Don't let anyone tell you that owning bed and breakfast style accommodation is easy! The trouble is, of course, that you don't need a lot of staff but you do need help. As a gay couple running a straight business, we usually like to balance ourselves with female part-time help where we can. Generally this was always easy as guys tended not to apply.

We had three staff, all part-time. One worked five days a week, one three to four days and one at weekends. This usually gave us two members of staff on the busiest days. When the five day vacancy came up, in amongst all the middle aged married women and part-time students was Darren. He had an evening job in a bar and thought our 9.00 am till 2.00 pm hours would slot nicely in to augment his income.

He was 25 with dark hair and freckles. I assume the hair had some red in it (and he later confirmed that his facial and other hair was actually red). He was plain rather than attractive, well built rather than slim or fat, medium height and had a cheeky, rather than polite personality. Basically, the sort of guy you would probably walk past in the street and perhaps only give a passing glance. He was as straight as they come, talking about his love of football (soccer) and his many girlfriends. In fact his pursuit and failure of girls became the joke of many a Monday morning.

By now, you have probably guessed that we employed him. He had an affable personality and was likeable though he could talk faster than he worked. Within a few weeks, we felt he had worked with us for ever. He would push our limits frequently, walking in just in time to start work, arguing when we asked him to do something he didn't want to and always leaving the difficult chores to the end in the hope that they might be carried over for someone else to do the following day. We still liked him and his constant tales of “the girl that got away” were quite amusing.

Whether Darren realised that he was working for a couple of gays, I hadn't any idea. He certainly didn't let on. We discovered he liked to smoke the odd joint and his grumpy moods some mornings suggested he partook on quite a regular basis. That along with ability to sink 12 or 13 pints of beer on a guy's night out, were quite staggering. Certainly judging by the state of him on the odd occasion when he went out with friends on a work night, he must have looked like death the night before.

He worked with us in total for about 18 months and sometime about 9 months into the job a couple of things happened. He started to arrive at work in his jeans (which we forbad) and changed into his work trousers. The reason given was that he liked to be in his jeans for after work. Frequently he would stand around in his tight boxer shorts as he changed and, we may not have given him a second glance normally but he earned a few more brownie points from that moment. One day I noticed the seam on the side of his shorts was split and mentioned it. He spent some time looking at it as a little bit of his fly front opened and a piece of flesh and red hair could be seen. An erotic sight I can assure you. Thereafter he made sure we knew every time he wore those shorts.

The second incident that turned me on was story he told about being at a friend's wedding and getting absolutely blitzed falling asleep in a corner of the hotel and then wakening late at night when the wedding was over. It had been a formal highland dress wedding so he had a kilt. He stumbled out and called a taxi to try some pubs in the city centre and the next thing he remembered was being wakened by a policeman who bundled him home in a taxi. The thought of him lying with his legs open, wearing a kilt with nothing underneath, gave me cause for an erection from that moment on every time he stripped to change trousers.

He would frequently tell us little stories how this girl had sucked him off in the gents toilet in a pub, or how he had smuggled another girl home (he stayed with parents) and shagged her all night. I still could not believe that he had not guessed our sexuality so whether he was underlining his heterosexual status or not, I don't know. Certainly stripping to your underwear in front of two gays every day is hardly a sign of fear.

Well he announced that he was going to leave and do some round the world travel. By this time, the two of us had the hots for him. Whether or not it would have been wise to do anything if the opportunity had arisen, I don't know. My partner and I agreed that it would not, but an erect cock has its own mind! We didn't have time to organise a night out for him before his final day, but brought the five of us together the week after he left on a quiet Winter's night for a meal. I asked everyone to dress nicely for the evening and the two girls looked very smart, whereas we made sure we wore a collar and tie. Of course I should have known Darren: he turned up wearing his kilt! The excuse was that he wouldn't get a chance to wear it for a while if he was travelling the world.

Well we live in Scotland so the kilt was not out of place and we had a great meal with a copious quantity of wine. Afterwards, the youngest staff member went home leaving Darren and the other girl whom Darren had been trying to bed unsuccessfully as she already had a boyfriend. She was a serious drinker too and as we headed for another pub, his innuendoes were getting pretty heavy. Drunk she may have been but she was having none of it and by midnight, called it a day and left.

“Fancy a drink back at the house, Darren,” I asked in all innocence.

“You lead,” he slurred.

