Naked Houseboy , his BBW Boss Ch. 14


Part 14 of an ongoing story…

Last time I described my and Carrie’s daily routine in the mornings before she would go to work. In this post, I would like to describe another part of our daily routine. I’ll skip over the middle of the day, when she would be at work. After all, for me it, it was mostly just doing the housework and jerking off. No surprise there. Instead, I’ll pick things up at the point where Carrie normally comes home from work.

I wrote how in the mornings, I would always have a cup of coffee waiting for her when she came downstairs. Well, when she came home from work, I’d always have a glass of white wine waiting for her. She would hang up her coat and walk into the kitchen, where she’d find, me glass in hand.

One thing I loved about her, something that made her a special person in my eyes, was that no matter what kind of day she’d had at work, she was always happy to see me when she came home. She always had a smile for me. Always said thank you when I handed her that glass of wine.

It was another of my favorite moments of the day, for so many reasons. I loved that moment because of the way she smiled at me, the way she showed that she was genuinely happy to see me. And because it was my last chance to see her dressed for work. After taking the glass from me, we would chat for a few minutes. But after that, she would excuse herself to go upstairs and change into her pajamas.

But it’s actually these little chats that I want to focus on now. My first several months living there, it was pretty banal, if I’m being honest. Not unpleasant, mind you. Just not very substantive. She would just ask me how my day was. And I would always tell her that my day was ‘good.’ I’d tell her what I got done in terms of housework, diligently reporting everything I’d accomplished. After all, I wanted her to know that her house was in good hands. Then I’d ask her how her day was. She never told me much. Just that it was “fine” and that she was happy to be home.

But that all changed one day. One day she came home, and I could just tell she’d had a rough one. She still smiled at me when she came in, but it wasn’t the same smile. She was happy to see me, sure, but I could tell she was still carrying some stress from the office. She downed that glass of wine in two gulps, which was unusual for her. And then she promptly asked for a second.

I could see that she was starting to feel better. The tension had gone out of her shoulders, her face had relaxed and she was sipping instead of gulping. I could also tell that she was getting a little tipsy from the flush of her cheeks. She wasn’t drunk when she started talking, but it was clear that the alcohol had loosened her tongue a bit.

“You know I’m happy with your work around here, right? I don’t know if I say that often enough. I mean, I’m very very happy with your work around here.”

“Thanks?” I tried, not sure where she was going.

“What I mean, is,” she went on, “you don’t have to give me a report of everything you do during the day. I trust you now. I know you’re going to get all your work done and I know you’re going to get it done right.”

“Well, thanks,” I said. “I mean, I try.”

“I know you do,” she went on. “That’s why you’re such a great houseboy.” If there was any doubt about the effect the second glass of wine was having, it was erased when she ever so briefly touched my arm; something she never did. She must have realized this too, the way she quickly pulled her hand back, blushing from embarrassment Casibom on top of the booze-blush.

“I have to tell you something,” she said softly, looking away.

“What’s up? Is everything OK?” As she wasn’t normally like this coming home from work, I was perhaps a little worried.

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I mean…” she stopped, polishing off her glass. “Can I have another? Maybe you want one too…”

“Sure,” I smiled, refilling her glass. Then I turned around to get a glass for myself from the cabinet. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, but something told me she was looking at my butt. In any case, by the time I turned back around her eyes were on the ceiling. I handed her the glass.

“Thanks. Cheers.” We clinked. She didn’t say anything.

“So what did you want to tell me?” I said, gently reminding her.

“Oh, right.” She paused. “So like, when I ask how your day was, I don’t really mean how was your day. Like, in general.” That was all she said.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well, I mean, we’ve been living together for some time now. It’s only natural that I think about you sometimes while I’m at work, right? I mean, that’s normal. Maybe you think of me during the day sometimes to?” She wasn’t fishing so much as looking for validation. At least, that was my impression.

“Sure I do,” I smiled. “But what does that have to do with asking me how my day is?”

