh... at Johnny's place."

"What's the matter with you?" Mom asked. "Why do you sound so breathless?"

I was seeing a galaxy of stars. I had never had a blowjob before, and it was amazing.

"We... were out... running. I'm still... out of breath."

"I see. Alright. Give my best to Johnny's mother."

"Ohhh... kay, Mom. 'Bye."

I almost threw the receiver over my shoulder, but I had to be sure the connection was severed. I reached down as best I could and placed the receiver in its cradle. I could barely think with those lips and that tongue massaging my meat.

I knew it would not be long before I came at that rate, and so did Mr. Collins. He stopped blowing me and leaned back to assess me. Sweat stood off my brow. I was biting my lip unconsciously. With my throbbing, exposed erection, I must have been a picture of wanton desire. Mr. Collins was clearly pleased with what he saw, but not yet satisfied. He wanted more. He repositioned himself and leaned over to undress my prone and willing body. He yanked my shoes off and threw them at the front door. My socks were the bottom of a pile that soon included my pants, underwear and t-shirt. He even took off my watch. I was utterly naked before him.

Once again, Mr. Collins fell on me like a tree. His lips and tongue entwined forcefully with mine and now his hands roamed freely over my unclothed body. He fondled my ass with one hand and gently twisted my nipple with the other. He rubbed my shoulder blades and caressed my skinny arms. In that session, for the first time, I learned that my feet were an erogenous zone as Mr. Collins massaged them and kissed them. All this time, he would venture close to my dick with one or both of his hands, but he didn't stimulate it directly. He was clearly saving my orgasm for later.

"Do you want this?"

"Yes," I said breathlessly.

"Let's be clear. Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes... yes, please."

"Ask me then."

"Please, Mr. Collins, please fuck me!"

"Fuck you where?"

"Please fuck my ass!" I couldn't believe my ears. I was horny enough to say it.

"Do you always give in this easy? Are you a little slut?"

"No, Mr. Collins. I've never been with a man. My ass is only for you."

He seemed satisfied with this.

"Alright. I'm going to warn you. The first time this happens, it hurts a lot. But if you can stand a couple of minutes of pain, it gets a lot better. Does that scare you?"

It did scare me, but I shook my head.

Mr. Collins was once again satisfied with my response. He stood to his full height and began shedding his clothing in a pile separate from mine. When he was naked, he towered over me in all his glory.

The first thing I noticed, of course, was his cock. It grew out of a clump of curly black hair and, as I watched, his member lengthened, filling with blood. I could see his pulse in the throbbing organ. He was probably about six inches long, cut and beautiful.

My eyes drank in the sight of his body. He had muscular arms and legs and wide shoulders. His chest muscles were apparent under a carpet of thin, curly black hairs. The hair made a trail between his chest and his pubic region, like a road I suddenly wanted to travel.

I was aware of my own pulsing cock. I could hardly believe I could be so turned on by another man.

When Mr. Collins stood beside the couch waiting for me to take him in my mouth, I didn't keep him in suspense for long. I was surprised at my own willingness. My lips closed around him gently and I began to emulate the example he had set for me a few minutes before. I inhaled him as far back in my mouth as I could before choking, then I used my tongue to massage the underside of the tube of flesh. I instinctively began to bob my head against his pubic area and applied suction. My cheeks hollowed as the inside of my mouth imitated the tightness of a vagina.

My first impression was that his skin tasted salty, but that was followed by the even saltier taste of his pre-cum. That slippery substance mixed with my spit and lubricated my efforts to suck him off. Already my jaw and tongue were tiring but I was amazed how I enjoyed myself. I reached down to touch my own cock and sooth its need, but Mr. Collins put a stop to that.

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll get there, but not yet."

A small part of me realized that I was more pliable to Mr. Collins while in this aroused state. If I came, would I come down from this high and be too horrified at my submission to a gay man to continue? While I blew him, Mr. Collins added to his own pleasure by pumping his cock in and out of my mouth in time to my ministrations. His sensual moans turned me on and if he came in my mouth, a prospect which frightened and excited me in about equal measure, I thought I might come too.

That was not to be on this occasion. Mr. Collins gently extracted himself from my mouth and told me it was time. I knew what he meant: he was going to break in my ass. A ripple of panic crossed my mind. If I let him take me in the arse, it would be the last stop on my trip to the gay zone. How did it happen that I was seduced so quickly and easily by this powerful, older man?

Mr. Collins' hands were on me, turning me over and positioning me on all fours on the couch. He produced a jar of lubricant from somewhere and began to pack my ass with it. It was cold and slippery between my buttocks. Within seconds, I felt a finger gently probing my asshole. I let out a gasp when it slipped into my puckered hole. The pain was very slight as muscles purposed for one-way traffic yielded to Mr. Collins' finger. Within minutes, a sensation of warmth filled my ass. Pain followed again as Mr. Collins introduced another finger to my slippery hole but the fingers in my ass also generated a definite feeling of pleasure. Mr. Collins slowly thrust his fingers in and out, stimulating my prostate. Pre-cum dripped from my cock as the older man finger-fucked me.

Then, at once, he stopped and withdrew his fingers. I felt suddenly and strangely empty.

"That should warm you up for the main event."

Mr. Collins lathered his cock with the lubricating gel before positioning himself on the couch behind me.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," I said.

"Call me Mr. Collins when you talk to me."

"Yes, Mr. Collins. Please, I want you to fuck me in the ass, Mr. Collins."

Mr. Collins was pleased with that, but I was frightened.

As it turned out, my fear was reasonable. Mr. Collins placed his hands on my ass cheeks as he pressed his cock against my sphincter. The penetration was slow, and the girth of his cock was wider than the two fingers he'd used to 'warm me up'. I was in great pain as my hole yielded to his hard cock. I sobbed and moaned.

Mr. Collins was not without pity, but he did not relent.

"Push out your ass like you were taking a dump," he said. "It helps."

I obeyed, and during the next few seconds, my ass absorbed the full length of his cock. I felt his pubes and balls tickling my arse. The pain continued for several long minutes, but as Mr. Collins began to slowly saw back and forth inside me, the pain slowly subsided and the pleasurable sensation began to return.

"Ohhh," I moaned.

"You're beginning to enjoy it now, aren't you?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Collins," I stammered as the man behind me began to increase the tempo of his thrusts.

"Alright, kid," Mr. Collins said. "I've been holding back up until now, but I think you're ready for the full treatment."