Handyman Stuffing - My New Holiday Tradition

[whthole4u]

Thanksgiving dinner was in less than three hours, yet there I was, bent over my couch with the building’s handyman filling me with his own, personal gravy!

 

This was my year to host the ‘orphan’ Thanksgiving dinner. I have a group of friends who have neither family nor significant others, so we get together and have our own holiday occasions. I had gone all out this year - turkey, ham, pies, all the trimmings, and the condo looked great! My dealer had dropped off a huge supply of the strongest 420 in DC, the liquor store delivery took up an entire extra table, and I even had a local landscaper come and deck out my balcony with seasonal flowers and plants and provide inside greenery - everything was perfect and all that was left was to finish cooking and do some last minute cleaning and tidying up. That is until the thermostat went bonky and decided that the only setting it could do was ‘hotter than the underside of Hell’.

 

I frantically called the front desk and they were their usual, unhelpful selves, but said they would put a call into the condos’ handymen to see who might be able to help, but they were all off for the holiday so no guarantee. While the weather was not horribly cold yet, I didn’t relish the idea of having to leave the balcony door open all afternoon and evening just to try to stop my guests from burning up. In the meantime, I propped the door open, pulled a fan out of storage, and got back to stirring, whisking, and basting.

 

About 30 minutes later I heard someone yell, “MAINTENANCE!” then heard the sound of keys and swearing. I dropped the spoon I had in my hand, grabbed a towel, wiped the streams of sweat off my face and barely took two steps out of the kitchen before I saw one of the handymen in my condo hallway. First I was pissed that he just let himself in, but then was relieved that someone actually showed, so I tried to smile. My smile faded fast when I realized who it was - Jointer Jim. That’s not his real name of course, but that’s what everyone called him. Our building handymen are an odd looking trio - one is an older, extremely overweight man who is literally wider than he is tall; the second is a young guy who is handsome, clean cut, and always polite; the third is Jointer Jim. He is tall, lanky, middle aged, and missing the index and middle finger on his right hand and the worst disposition in the world! Always pissed, angry, rude, condescending, and a total asshole. Fuck!

 

Jointer Jim lost his two fingers from fucking around in shop class in Jr. High. I guess his real name was James or Jim. He set his tool box down by the mini-bar I had set up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and boldly opened it, poured himself a huge drink, and gulped it down, then set the empty glass back down with a BANG. He gave me a twisted grin, wiped the remnants of drink off his chin, and asked, “What’s so fucking urgent that my phone gets blown up on my day off?” I was stressed and sarcastically said, “Why don’t you pour yourself another - sounds like you NEED it - and if you don’t realize the problem yet, maybe you are not the right man for the job,” and then walked back into the kitchen.

 

I was in no mood for dealing with him and thought right then that sending him away might be the best thing. I heard his tools clanging as he dug around in his bag and tried to ignore that he was there as I went back to prepping food in the kitchen. A few minutes later I was shocked back into focus as I caught a whiff of something that was not cooking in the kitchen and went back out to the living room. There was Jim, bold as fuck, smiling as he exhaled a cloud of smoke from my good 420. I don’t smoke, but find it sexy when a top does, and for just a split second my ass pulsed in hunger. Then my anger flared as I said, “What the fuck do you think you are doing? Ever think of asking first? That’s for my guests!” He just smiled, took another hit, then grabbed the TV remote and said, “I’m going to watch the game a bit while I finish this.” It was not a question, just the demand of a rude asshole. I growled, “Fine. But they’ll be here for dinner at 6:00 and it would be nice if my place was not a sweatbox, and if all my drink and shit was not gone before then.”

 

Dinner prep was hard to focus on as I continued to fume about his attitude and then I realized I had not even asked if he had fixed the problem with the thermostat. I stomped back out to the living room to find Jim casually laid back on the couch, his feet up on the ottoman, drink in one hand and blunt in the other. He just gave me his cocky grin and a flick of wrist toward the wall. I walked over, the thermostat seemed to be working fine again and he had set it back down to comfortable 70 degrees. I turned, he exhaled followed by a small cough, I grit my teeth and said, “Thank you,” and left him as I went back into the kitchen.