“Well, like, you know I take a…a general interest. You know, in you’re whole…thing.” She was blushing again. And as she said the word ‘thing,’ she waved a hand in the general direction of my crotch, though her eyes were anywhere but.

“Yeah, sure. And you know I love sharing my whole…thing with you,” I said, echoing her phrasing. For all we’d shared together since I moved in, I found it partly strange, partly amusing that we were now talking about my masturbation in code. But for whatever reason, this was somehow awkward for her. So I followed her lead.

“Right, so lately, well, my, um, interest…well, it doesn’t exactly turn off when I go to work. What I mean is,” she interrupted herself to take a sip of wine, “I find myself wondering what goes on here while I’m gone. Beyond housework, I mean.”

“Oh, I see,” I smiled. “Well there’s nothing wrong with that,” I said warmly, trying to encourage her.

“See, I knew you’d understand,” she said, returning my smile and finally looking at me again. “I guess my point is, when I ask you how your day was, I’m not asking so much work-wise as…” she trailed off.

“Wank-wise,” I finished for her with a laugh.

“Yes, exactly!” she laughed along with me, relieved that we were finally on the same page. Though for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she thought it could ever have been otherwise. Feeling freer, she pressed on. “So like, when I ask you how your day was and all you ever say is ‘good,’ like, that doesn’t really tell me anything, you know what I mean?” Finally, I knew what she meant.

“Yeah, Carrie, I think I get it now.”

“And you don’t mind? I mean, that I ask you about that?”

“Why would I mind? You know I share everything with you.”

“Well, I thought maybe…I mean,” she stopped for another sip while regathering her thoughts. “I mean, when I’m at work, that’s like your only real alone time, your only real you-time. So I would understand if maybe you wanted to keep that private for yourself. That’s all.”

“Oh, well, I mean, that’s very sweet Carrie. But not at all necessary. Casibom Giriş I’m happy to tell you anything you want to know about my day. Always.”

“You’re really sweet, you know that?” And she touched my arm again. It was still the briefest of touches, but this time she pulled her hand away smoothly, without embarrassment.

“Aw, you ain’t so bad yourself,” I winked.

“So anyway,” she resumed, “can I ask you again?”

“Ask away.”

“So, umm, how was your day?” I looked her straight in the eye before answering.

“Oh, Carrie, honestly? Today was pretty fantastic.” I’m pretty sure I was grinning as I said it.

“Oh? Do tell,” she said eagerly.

“Well so, I only jerked off three times – “

“Only three?” she cut me off, emphasizing the word ‘only.’

“I mean, it’s usually more.”

“I see,” she said earnestly. “Go on.”

“Yeah, so I had a quick one after you went to work. I do that every day by the way.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Just a quick one and then I go back to bed for a few hours. Anyway,” I went on, “when I woke up, I jerked again. You know, just to clear the system before getting to work.”

“Is that an every day thing too?”

“Most days,” I nodded.

“OK, so, quick wank after I leave and then a nap. And then another wank after you wake up,” she repeated, as if making mental notes. “But you say that’s pretty normal. So why was today ‘pretty fantastic’?” she asked, repeating my words back to me.

“Well, I was able to get my work done early today, which meant I had the whole afternoon free. So I wound up having a four hour jerk session, which, I mean, anytime you can have that, it’s just a win, you know?”

“Four hours,” she repeated softly. And then her eyes drifted down to the area between my legs. She said nothing. She was just staring. And if I’m being honest, it felt kind of nice to have this woman, whom I adored, just staring at my junk like that. So I didn’t say anything. I just let her keep on looking.

And she was looking in that Carrie-est of ways. It wasn’t any kind of thirsty stare. It wasn’t like it was a turn on for her. And it wasn’t a turn on for me either, actually. I was so used to be naked around her, so used to having her look at me, that I wasn’t getting hard on account of her inspection. And that’s what it was. It was like she was inspecting a piece of equipment. But I knew her, I liked her and I trusted her. So my feeling was, keep on looking. Get your money’s worth.

