The Repairman by Jake I lived in a second-floor flat for a few years, and just outside my bedroom window was a platform on a utility post, where the various servicemen would perch while they rewired phone connections or cable links for my block. So it wasn't unusual to glance out my window and see some repairman standing there at eye level. One memorable morning, I awoke, as is true for most mornings, with a throbbing erection. As I rolled onto my back to enjoy the feel of the hard-on against the BIKE swimmer jockstrap I had slept in that night, I opened my bleary eyes and I was slightly startled to see a male shape through my window. In a few seconds, I realized it was another of the periodic repairman who used the platform. He was rewiring some connections in the circuit box in front of him, Slowly, I became more coherent and I started to check the repairman out. He was dressed in the usual repairman garb-- hard-hat, olive-drab short-sleeved coveralls with the phone company insignia on both the sleeve and chest, and tan work-boots. He had a leather toolbelt slung across his hips, and a pair of shades across his eyes. He seemed well-built, although it was somewhat hard to tell with the coveralls and all, and also because he was in three-quarter profile from my vantage point. I could clearly see, however, one well-muscled arm. And his blond facial hair and fuzzy forearms, since they stood in contrast to the tanned skin beneath. I had had jockstrap-sex dreams all that night, perhaps because of the swimmer, or perhaps just because I frequently dream about sex with guys wearing jocks. In any case, I was enjoying this first hard-on of the morning combined with the unexpected vision outside my window. I kicked back the bedcovers, slipped one hand over a nipple, and the other hand down into my pouch. I decided to watch this repair-stud do his job, and start my day in the best way possible-- with a huge cum-shot. The movement of the topsheet must have caught his eye, because he glanced over at my window and stopped cross-patching the circuits. At first, I wasn’t sure what to do. I mean, it was a gay neighborhood, and somehow I suspected this guy had been around the block a few times. But still, I wasn’t sure how he might react. To my surprise and pleasure, he smiled and turned more squarely my way, adjusting his tool-belt while slowly unzipping the front of his coveralls. It quickly was apparent that he wasn't wearing any clothing beneath his coveralls. As the zipper descended, I watched intently. A patch of blond chest-hair appeared, then narrowed as it descended in a tight trail over his rippled abs, disappearing behind the belt of the leather tool-holster, only to reappear in a broad, thick patch beneath his navel. The hair then disappeared again behind the top edge of a wide, white waistband. I could see three thin blue-stripes on the band, which were now just barely visible above the closing V of his coverall zipper. He was sporting a jock! I got that surge of juice I always do when I encounter a man in a strap. I blinked twice, to make sure what had just occurred was real. Yup, it was real-- the repair-stud was still there, smiling with his coveralls nearly completely unzipped, jocked, with just the slightest hint of what lay behind the zippered crotch. I broke into a broad smile and my cock pulsed once behind the swimmer pouch, reminding me it was ready and loaded. He casually returned to his repair work without re-zipping his coveralls. I decided to roll onto my stomach, so that now he would see the legstraps of my jock flanking my round ass. I began to bounce my jockpouch upon the futon on which I slept, while I watched his reflection in the mirror mounted as a headboard on the wall behind me. He continued to leisurely crosspatch the circuit box while occassionally groping his crotch, stopping once briefly to finish unzipping his coveralls. His packed jockstrap was clearly visible now, protruding through the coveralls, it’s bright white in nice contrast his olive coveralls and tan skin. I watched the reflection as he took a small phone from his toolbelt and jacked it into the box in front of him. I could hardly believe it when the phone by my bed began to ring! After the first ring, I rolled onto my back and planted my feet. I grabbed the receiver, positioning myself so I could look down between my furry legs, across my own swollen crotch and see him outside my window. "Hullo?" I began. "Hey jocko," a voice said at the other end. Simultaneously, I watched the repair-stud squeeze his elastic-cradled meat. "You always sleep in a jockstrap?" he asked. "Sometimes. I was especially horny last night and sleeping in one of my straps makes the ride much more enjoyable, " I answered. I watched as he removed his hard hat to reveal of close-cropped blond hair. "You know, jocko, those swimmers are meant to get wet," the voice taunted. I watched as the repair-stud removed a bottle of water from his tool belt, took a deep swig from it, and then gripped the bottle so that a spurt of water shot out of the nozzle and ran down his muscled forearm. "Any equipment in your flat in need of service?" asked the voice. My balls began to throb. I could feel the precum start to flow in my rod. "I think I know a repair-stud whose equipment might need some attention," I answered, squeezing my dick. "On my way, jocko," he said, squeezing his basket again in reply. "Mine's the center door," I replied, and I hung up the phone. He put his hard-hat back on, unplugged the portable-phone and returned it to his tool-belt. Without rezipping his coveralls, he gathered his remaining tools, closed