cute little shirt.
And lap.
Fuck.
I felt like a complete fool.
“Shit!” I shouted.
“Shit,” he shouted.
“It was an accident,” I said as I jumped from my seat.
He chuckled as he tried to absorb the wine with his napkin. “I didn’t think it was intentional.”
If you only knew.
I ran to the kitchen, dampened a few towels, and returned to my dining disaster. “Here, I’ll get it. I feel like such a klutz.”
After cleaning up the mess and taking his plate to the kitchen, I took a close look at his shirt. It had a six-inch wide swath of wine down the center of the bottom half of it.
My accelerated blowjob plan had gone to fuck, and I felt like an absolute fool. I motioned toward the rapidly drying stain on his shirt. “You should probably take it off so I can wash it.”
Without hesitation, he tugged against each side of the shirt, popping the snaps from the bottom to the top. With a quick shrug of his shoulders he dropped the shirt down his arms and handed it to me.
Now standing in front of me wearing only his jeans and boots, I realized several things. One, it was the first time I had seen him shirtless. Two, I was halfway to having him completely naked. And, three, there was no way he was getting out of my home without me at least sucking his cock.
His wide chest tapered down to a perfectly chiseled mid-section. Where most men hoped to have a six-pack, he had an eight-pack. How lower stomach formed into the shape of a ‘V’, which pointed directly to the prize housed in the jeans that hung low on his waist.
Every time I had seen him in the gym, he was dressed in shorts or sweats, but he always wore a tee shirt or hoodie. I tore my eyes from his massive chest and swollen biceps. “At least it was a Chardonnay.”
He seemed slightly self-conscious.
“I’d give you a shirt, but there’s no way--”
“I’m okay with it if you are,” he interrupted.
Now that he had his shirt off, I never wanted to see him with it on again.
I raised his wadded shirt, shrugged, and turned away. “Considering the circumstances...”
Three steps toward the laundry room I had a revelation. I turned around. “You didn’t get anything on your jeans did you?”
He looked down. I looked down. I had a reason to stare, and I used it. A dark spot on the hip of the jeans gave me a little hope. I stepped closer. Sure enough, a spot the size of my fist darkened the hip of his jeans.
My bumbling the glass of wine was a complete success!
I pointed to the spot. The longer I looked at it, the less it looked like a wine stain. I declared the spot a product of my disaster nonetheless. “There’s a spot right there.”
“I can wash them when I get home,” he said.
You’re taking those jeans off, mister.
I shrugged. “I guess you can, but it’ll stain for sure. I think you’ve only got like thirty minutes, and then Chardonnay stains for good.”
His eyes went wide. “Really?”
Fuck I don’t know, but it sounds good.
“It’s a well-known wine fact. Just uhhm. I’ll grab you some shorts. I’ve got a few large pair of swishy shorts I wear around the house. You can wear one of them until they’re clean.”
“Okay,” he said.
I did a mental fist pump and ran to my room. A moment later I had returned with the shorts.
I handed them to him. “Here.”
“Where do you want me to change?”
You can take them off right there.
“In the bathroom?”
“Okay.”
He came out of the bathroom in a matter of seconds, the shorts clinging to his muscular thighs and shapely ass like a thick layer of shiny blue paint. In the front, a prominent bulge reminded me of why I’d spilled the wine in the first place.
I guess they’re not big enough. Oh darn.
“They’re kind of…” He tugged down on the front of the shorts. “Small.”
“They’re as big as I’ve got.” They weren’t, but it sounded good.
I walked in his direction, my eyes shifting between his abs and his bulge as I approached. I held
And lap.
Fuck.
I felt like a complete fool.
“Shit!” I shouted.
“Shit,” he shouted.
“It was an accident,” I said as I jumped from my seat.
He chuckled as he tried to absorb the wine with his napkin. “I didn’t think it was intentional.”
If you only knew.
I ran to the kitchen, dampened a few towels, and returned to my dining disaster. “Here, I’ll get it. I feel like such a klutz.”
After cleaning up the mess and taking his plate to the kitchen, I took a close look at his shirt. It had a six-inch wide swath of wine down the center of the bottom half of it.
My accelerated blowjob plan had gone to fuck, and I felt like an absolute fool. I motioned toward the rapidly drying stain on his shirt. “You should probably take it off so I can wash it.”
Without hesitation, he tugged against each side of the shirt, popping the snaps from the bottom to the top. With a quick shrug of his shoulders he dropped the shirt down his arms and handed it to me.
Now standing in front of me wearing only his jeans and boots, I realized several things. One, it was the first time I had seen him shirtless. Two, I was halfway to having him completely naked. And, three, there was no way he was getting out of my home without me at least sucking his cock.
His wide chest tapered down to a perfectly chiseled mid-section. Where most men hoped to have a six-pack, he had an eight-pack. How lower stomach formed into the shape of a ‘V’, which pointed directly to the prize housed in the jeans that hung low on his waist.
Every time I had seen him in the gym, he was dressed in shorts or sweats, but he always wore a tee shirt or hoodie. I tore my eyes from his massive chest and swollen biceps. “At least it was a Chardonnay.”
He seemed slightly self-conscious.
“I’d give you a shirt, but there’s no way--”
“I’m okay with it if you are,” he interrupted.
Now that he had his shirt off, I never wanted to see him with it on again.
I raised his wadded shirt, shrugged, and turned away. “Considering the circumstances...”
Three steps toward the laundry room I had a revelation. I turned around. “You didn’t get anything on your jeans did you?”
He looked down. I looked down. I had a reason to stare, and I used it. A dark spot on the hip of the jeans gave me a little hope. I stepped closer. Sure enough, a spot the size of my fist darkened the hip of his jeans.
My bumbling the glass of wine was a complete success!
I pointed to the spot. The longer I looked at it, the less it looked like a wine stain. I declared the spot a product of my disaster nonetheless. “There’s a spot right there.”
“I can wash them when I get home,” he said.
You’re taking those jeans off, mister.
I shrugged. “I guess you can, but it’ll stain for sure. I think you’ve only got like thirty minutes, and then Chardonnay stains for good.”
His eyes went wide. “Really?”
Fuck I don’t know, but it sounds good.
“It’s a well-known wine fact. Just uhhm. I’ll grab you some shorts. I’ve got a few large pair of swishy shorts I wear around the house. You can wear one of them until they’re clean.”
“Okay,” he said.
I did a mental fist pump and ran to my room. A moment later I had returned with the shorts.
I handed them to him. “Here.”
“Where do you want me to change?”
You can take them off right there.
“In the bathroom?”
“Okay.”
He came out of the bathroom in a matter of seconds, the shorts clinging to his muscular thighs and shapely ass like a thick layer of shiny blue paint. In the front, a prominent bulge reminded me of why I’d spilled the wine in the first place.
I guess they’re not big enough. Oh darn.
“They’re kind of…” He tugged down on the front of the shorts. “Small.”
“They’re as big as I’ve got.” They weren’t, but it sounded good.
I walked in his direction, my eyes shifting between his abs and his bulge as I approached. I held
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