Coming for the Honey Man

I'd read the item in the "Intelligencer" social section incorrectly. It had been the first time I'd made this mistake, which led to the other mistakes. I made my living by playing the local newspapers on the Internet, figuring out where the rich suburbs were and something about the people living there, and watching for coming wedding announcements and evidence that there'd be empty houses stuffed with new wedding gifts as couples honeymooned far away. The Internet was a real blessing for this; it let me quickly pull together a long hit list of possibilities for any given area. A long list was necessary because all of the needed elements—absent owners, an unguarded house, and a big-pay stash—didn't come together that often.

And I needed a big-pay stash every couple of weeks, because I was high maintenance. I had a big appetite for fucking guys—a different guy each time—and they didn't come cheap.

I thought I'd hit pay dirt this time. Several months earlier I'd seen in the "Bucks County Intelligencer" what looked like several good prospects in a gentleman farmer county south of Philadelphia, an area that was just dripping in cash. I could usually count on snobby places like this putting in announcements in their local papers at every step of the wedding ritual, and the "Intelligencer" hadn't disappointed me. I found engagement announcements that pinned down nearly a dozen weddings set for the time frame I was going to be in the Mid-Atlantic region. And using other articles in the on-line paper's business and social sections, I was able to pare these down to four possibilities for a big payoff. The engagement announcements for three of those had been kind enough to let me know not only that the blissful couple already had a house to settle in, but also that they'd be honeymooning outside the States right after their wedding. Just a little more research and I'd picked out the wealthiest of these and had my target in sight, filed away my research, and went about my current business in the winter wedding wonderland of Aspen, Colorado.

* * *

I parked my pickup truck in the dark shadow of some trees half a block away from the entrance into a tree-lined street of hulky gray-stone mansions, with DuPont green shutters. They were set comfortably apart from each other and the winding avenue, and I walked up to the house without anyone getting their feathers ruffled. I'd arrived the previous night and was staying at a motel in the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware, just over the Pennsylvania line. If the caper was sniffed out before I managed to get out of the area altogether, I thought they'd be looking for me in Philadelphia rather than down there.

Although I was here in search of an empty house, as I stealthily approached, my thoughts went to what I had unexpectedly found here the previous day, the day of the wedding, when I had cased the house. I always like to get a sense of the layout of the target in daylight before I hit the house—and I'd found through experience that the second night was the best opportunity. On the day of the wedding, they usually thought well enough of the possibilities to station someone in the house during the ceremony and reception, and by the time everyone had recovered from the party, someone often came back to house sit. The night after the wedding, statistically, was always the best opportunity.

As I approached the house that night my thoughts went ahead to the pleasantries of spending the money I planned to start earning. Which led me to thoughts of the honey man. The warm June night was ideal for some action, and I was humming to myself and remembering his hair-rimmed left nipple and the way he had run his right hand around and across it as we had talked about the bees nesting on the house's wall. That memory, and my hand stroking over my dick through my pants, had me growing happily.

The previous day I had arrived early at the big stone house so typical of this area of Pennsylvania, and getting no answer after ringing the bell at the front door, had gone around to the side gate. I always approached the house in my casings openly and with a story I could tell if I unexpectedly found someone home. When I got to the side gate, I saw a head bobbing in the pool and called out, and the swimmer moved to the edge of the pool and lifted himself up out of the water.

"Ooohhheeeee." I whistled silently. The man was a real honey. I lifted the clipboard with the fake papers on it, ready to launch into my spiel about notification of delayed delivery on a wedding gift, when he made all of that unnecessary.

"So, are you the guy here about the bee hive Marion and Jim need to get rid of?"

"Ummm," I answered, not being quick on the uptake.

"I certainly hope you are," the honey man said. "Because I can't really stay waiting for this to be taken care of longer than tomorrow night. I need to be in Boston." All the time he was saying this, he was looking me up and down real carefully. I knew that look. He was interested. And I must say, he looked quite interesting to me too. Honey blond, honey lips, and a great swimmer's body.

"Sure, let me see the hive," I said.

He led me around to the side of the house, and sure enough, there was this large hive hanging off the side of the building slightly above head level, with a swarm of bees madly buzzing around it. I was about to say the wrong thing, when the honey man saved me again.

"It's a pity we can't just knock the hive off," he said. "But, with them being protected in this state, Marion and Jim had been looking all over for a bee keeper who would know how to move the hive away altogether. They're afraid the bees will get into the walls and then into the house."

"Yes, you have to handle them very carefully," I said wisely, giving the honey man the most welcome smile I could muster—and looking him up and down in that little Speedo of his so that he knew I was interested in more than the bees. "I have just what we need back in my truck. I got the address wrong; I'll have to go back down the street for it. But if you'll go back in the house, I'll get my equipment and have that hive away from here and going to a better place in no time."

"Oh good," he said. "And then come on into the house afterward." And the look he gave me told me I was as good as home as far as he and his type of honey was concerned.

I went back for the truck, and when I'd returned, I parked in the shadows near the side of the house, where there weren't any windows overlooking what I was doing. Then I took a baseball bat out of the back of the truck. I had the hive down and half way into the bushes at the side with one big swing. I retreated to the truck and waited for the bees to exhaust their anger, and then I came back and batted the hive deep into the undergrowth.

After being done with the bees, I went and rang the front doorbell again.

"All taken care of?" the honey man asked with his honey-mouthed smile when he answered the door. I'd thought he might have changed out of his Speedo while I was playing bee keeper. And he had, but he'd only changed into a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Yes, yes," I answered. "The little dears are all set up in a special compartment in my truck, all ready for a comfortable ride to their new home in a safer place with a great meadow full of pollen-filled flowers."