 

I heard the balcony door close and the blinds coming down and when I stepped out of the kitchen Jim just looked at me with a fuck off grin. I shook my head and went back into the kitchen. I could hear the sounds of the game from the TV, smell the heavy cloud of weed, picturing him in my mind with his feet up and that ‘fuck you’ grin. I stopped - the sounds had changed - it was no longer the cheering of a roaring crowd but the demanding voices of a mandingo gangbang - shit!

 

I scurried back out of the kitchen and stopped. There was Jointer Jim, his pants down around his ankles weighted to the floor by his massive set of maintenance keys. His legs were skinny, his hip bones showed either from the angle of the light or from how thin he was. Jim moaned as he looked at me, his blunt held between his teeth, his upper lip curled on the end in a smirk. He then took his blunt out, let a long, thick drool of spit descend from his dry lips like a leaf slowly falling from a great Oak tree, which landed mid-shaft on his dark, ebony wood. I gasped a little as Jim used the spit to slick his dick with his clawed hand - there was something wild and taboo about watching his fucked up hand jack his mighty rod. He turned full towards me and said, “Get on your knees fag boy and suck my dick. I know you want to.”

 

A mix of anger at his assumption and excitement knowing how much I desired his dick right then washed over me. I started to protest, “I...I’m not a fa….” Jim snarled, “STOP RIGHT THE FUCK THERE. Yes you ARE! You forget - COCK SUCKER - I’ve been here before. I’ve seen your pile of porn flicks. Not this stuff that I’m sure you haul out for the DL brothas, but that nasty shit you usually have stacked at the bottom of the pile - you know what I’m talking about.” Yeah, I did, and even managed to blush just a little, which made him laugh and choke on his smoke. Serves him right.

 

“Come on then, hike that skirt up and get on your knees and gag on my dick like a good cock sucker. Then if you do me right, maybe - just maybe - I will dig them guts out and give you some real man juice,” Jim tempted. All thoughts of dinner prep went out of my head as I watched him hit the blunt and his dick start to swell with blood as it engorged itself in the delights of the porn flick. I quickly stumbled out of my pants, knelt on the wool carpet, and hefted his meaty dick up to eye level. It stared back at me, winked, and drooled a little. I spit on the head, Jim laughed, and as I guided the phat head to my mouth he said in between puffs,

“THAT’S IT FAG BOY...

...OPEN THEM LIPS…

...LET ME HEAR YOU GAG ON MY SHIT…

...GIVE ME THAT SLOPPY NECK…

...CHOKE ON MY SWEATY DICK…

...I AIN’T WASHED MY MEAT IN ABOUT A WEEK, THAT’S WHAT PUSSY MOUTHS ARE FOR…

...TAKE YOUR TIME, THERE AIN’T NO RUSH…

...THAT’S RIGHT, GET IT NICE AND WETT SO IT’LL GO IN SWEET AND DEEP INTO THAT ASS…

...I DON’T FUCK EASY, NOT AT ALL, SO IF YOU CAN’T TAKE IT LIKE A BROTHA GIVES IT, YOU BETTER SWALLOW MY NUTT....

...OH YOU PAUSING NOW? WONDERING IF IT’LL FIT?...

...BEND THAT FAG ASS OVER, LET ME MAKE IT FIT!”

 

“Can I get the poppers and lube?” I pleaded. Jointer Jim stamped out the finished blunt, “No. I’m trying to stuff that tummy MY WAY! I like a bitch who tells me it hurts, cries that my dick is stretching them walls, putting her on her period - so you trying to get nasty and get bitch fucked and that pussy hole super soaked, or we done?” I mumbled a pathetic, “Yes,” and he slapped my face and said, “Speak up faggot bitch - let your BBC Master hear you!” So I did. I debased myself for his pleasure, and every plea and whimper and second of pathetic begging made his onyx monster grow and harden.

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Jim chuckled, “Hungry ass that’s need that itch scratched, that hole broken, them guts shredded - well you better hang onto your panties cause I’m about to get down and bang that hole WIDE-THE-FUCK-OPEN!”

 

Jim’s clawed hand snapped close across my face as he leaned over me - my submissive body kneeling on the ottoman, my hole wet and eager to feel him push inside. As his throbbing knob punctured my outer ring, Jim tapped the remote and turned up the volume of the rape scene on the porn flick to drown out my own cries. His long arms squeezed my sides, his claw clamped tighter across my mouth and face while he began to rape fuck my hole. There’s something hot as hell about a top who takes what he wants, fuck like he wants, forces a bottom to serve him the way he wants - and I was totally willing to let him use me any way he needed.

