Thomas Waggett Jr., better known as Junior Waggett, or just Junior, is a prize prick. He is one of those guys with a sense of entitlement, probably because his grandfather and father, and now Tommy Waggett Junior himself, have their fingers in almost every pie in this district. There is hardly a profitable business in town which does not have a Waggett pulling the strings - and pulling in money from - somewhere along the line. One or other of the Waggetts have been on the town council, have served as town mayor, and have even represented us provincially and federally. I don't doubt for a moment that these activities were less from a desire to give civic service and more as a means to expand the boundaries of the Waggett empire

I went to school with Junior Waggett. I didn't like him much then, and I don't like him any better now. He wasn't smart, but he was shrewd, and he knew how to play his cards and pull whatever strings were needed to get whatever he wanted, whether it be gaining some privilege or getting out of some trouble.

But as much as I dislike him, I have to pay my bills, and that's why I ended up working for him. The Waggetts actually own a construction company, but that's tied up right now with a new subdivision and an apartment complex, and Junior wanted a new play cabin at the lake built right now, and so he turned to me. I am a one-man construction company, existing on all the piddly, small contracts the Waggetts turn down. I'm a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, so can do most construction work myself, just needing to hire a labourer now and then for the awkward bits and heavy lifting.

Junior Waggett wanted his new lake cabin right now, if not sooner. I couldn't promise that, but I did promise him to be at lock-up stage by the 1st of July, three months after the start date. He gave me a third of my estimate up front, and sort of wheedled me into a contract addition: If I could complete to lock-up by June 15, there would be a thousand dollar bonus in it for me.

So I have busted a nut to reach that date. Yesterday was the 14th of June. The job was done, except for a little clean up. I dropped off my bill for the remainder of owed money at Junior's home last evening. When Junior arrived in his Porsche to check it out this morning, I was finishing the last of the clean-up. My job was done. The dry-wallers could move in tomorrow, the painters after them, and the flooring people next. With luck he could move in by mid-July.

I was resting my butt on a saw-horse while Junior had a look around, checking things off on a clip-board he carried. He had come dressed super-casually, in just top-of-the-line runners - $200 runners, probably - and sweat pants that he might have picked up at a thrift store, not even a shirt. From his frequent visits while I had worked, he knew I almost always worked shirtless. Maybe he wanted to be "one of the boys." Maybe he wanted to show off his physique, not that it was really worth showing off, but I had noticed him eyeing up my body whenever he was around.

He probably knew too, that I frequented the gym, a favourite hang-out for members of the gay community, and the one gay bar in town. Both of them were owned by the Waggetts, even if they did not put their family name of the doors.

"Hey, Pete," Junior called. "There's something here that needs you attention."

I swivelled round to look in the direction he called from. He was squatting in the doorway to one of the bedrooms. He had pulled his sweats down to his ankles. He was wearing nothing underneath, as I suspected when he arrived by the way his goodies wobbled as he walked. His semi-hard dick wiggled invitingly.

I said nothing, just raised my eyebrows, quizzically.

"Do you think you could give me a hand here … or a mouth?"

As much as I didn't like Junior, he did have a nice dick, and I was very tempted to give him a hand-job or a blow-job.

"I'm not gay," he insisted. "But my wife's pregnant so I'm not getting any at home. I've heard stories that you give a mean blow-job. And there's always that bonus to consider …"

Sure, it was out and out blackmail, but as I said, Junior Waggett would pull any strings needed to get what he wanted; and besides, I badly needed that money.

So, with nothing more than a 'what-the-hell' shrug, I walked over to where he now sat on the bare wooden floor. I kneeled in front of him and practically ripped his sweats off him, leaving him in just his expensive runners. I spread his legs and cupped his balls in one hand. His cock became immediately rock hard, sticking up towards my face.

Bending forward, I took the bulb of his cock into my mouth. It tasted good, as cock always does, even the cock of an asshole like Junior.

"Good man!" Junior said. "I have always thought about having you suck my dick. Just to see if you would. I always knew you were secretly a cocksucker." I was tempted to bite his knob clean off, but I still said nothing.

Junior's cock was above average length, long and slim, maybe eight inches fully hard as it was now. I have always had an accommodating gullet, and had no trouble deep-throating him, as his dick was fairly slim, not a thick chunk of meat like my own.

I drove my face into his pubic hair several times, but then Junior demanded:

"Your turn. Get your cock out. I want to taste yours!"

