I was awakened by the sound of the doorbell. I opened one eye and glanced at my watch. Damn, I overslept. I jumped out of bed, my hair sticking out in every direction. When I opened the door, Oliver was standing there. As always, he looked like he had just stepped out of a photo shoot, not like he had come to paint my house.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said with a slight smile and came inside, carrying his tools.
I mumbled something in response, still half asleep, and went straight to the shower to get myself together.
The water woke me up a little. I got out, dried myself off, got dressed, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Oliver was already in his own world, setting up his equipment in one of the rooms and starting work.
With a cup in my hand, I decided to see how he was doing. When I entered the room he was painting, I froze.
Oliver was standing on a ladder, with his back to me, wearing only a jockstrap. One leg was resting higher on the step, his hips slightly pushed back. The fabric covered practically nothing, and his ass was perfectly exposed to me.
My breath stopped for a moment. At first, I thought it was some kind of strange coincidence... but the longer I looked, the more it seemed like an invitation.
His ass was smooth, shaved, and firm in all the right places. From this angle, I felt like all I had to do was walk up, place my hands on his hips, and… I stopped. I had to hold myself back.
I was so mesmerized that I didn't even notice the cup slipping out of my hand. It fell to the floor, spilling coffee. The sound snapped me out of my trance, but Oliver didn't even turn around, continuing to paint, his ass moving in rhythm with the strokes of his brush.
My heart was beating faster, and only one question was on my mind: is he doing this on purpose, or am I losing it?
“What are you wearing today?” I finally asked, trying to make my voice sound normal, though inside I was burning up like a furnace.
Oliver glanced over his shoulder with that slightly cheeky smile of his.
“Just my underwear. Remember my rule?” He ran his hand over the fabric of his jockstrap, as if deliberately trying to draw my attention. “It’s still underwear, but it covers less. I look good in it though, don’t I?”
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't have an opinion, but because every word could have betrayed how much the sight of him was turning me on. I pretended to focus on the wall he was painting, but in reality I was following every movement of his ass.
The brushstrokes were slow and rhythmic, and his hips swayed slightly each time he reached for the paint bucket. I knew that if I kept staring, he would eventually notice… and maybe that was exactly the point.
I decided that this time I’d turn up the heat a little. I walked over to the table where his things were and picked up one of the clean brushes. I dipped it into the can of white paint.
“I think you're missing something here,” I said casually, and before he could react, I came up behind him and ran the brush right down the middle of his butt.
Oliver shuddered, then slowly set his brush down and turned his head toward me.
“You know what that means?” he asked calmly.
“That I should run away?” I replied half-jokingly.
“That now, as punishment, you're going to wash my ass,” he replied with amusement. “Because I can't reach everything myself, and you can see and you can definitely do it.”
I had no idea if this was still a game or if he was moving on to something much more serious. But in my head, I was already picturing how it would look. And I liked it very much.
We went out into the garden, the sun was high in the sky, and the grass was still slightly damp from the morning dew. Oliver led the way, carrying a bottle of body wash in one hand.
“This will be just right,” he said, as if he were picking a spot for a picnic rather than a stage for… what was about to happen.
He got down on all fours, perfectly facing me. His ass was sticking out, his back straight, his head slightly lowered. He looked like a picture straight out of a catalogue for a very adult audience.
I moved closer, grabbed the hose and deliberately turned on the cold water. The stream hit his skin and he flinched slightly. Drops ran down the curves of his muscles, pausing on the curve of his ass before running down his thighs.
I grabbed the gel and squeezed a generous amount right onto the center of his butt. I spread the foam slowly, moving my hand from one buttock to the other, across the crack. I could feel the muscles under my hand tense and relax.
“Not enough,” he said after a moment, turning his head slightly. “Put your finger in there.”
I froze. A thousand questions popped into my head: Is he joking? Is he provoking me? What if he gets angry? But my cock had already started to harden, as if my body knew better than my mind that this was an invitation.
I looked at his position, he didn't move, didn't pull back, didn't try to turn away. On the contrary, he lowered his hips slightly, as if to make it easier for me to access him. I took a deep breath.
My fingers were slippery with gel. Slowly, carefully, I slid one inside him, feeling the warmth and soft resistance that quickly gave way. Oliver sighed softly, and I felt my heart beating faster and faster in my chest.
“Slide it in and out,” he said low, almost a murmur, his voice sounding like a command, not a request.
I did it slowly, feeling every movement of my finger cause the muscles around it to tighten and relax in rhythm with his breathing. He moaned softly, and I felt a wave of heat in my lower abdomen.
I wanted to go further. The image of me grabbing his hips and thrusting into that perfectly positioned ass was so clear that I could feel my cock throbbing. But then the thought came: What if this is just a joke? What if he pulls away and everything goes to shit?
I paused for a moment, watching his reaction. Oliver was motionless, his body looked relaxed, his hips slightly arched, and his breathing deeper than before. After a moment, he moved back half an inch, as if encouraging me to continue.
My heart was pounding. I realized that this was no accident or innocent joke. He wanted this. Maybe not everything right away, but... he wanted it.
I slid my finger deeper, then began to rhythmically push it in and out, as he had instructed. His moans became clearer, quieter, but intense. I could feel his muscles trembling with every movement.
This game went on for a while, and the tension inside me grew with every second. I felt like I was on the verge of taking a step that I couldn't have imagined yesterday.
Finally, Oliver straightened up, turned his head slightly, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw that his cock was hard as a rock. I looked at it for maybe two seconds before he moved toward the ladder again, as if nothing had happened.
I stayed on the lawn, my finger still wet from the gel and my cock demanding immediate relief.
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