and locked the circuit box, and started down from the utility perch. A few seconds after that, my doorbell rang. I got up from my futon and crossed into the hall to hit the buzzer which would unlock the front door. Once I heard it open, I released the buzzer and returned to my futon. I listened to the clomp of each bootstep as he climbed the stairs which led from the front door to the entry hall of my flat. I could hear the tools in his belt jangling against one another with each step he took. The jangling ceased for a moment as he decided which way he'd go once he reached the top of the stairs. "Hey jocko!" he called out from the top of the stairs. "I’m lookin’ for a jack!" "In here, " I answered from my room. The jangling grew louder as he turned down the hall and proceeded toward me. In a second, he filled in the doorway-- and what a sight he was! It was clear, now, that he was very well built-- about 5' 9" and about 185 pounds. He'd removed his hard-hat and glasses, and below the cropped blond hair, he had piercing aquamarine eyes. His jaw was square and sexy, and his mouth encircled by a thick blond goatee. His traps were thick and well-defined, while a thin gold-chain was draped around his neck and lay across the notch in his collarbone. His coveralls were now spread wide open, revealing broad set of pecs and thick nipples, covered by blond hair. I could just make out the gold tit-ring dangling from his left nipple. His abs were sculpted, and like his pecs, covered with a soft-blond fur which plunged down to encircle his navel. The wide leather strap of his tool belt was slung across his stomach. Just below that stretched the blazing white jockband, and beneath it dangled the packed pouch. The curves of thick cockmeat and two big balls were clearly visible. My mouth went dry. My cock started to throb, but the swimmer jock matched each dickthrob with an equal, and thoroughly pleasurable, resistance. He leaned against the doorjamb, the water bottle again in hand. Slowly he raised it to his lips, tilted his head back, and gave the bottle a squeeze. The water spurted out of the nozzle, splashed across his face and into his mouth. He let it run down through his goatee, from where it dripped onto his chest and trickled in rivulets through his abs, around his navel and onto the pouch of his 'strap, leaving tiny droplets dancing in the blond hairs poking above the jockband. Several small semi-translucent patches appeared across the cotton mesh of the pouch. His eyes darted up and down my body, but clearly kept returning to my own bulging swimmer jock. The precum started drizzling out of my cockhead. He placed the water bottle on the bookcase near my door, and said "Alright, jocko. Time to do some work!" He unclasped his toolbelt, and it clanged to the floor. He grabbed the sides of the coveralls to free his powerful upper torso. As the sleeves slid past his biceps, I could see the veins atop each muscle, standing out in high relief. On his left deltoid, I could see the blue ink of a tat'. It was a Smoky the Bear character, except Smoky was wearing a jockstrap. The repair-stud stepped out of his coveralls, leaving them crumpled on the floor by the door. In doing so, he revealed tree-trunk thighs and sculpted calves. In front of me was one of the hottest men I’d ever seen, standing in his loaded Bauer and Black jock, a pair of heavy wool socks and busted-in work boots. As he stepped toward me, he grabbed the water bottle again, and emptied its contents into his mouth. Squatting over me, he expelled the water from his mouth down across his own torso, and across my stomach and jockmesh. The splash of the fluid across my crotch caused a burst of adrenaline to shoot up my spine, and I let out a moan. He smirked in response, and dragged his cotton basket over mine so that it just grazed it. He shifted back and forth on his haunches several times to repeat the brush while I watched his muscledthighs tense and relax each time. He would just barely catch the bottom of his meshpouch on the bulk of my jocked basket, so that I thought his manmeat might slip out. But he knew what he was doing; it didn’t. I could clearly see his still semi-flaccid but apparently huge cock behind the wet pouch. He moved his crotch towards my face, while continuing to squat over me. "Now lick my cock, jocko!" he ordered. "Suck it through the ‘strap and make it hard!" I lifted my head forward, mouth open and waiting. I closed my lips around the wet mesh and ran the tip of my tongue across the textured cotton-elastic pouch. I could smell mansweat in his crotch-- he must of worked out in the strap that morning. My testosterone surged. With a light bite, I carefully began a position more and more of his mesh-wrapped cock in my mouth. Through the fabric, I could feel something hard and metallic against my tongue, and I realized he had a thick prince albert at the end of his rod. I thought I'd shoot right then. For a second, he pulled slightly away, to shift from the squat so as now to spread and rest massive thighs on my chest. His used them to press me into the futon, while grabbing the sides of my head with big callused hands, burying my face deeper and deeper into his musky crotch. His thick forearms pressed against the sides of my head. Faster and faster, I lapped his pierced meat through the jockpouch , and I could feel it swelling with the blood. I looked up into his face and saw his fur-framed mouth form the words. "Yeah jocko. Smell that sweaty jockstrap. Wake that tool. Suck it ‘till its as hard, 'cause it full of cum and I wanna empty it on you and in you, jocko." With that last