 

The long, black dick pulled almost all the way out, angled to the left and SLAMMED back in. I yelped, whined, and cried out. Jointer Jim laughed and did it again. He then shifted his stance to scrape the other side of my guts before just slamming my bussy straight on. “FUCKING JUICY PUSSY HOLE - TOTAL BITCH - THAT’S ALL YOU IS - NASTY, MOTHA FUCKIN BITCH HOLE.”

 

I yowled like an alley cat in heat when Jim yanked his dick out of my now gaping hole. He walked over to wall where the thermostat was, bent down, rooted around in his toolbox and laughed like a trickster as he stepped back behind me. “AIN’T NOTHING BUT FUCKING AIR - CHRIST YOU A HUNGRY ASSED FAG - LOOK AT THAT SHIT - EATS IT RIGHT TO THE HILT,” Jointer Jim said while he tested the elasticity of my now-broken ass ring with the large handle of a screw driver.  Not satisfied with my response he shifted a large hammer into his clawed hand, the rough wooden handle pointed at my quivering chute, “OH HELL YEAH - YOU FEEL THAT - CAN TELL BY HOW THAT BACK ARCHES, THOSE HIPS DROP, JUST LIKE YOU READY TO DROP SOME BABIES. YOU EAGER FOR MY MANDINGO BABIES? BREED THAT PUSSY? BAREBACK THAT FUCK HOLE? RIDE THAT ASS RAW SOME MORE? FUCKING SLUT!”

 

I started to buck my ass, riding that wooden handle, trying to feel the metal hammer head kiss my cheeks when Jointer Jim yanked it out, dropped the sloppy tool to the floor with a clang, leaned back over and began to rape fuck my ass again. “YOU WANT THIS NICCA CUM? TELL ME WHAT A SLUT YOU ARE? BEG FOR MY SHIT - BEG FOR MY NICCA BABIES - BEG FOR ME TO TEAR THAT ASS END TO END AND SIDEWAYS - OH YEAH - THAT’S IT - STROKE IT WITH THAT SILKY HOLE - STROKE MY DICK - STROKE MY MOTHA FUCKIN DICK - COME ON - PUSH IT BACK - RIDE THAT SHIT - RIDE IT! HARDER - HARDER SLUT BITCH - YOU WANT THIS NUTT? RIDE THAT SHIT HARDER! FUCK YEAH! DUMB ASS FAGGOT - FUCK YEAH - SHOW ME THAT ASS NEEDS THIS DICK DEEP - WANT IT DEEPER? HERE YOU FUCKING GO - GETTING CLOSE - FUCK YEAH - GETTING CLOSE - WHERE YOU WANT THIS NUTT? HUH? WHERE YOU WANT THIS NUTT? WANT ME SHOOT IT INSIDE THAT FAG PUSSY? THAT’S WHERE YOU WANT IT? HERE YOU GO FUCKA - HERE YOU GO - HELL YEAH! TAKE THIS NICCA NUTT - TAKE IT! TAKE IT! MILK MY DICK! TAKE IT….”

 

Thanksgiving dinner was in less than three hours, yet there I was, bent over my couch with the building’s handyman filling me with his own, personal gravy! Jointer Jim’s nutt started to froth out of my ass as he continued to pump my hole and I had to ask, “Can you cum again?”

[bareall77]

I'm surprised you didn't work the turkey baster in somehow. Anyway, hot story man! 

[mjkuhl]

Great Thanksgiving.  You had extra to be thankful for.

[TTFN]

Hope you invited Jointer Jim to the parTy.

[Guest bbbearlover1]

Definitely my kind of story.  Well done.

[seekingsomeaction]

"Our building handymen are an odd looking trio - one is an older, extremely overweight man who is literally wider than he is tall; the second is a young guy who is handsome, clean cut, and always polite; the third is Jointer Jim..."

Sure would be a damn hot time if Jim sent the young cleancut member of the "handyman trio" to get REAL NasTy with the narrator/tenant and use him HARD for his pleasure!! 

[Docebrown]

Hope you had a great Thanksgiving dinner and more nasty breeding. Maybe you have more stories to share. 

[Breedmeaussies]

Fuck that was hot !!

Please tell me your going to continue this!