"Horny for me, are you, Pete? Want me to suck your dick, eh?"

I didn't reply and he didn't seem to expect one. Without hesitation he bent his head to my crotch and went to work on my dick, forcing it far down his throat. But he didn't suck me for long. He wanted more.

"Get naked. I want to see you bare-balls naked." I stood an did as he ordered. I was about to offer him my dick to suck on some more, but before I could he commanded, "Turn around."

I did so.

Junior remained sitting on the wooden floor. He reached up and spread my butt-cheeks.

"Mmmm, nice!" he commented. "Now bend over." I did as I was told once more. I half-expected he was going to fuck me, but it was his mouth that began exploring my crack and hole and balls from behind.

For a guy who minutes before had claimed he wasn't gay, he sure knew what he was doing when it came to licking and sucking ass and mouthing balls. He even licked my knob from back there, lapping at the beads of pre-cum which dribbled from it.

"For a fag, you sure keep yourself in good shape and nice and clean," he commented, between bouts of lapping my hole with his tongue. I don't know what he thought the average gay was like — flabby and filthy, maybe? And where did he get ideas like that? From picking up guys on skid row in the city, maybe?

Again he ordered me, "Turn around!" Again I did as I was told. He instantly grabbed my stiff cock once more, examining it carefully.

He didn't examine it too long. He was hungry for more of it, and in seconds he was gobbling away at my cock like a baby with a soother dipped in honey. He sucked and licked and gooed with pleasure, sometimes pulling back to lick the tip and gather the oozing juice, sometimes driving it far down his throat.

"You like that, Pete? You like having your dick sucked?"

I still said nothing. I had not uttered a word since he demanded I give him a "hand."

"Not speaking, eh? The strong, silent type, eh? Well, you'd better be the silent type when it comes to this. Not a word to anyone, or you're a dead man. I've got some mean connections!" Threats now! What a jerk, but sex is sex and money is money.

I stood silently and patiently while he busied himself with my dick.

Eventually he either tired of chomping on my dick or had an aching jaw. Junior stood and turned his back to me.

"Now fuck my ass," he commanded me."Do me good, like you do all your boyfriends."

He wanted to be fucked, and that's what I intended to do. I would power-fuck him till he begged for mercy!

Junior Waggett propped one leg up on my toolbox, and leaned forward, baring his hole for my stiff cock. Without even giving him the benefit of some spit as lubricant, I thrust viciously forward, driving my thick rod straight into his tight asshole.

I've got to grant him this. He didn't scream or object, or cry out in any way, just flinched a little then relaxed and let me drill into him

"Fuck me hard," he begged. "Hurt me. Ram your big fat cock into me again and again." I did that, but every hard thrust practically knocked him down. Eventually I pulled out of him long enough to lay one of my old tarps down on the floor.

Then I spoke for the first time in minutes: "Lie down!" I ordered him. He did so face down, and reached back and spread his cheeks for me. I straddled him placed my cock at his hole, then drove it into him once more. This time he couldn't move, so my dick went way, way into him, practically nailing him to the floor. I raised my upper body on my arms, in a push-up position and rammed my cock into him rapidly and repeatedly, my ass bouncing in the air.

"Yes! Yes!" Junior cried with every pounding I gave him. "Cum inside me. Fill me with your cum!"

It wasn't long before I was fulfilling his wish. My balls tightened and the juices began to spurt, deep into his hole, a new squirt with every thrust. I gave him the benefit of several days of cum-buildup. I hadn't had sex or jerked off since last Friday night.

Finished, we both pulled our pants back on. Junior went back into the room he was last in and reappeared with his clip-board. I could see the bill I had delivered last night clipped to it, along with a blank cheque. He scribbled for a moment on my bill, then on the cheque. Finally he handed it to me.

"I think that should cover everything, including your silence," he told me, handing me the check. I glanced at it and then looked at it again. It was not one thousand dollars more, but two thousand dollars more than I had billed him.

"Just sign here," he said, proffering the bill I had submitted. To the bottom there were two additions in Junior's handwriting:

Completion Bonus: $1000.
Performance Bonus: $1000

I signed that I had received the money, and Junior Waggett turned to leave. At the doorway he hesitated and turned back for a moment.

"You did well," he told me. "I'd like yo use you again sometime. As you see, I pay well." We both knew he wasn't talking about my carpentry.

"Fine by me," I told him as he turned and left. Shit! I'd fuck the devil for a $1000 Performance Bonus!

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