command, he reached back and squeezed my cum-engorged rod until I thought I would pop my load right then. I closed my eyes and took his entire basket into my mouth, again and again, until his dick was so stiff that it stretched the sides of the pouch up and away from his crotch. His balls wouldn’t fit behind the cotton mesh anymore. The p.a. was clearly visible through the taut jockmesh. He reached down and pulled up hard on the front of the ‘strap, causing his huge ballsac to flop out from behind the pouch and down through the V formed by the legstraps as they curved to meet the jocksack. His cock, seven inches and still growing, stood straight out from his torso, tented by the stretched jockmesh. He plunged the fabric, the ring and his hard dick back into and out of my mouth with a fury that cranked the heat up another notch, my own meat trembling with the pulse which warns you’re about to blow. His ballsac was soft; it had been shaved smooth. With each forward plunge of his jocked-cock into my mouth, his ballsac lifted from my chest; with each pull back from my face, the smooth sac smashed back against my chest. This continued until his fucktool was completely erect. At that point, he pulled it out from under the spit-soaked pouch, which snapped hard back against his abdomen, causing the spit to splatter my face. His tool’s full eight inches slapped me across the chin and the mouth. "You seem to have gotten its attention, jocko. It’s at full salute," he growled as he got back up to his feet. "On your knees! Worship that cock, you hear?" And he pushed his stiff rod out the bottom of the jocksac, so that the mesh pouch was crumpled and resting atop his fuckstick, while his smooth ballsac swung free below. I got up to kneel, and he grabbed my wrists and put them behind my back, pushing them under my swimmer’s waistband and legstraps in a makeshift restraint. "Keep ‘em there!" he commanded. I sat back on my haunches, while he bent over to cup my aching, precum-drenched crotch with his broad hand. "That swimmer’s just gettin’ moist, jocko!" he grunted while giving it another squeeze. "We’re gonna have to work harder to make it wet." And then he impaled my face back onto his pierced stiff rod, pushing his groin out to meet my mouth on its way in. He continued fucking my face for quite some time, my hungry mouth never seeming to get enough of his throbbing manmeat which seemed never to get enough of my hungry mouth. As we continued, he began to groan at first in just a soft whisper, "Yeah, jockstud, your fuckin' mouth is hot. An' it feels real good." And then louder, "Now take it all!" He thrust forward hard and I relaxed the muscles in the back of my throat so I could take his plunges, smashing my lips against the jockmesh covering his wet crotch-fur. I felt his cockhead swell and I knew his shots must be close. Suddenly, he pulled his now dark-purple tool from my face, and I could see every muscle in his arms, legs and shoulders was tense, and the veins on each muscle and on his fuckstick engorged with blood. He grabbed his giant rod with his right hand, making the dangling p.a. dance, tilted his head back, and stroked his tool forward until his white shots flew free. I arched back so that the first warm load hit my chin, while the second, my chest, and third, splattered across my navel. I pulled my right hand free from the jock-restraint, and reached around behind my swimmer pouch to start stroking my own agonizingly full cockmeat. I took his smooth ballsac into my mouth, his post-shots drizzling onto my beard, and I rolled my tongue around his smooth balls. It took only seconds ‘till my own shots flew free, my ropy cum first spurting and then sliding down the sides of my hand and throbbing rod, down across my ballsac and into the pouch of the swimmer jock. I was drenched in waves of ecstasy. He looked down and smiled, "Attaboy, that's how to get that swimmer wet with jockstud-juice." He placed his rough left hand on the side of my head, caressing my scalp while looking straight into my eyes. "Now gimme your ‘strap jocko!" he ordered. I freed my left hand from the bands, slipped the ‘strap off my wet body, and handed it to him. "That's a good jocko," he praised while stepping out of his own Bauer. He held my soaked swimmer to his nose, took a deep sniff, and smiled. "Smells like man-sex! This is my trophy, jocko. It goes into the conquest-case, after you’ve sucked it clean!" The cum-saturated ‘strap dangled limply in his hand. He grabbed its waistband, pulling it tight. The pouch dangled in front of my face, so I opened my mouth while he stuffed the cum-covered fabric against my tongue. I could taste my own juice and I started sucking the mesh clean, while he wrapped the waistband around my head. While I slurped my swimmer, he took his Bauer and wiped my cock and balls dry. Once it was clean, he pulled the swimmer from my head. He bent over and stepped into my swimmer, pulling it up into position. It barely fit his thick waist and legs, and the p.a. glistened behind the mesh. He retrieved his Bauer from the floor, and pulled it back up into place, aligning the pouches and straps until you couldn't tell he was double-jocked. "You’ve got a hot mouth, jocko. But I think your jack might give you some more trouble," he said while stepping into his coveralls, pulling them up over his stunning body, and zipping the jocks back into hiding. He hitched his tool belt, replaced his hard-hat, and shot those piercing eyes my way before shading them with his glasses. "I think I’m gonna hafta come back, ya know?" he said as he started to flash a cocky smile. Yeah, don’t I know.