He was still giving me that lopsided grin ten minutes later when I had his back on the kitchen table and was grabbing his thighs and spooning my dipper inside his honey bucket. He was a little kinky and said he loved being surprised and wanted to be "taken," so I had his wrists bound with one tea towel over his head and around a table leg and his cries of passion muffled with another tea towel gagging his mouth. I fucked him hard for nearly a half hour, and he enjoyed it so much that he asked me to come back the next night. And, again, he set up the whole caper for me. This was the least amount of work I had to do and risk I had to take on a wedding burglary.

"I have to leave right afterward, though," he said at the door after one last kiss. "I've got to be back in Boston by the next morning." Perfect, I thought. Some entertainment and then he'll be gone and I can go about my intended business.

And then I was standing on the porch outside the front door, still holding the tea towels. My only regret was, that with the honey man right there all the time I was in the house, I didn't have an opportunity to scan and inventory the loot I'd be hauling in the next night after he took off for Boston.

* * *

Now it was dark and I was early again. As the honey man had whispered in his instructions, I obediently walked up the long tree shaded driveway toward the large attached garage. Now that it was night it was rather spooky. The trees made the drive black as black, in spite of the moon that was out, and in the background owls hooted. And things occasionally scuttled and rustled the vegetation. I hurried on with my attention to my cock slackening off in the surroundings.

Then I saw with relief that the garage was not far away, situated right at the end of the cream gravel. I saw a figure moving about, going from the house to the garage. I smiled to myself at how eager the honey man was—that he'd wanted to have me inside him again even when he was so anxious to get off to Boston. I hurried on as quietly as I could and moved in to the partly open door of the garage and saw him open the Mercedes door, lighting up the interior, and leaning into the car, doing something inside. I moved in quietly to surprise him from behind, just as he told me he liked.

I pushed him forward and stripped his cotton pants down before kicking his legs apart, at the same time using one of the tea towels I'd brought back to gag him again. He was wriggling about but unable to cry out and wake the neighborhood. I held him down with a hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades and jerked my huge throbbing cock free and slid it back and forth over his entrance, my precum wetting it, but not enough for what I had in mind. But now I was just desperate to have him and didn't care about anything else. I added some spit and worked myself into his protesting honey pot of a hole, as he kicked uselessly and tried to worm his way free.

He had no luck. I was determined. I leaned in and fucked into him, finally making my limit inside his channel, my balls touching his butt. Then he was lying half in the car and half out, me bent kneed and standing outside the door and fucking into his tight passage, deep and hard.

When I'd come I lay across the delicious honey man's back briefly, kissing his neck and shoulders while recovering my breath, as he moaned and mumbled inside his muffling gag. As I pulled back and withdrew from him and stood, he turned himself over and I found myself looking down at a stranger's face. I was too shocked to do anything as he wrapped his legs about my hips, and I felt him pulling me back toward him. I was stunned. The man was not honey man. This new man was younger and more muscular. Now I thought he was going to trap me somehow to keep me there for some reason, maybe till the police came. Maybe he was a burglar, I suddenly thought. But no, I realized he had been wearing pajamas, and I had seen him myself, moving from the house to the garage. So he had to live there. I was the burglar, not him.

And now he was smiling up at me and drawing me toward him. He took my hand and led it down to his swollen cock. As I stroked him, and discovered he was trapping me so I had long enough for my tool to reengorge, so I could fuck him again. He wrapped a hand around me and I bent over and kissed him on the eyelids and in the hollow of his neck. His other hand wrapping itself about my neck and pulling me in further, so that our half-hard cocks were stroking against each other and he moved his hand and held them like that, touching. I had my hands wrapped around his ass. Then I rose up and lifted his legs one at a time up so they rested on my shoulders and I had a good view of his puckered rim. He lifted one leg and braced himself against the interior roof of the car as his other leg continued to rest on my shoulder.

I had one finger at his entrance and worked it in as he arched and moaned. He watched me then and I had to sink another, then a third one, before he began to pant behind his gag. His dick lay down his belly hard and jumpy and he played with the slit in his cap as I played inside his passage and my other hand stroked inside his thighs and over his belly and cupped his balls. I finger fucked him until he cried out in a muffled sound, shooting off up his belly and chest, and sending gobs on to the dashboard. Then as he went limp I fed his hole my cock. He moaned and was watching me again as I fed it in and twisted and turned it as it went deeper. He moaned and whimpered and arched his back and widened his legs as I bottomed again inside him. This time I started slowly, with short fucks into the first few inches of his passage.

Our eyes were almost immediately locked and I was completely lost in the fuck.

The sudden turning on of the garage lights shocked me again. I turned around with my cock still buried up the ass of the man lying half in, and half out of the car. He seemed completely unconcerned about the sudden illumination and just kept moving his hips in rhythm with my stalled fucking.

Turning, I saw that it was the honey man himself, standing there just inside the half open garage door with his hand on the light switch. The previous day's fuck had been so fast that I hadn't memorized his look. Still these two must at least be brothers.

"Marion," he was saying, not yet focusing on the Mercedes. "Since you and Jim are back early, I'd better be . . ."

And then he stood still in his tracks, taking my mistake completely in, his jaw dropped down to his chin.

Marion, I thought. Not Marian. Marion and Jim were both men.

I heard the gasping breathing from Marion as he jerked off the tea towel gag. He hadn't stopped the rhythm of his hips, fucking himself on my tool, however.

"You . . . go on . . . to Boston, Greg," he said in a hoarse voice. "Jim and I'll take care of this . . . intruder."

I'd never been fucked before like Jim then took care of me while I continued plowing Marion and a disappoint honey man took his honey jar off to Boston. And it was several exhausting hours later that I discovered what my first mistake had been. I'd read the address wrong in the newspaper article. The wedding couple I had targeted lived in the next block.