We got back home and he pulled off his jacket and tie, opened the top button of his shirt and slumped on the sofa. I gave him a wine. Thankfully I can hold wine whereas, Darren pointed out that beer was his drink. The three of us had at least another two bottles and by this time his feet were up on the coffee table and his legs open. I could just see his balls as I sat opposite. Our hormones were firing off in all directions as he talked, moving his legs around, offering brief glimpses of flesh but none enough to form an exact opinion of cock size. He commented on the staff member and her unwillingness to “give out” as he adjusted the front of his kilt.

We put a music channel on television and continued to talk. He asked if he could smoke and I sent him out to the garden where we joined him as he had a couple. I was aware they were “roll your own.” After that he became very slurred and flopped back on the couch saying something like, “I might have to stay” before falling asleep. The two of us looked at him as his breathing eventually changed to a rhythmic in and out. After fifteen minutes or so, I tried to rouse him to get a taxi. He wasn't having any of it and just grunted before slipping back to sleep.

I looked at my partner, the alcohol we had taken giving Dutch courage, and walked over to him. I gently lifted the corner of his kilt and slowly pulled it back and up. This was done over five minutes or so. At last the prize was in sight. His medium size, soft balls lay between his legs, a three inch soft piece of cock flesh lay on top and a patch of red hair above that. I had to photograph it, if only for future wank sessions. After taking some shots, I lifted the cock gently in my hands as my partner watched and talked in worried tones. It didn't make a move and neither did he. I knelt between his legs and gently placed the head and most of the flesh in my mouth, squishing the softness around and enjoying the aroma of male flesh. My partner couldn't hold on so came over and sat at my side, taking a few more pictures then holding Darren's weighty balls in his hand as I sucked.

I felt it start to grow. It was very slow at first but soon accelerated until I could no longer accommodate it in my mouth and the length pushed its way out and up to 6.5 inches. I pulled back the skin revealing his pink head and the two of us took a side each to lick it. We each released our cocks and I knelt beside him and took his hand to grip it round my stiff 7 inches. He gripped. I started to push back and forward in his hand. My partner did the same at the other side. The view of him, legs open, kilt pulled back and cock sticking straight up, hand on both our cocks, was amazing. It didn't last long before both his hands dropped back down limply to the sofa.

“I want fucked by him,” my partner exclaimed!

I ran upstairs while he stripped down and I grabbed a condom and lube before running back down. My partner, always ready for a fuck, lubed his hole while I carefully pulled the rubber over Darren's now pulsing cock. With his back to the sleeping Darren, he lowered his hole on to his cock and I gently guided it in. Initially, my partner had to push up and down while seated on the cock but he quickly realised that Darren was meeting his thrusts. He then uttered a “Yes.”

His hands came up, his eyes still closed, and he took my partner's hips to push and thrust his cock upwards and into his hole. He suddenly rolled him and turned him sideways to push further in right to the hilt in a flurry of tartan and flesh. His eyes were still closed. I flashed my camera and wanked my cock at this wonderful sight till he grunted and hammered his cock for the final five or six thrusts and emptied his balls before crashing back on the sofa and falling into sleep, the full condom dangling on the end of his cock and a copious quantity of cum in the sac.

I pulled it off and emptied it on to the palm of my hand to finish myself quickly. My partner realised he had already cum just with the fucking. My load was almost painful when it rushed up to meet the fresh air forcefully and shot across to land on Darren's thighs.

We both sat back and looked at him. He HAD been awake and I am sure he knew what he was doing. Whether he had wanted it too and the drink and hash had allowed his guard to drop, I don't know. Anyway, he was in no fit state to go home. We shook him awake and managed to get him to stumble to the toilet where I had the pleasure of holding his cock while he pissed. I removed his kilt and placed him on the sofa with a blanket before we retired.

We were both up before him in the morning and he was still happily snoozing away when we got to the lounge. We woke him (apprehensively) and he grumpily came to his senses.

“I didn't make it home then,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Nope,” I replied. “Want some breakfast?”

“Great, can I shower,” he asked?

Off he went. We cooked a few bacon sandwiches and he came down and ate them hungrily.

As he left, he hugged us both and said, “Thanks for a great night, I really enjoyed it,” and left with the promise to contact us when he returned.

He did contact us a few times with promises to pop in and see us but hasn't yet. Scared of what he might do or just forgotten what he did – I don't know, but he's always welcome to come round for a drink…….or two!



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