I said it was like she was inspecting a piece of equipment, but that doesn’t go far enough. Because there was an air of appreciation to it all. Like an enthusiast examining a classic car or a chef inspecting the edge of his best knife. I mean, we’d been living together for many months by this point and the entire time I’d been naked, 24/7. So I think it’s fair to say she had more than a passing familiarity with my body.

But she just kept staring. At times, she was craning her neck in a way that suggested she was trying to get a closer look without being overly obvious about it. Finally, I had to break the silence.

“Are you looking for something?”

“I’m just wondering,” she said, almost to herself.

“Wondering about what?” I pressed.

“Does your junk look like you just jerked off for four hours,” she continued her autologue. “Like, is that something I can see?” If the question was directed at me, she never looked up.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I guess I never thought about it. But you’re Casibom Yeni Giriş welcome to take a closer look – “

“Thanks,” she cut me off, bending down at the waist. “I mean, maybe it’s a little redder than usual,” she suggested to herself. “Your dick, I mean. More interesting is your balls. I would have thought they’d be hanging a little lower after such a long jerk session.”

“Jeezus, Carrie!” My exclamation must have startled her because she shot back up to an upright position, cheeks burning.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!”

“What did you mean?” she asked, still worried that she’d upset me.

“I meant, that’s fucking incredible what you’re doing! No one has ever paid so much attention to dick like that before.

“And your balls,” she added, almost as if I had given her short shrift.

“And my balls, Jesus, yes! I mean, I’m kind of fucking in awe of you right now!”

“You are? But why?!”

“Because you know my dick well enough to know if it’s redder than usual? Because you know my balls well enough to have an expectation about how they should hang in a given situation? Carrie, that’s fucking amazing!”

“Well, I try to pay attention,” she said shyly.

“I guess you do!” I looked at her. “Are you done?”

“I’m sorry,” she shrugged. “Yeah, I can be done.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Sorry. I mean, you’re welcome to go on looking. If you want to.”

“You don’t mind?” She looked right into my eyes.

“Not in the least,” I smiled. “Take all the time you want. You can even go in for a closer look, if you like.” Wordlessly, she crouched down so that she was eye to eye with my third eye.

“OK, this is gonna be a weird question,” she preambled without looking up, “but…can I touch it?”

“Go for it,” I shrugged. But for a moment, she didn’t touch anything. She just looked. Then, identifying a particularly red spot on my shaft, she ever so gingerly touched it with the tip of her finger. I gasped.

“You OK?” she asked, again without looking up.

“Just a little tender,” I offered.

“And is that just from today?”

“I think so?” Even I wasn’t sure. Was it possible this woman was getting to know my own dick better than me? And me being a chronic masturbator, not for nothing. Then, without asking for any further permission, she shifted her attention. Taking the tips of her index and middle fingers, she placed them lightly under my balls, lifting them with the slightest of movements.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed to herself, as though she had learned something by this action. And with that, she stood back up, looking me in the eye again.

“Thanks for that,” she smiled. “No, really. That was so fascinating. I mean, I’ve been wondering about that for a while now.”

“You have?”

“Sure I have. There’s only so much I can learn from watching, you know?”

“I suppose.” I couldn’t disagree.

“Can we do this again tomorrow when I get home?” she asked earnestly.

“Carrie, we can do this every single day if you want!”

“Oh, that would be great!” She was grinning. “I mean, there’s only so much I can learn from doing this once. Gotta build up a data set, you know?”

“So you’re a scientist now?” I prodded.

“If that’s how you like to think about it, sure,” she winked.

“What can I say?” I replied. “I’ve always been a fan of science.”

“I’ll bet,” she rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’m gonna go change. I’ll be back down in a bit for dinner…”

In any case, ‘the inspection’ – that’s what we called it – became a part of our daily routine for the next few weeks. Though that soon gave way to a new development. But that’s for another post…