New Man of the House

I had owned the house for three years now, in a town by the beach that was a short train ride from the downtown where I worked, and it had always been my intention to rent out the converted apartment over the garage to a tenant as an additional income source.

The house was nice, a two-story craftsman-style home with a high-fenced backyard and stone patio centered around a in-ground pool. Both the garage apartment and the main house opened to the backyard patio, so I advertised the pool and patio in the ad, knowing it would make the rental more attractive. As I posted the ad, I felt a rush of accomplishment. At 33, I had a great job as a consultant, and with the additional income from renting the apartment would expand my options even further.

That morning I had a number of responses, but the one that caught my eye was from Jack. Jack was a retired man in his mid-60s. He responded to the ad with a short email stating his intention to look at the place that same day. I was a little surprised by how direct he was, telling me that he would be by the afternoon, but I met him that same day. We were the same height but he had broad shoulders, wide hips, and a pendulous gut. He was the kind of guy who naturally took up a lot of space. He was mostly bald but the gray and white hair he had he kept cut short, and he had a bristly five o'clock shadow around his goatee. He had deep set eyes and a big, bloom red nose. He was wearing bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian-print shirt with the four top buttons open, revealing thick tufts of swirling gray chest hair.

He had a sort of cocky, sneering demeanor. He shook my hand for overly-long time and with excessive force, clearly sizing me up.

"Jack Bilton." He said in a deep, gravely voice.

"Richard Sweeney." The look on his face was one of amused contempt, and I found myself blushing, lowering my eyes until he released my hand, then stepped aside as he brushed past me. He walked through my home unbidden, and I followed along docilely. I pointed out different amenities or described the accommodations, and he'd grunt in approval, pushing ahead, paying little attention to his potential new landlord.

When I told him what I did for work he snorted disrespectfully, and all I could do was chuckle along. I don't know why I felt so powerless to push back against his open rudeness, but something about his attitude made me feel like I just had to go along with it.

"Welp, looks good to me, Dicky. I'll move in tomorrow." I had introduced myself as Richard but he had immediately started calling me that, and I couldn't find it in myself to object.

"Tomorrow?" It was crazy, I hadn't even offered it. I had a whole plan of requesting references, a credit check, but somehow, that all felt like it had gone out the window now. He stared at me stonily.

"Yeah, did I fucking stutter kid?" He deadpanned, then roughly slapped my shoulder as he broke out into laughter. He clearly loved messing around with me, intimidating me. I just laughed along nervously.

"Oh, OK, great... thanks so much!" I don't know why I added it, but again I felt compelled to show him respect and gratitude. He sneered at me and chuckled once cruelly, then stepped out of the door without saying anything. I watch his huge form walking back to his red muscle car, and felt a strange, thrilling knot of dread in my stomach. I quickly changed into gym clothes and went for a long workout to clear my head. At the gym, I watched myself in the mirrors. I was strong, not a meathead but one of the most well built guys in there. I looked good, handsome. Respectable. I didn't look like a pushover. I couldn't' stop thinking how Jack had treated me, had seen something wimpy in me that I couldn't even see in myself.

That morning he came just as he said. Because the apartment was furnished, he didn't have a ton of stuff, just a boxes, suitcases and bags piled in his car. I let him in and he pushed past me. He dropped the box he was carrying on the floor, turned back to me, held his hand out and coughed expectantly. I was a little confused at first, then realized what he wanted.

"Oh! The key! Of course, sorry about that." I didn't understand why I was apologizing but I placed the set of keys I'd had made into his open hand. He looked at me and rolled his eyes, shaking his head, then continued to his apartment.

"Let me give you a hand with your stuff." I called out, then headed to his car to grab a few of his suitcases. When I got up to his apartment, he was already sitting down in the suite's living room, booted feet on the coffee table with the TV on and a beer in his hand. He didn't look up from the TV and just pointed to the corner.

"Put that over there." He grunted and took a sip of his beer.

"Sure thing." I answered meekly, and went back to his car. All told it only took three trips to move his items in. He didn't look up or thank me for my help whatsoever. I humbly told him to let me know if he needed anything and left him to his football game. My face was red- I didn't understand why I was humiliating myself like this but I couldn't help it.

Work took me out of town for the next two weeks, and I didn't hear from him. A check for $1,200.00 for the rent was deposited in my account. The Saturday morning of my return I was doing laundry. The washing machine was in the hallway between his apartment and the rest of the house, connecting to my kitchen with an entrance to the garage and screen door to the backyard.

"While you're at it, kid, why don't you go ahead and do a load of my shit, too?" He suggested as he passed by me transferring my clothes from the washer into the dryer. He always stood close to me when he talked, just a few inches. I could smell his armpits and his stale breathe, his smell of cigarettes. It felt like his way of telling me that I didn't deserve the personal space most men were afforded, that there was nothing I could do to keep him away.

"Oh... OK sure, Jack." I had planned to head out to the gym but I supposed it could wait. "Where's your stuff?"

"Up here." I dutifully followed him upstairs to his suite. In these two weeks, he had really made himself at home. There were beer bottles on almost every surface. Unwashed dishes and garbage as well. The apartment also reeked of both cigarettes and marijuana, even though I had advertised the suite as non-smoking.

He gestured at the dirty clothes that littered the floor of his living room, bedroom and bathroom like a bed of autumn leaves. I hesitated for a moment and looked back at his blank, expectant face. I swallowed and sighed.

"OK, I'll be right back,"I returned with a laundry bag and began gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. At first I was bending over to pick up each one, but I got an idea. It was that same urge, that same unspoken voice in my head urging me to do more for him, to humble myself further. Knowing that I shouldn't, I got down on my hands and knees to gather his dirty underwear, socks and t-shirts. Size 38 white briefs with yellowing urine or semen stains in the crotch. Reeking tube socks. I looked up at him and he was beaming with amusement.

"Aren't you just the most helpful kiddo." He crowed tauntingly. He couldn't believe what a chump I was and neither could I. I continued to crawl around on his floor gathering the laundry he had tossed carelessly all over the floor. His bedroom had a distinct smell- cigarettes and beer, but also a musky, acrid stink of sweat and his manly body odor.

With the last gigantic pair of yellowed jockeys in my laundry bag, I began to rise to my feet and he said.

"No no no, not yet kid, one more thing." He stood over and me and lifted his huge foot to my face. I was confused for a moment then understood what he wanted. I reached up and peeled the sock off of his large, hairy foot. He placed his huge heavy hand on my shoulder to balance himself. Jack's big imposing gut pushed into my forehead, and I could smell the strong odor of his groin. He then lifted his left foot, and I took that sock too. I felt ridiculous.

"Thank a bunch, Dicky." He patted my head and left me on kneeling on the floor to grab himself a beer from his mini fridge.

That set the precedent that even though it was my house, I was there to help him. From that weekend on it was apparent that he was the true man of the house and for reasons I couldn't quite understand, I willingly became his dutiful lackey and footman.

That next afternoon, I offered to clean out his apartment, and he accepted my shameful offer. He said "Sure thing kiddo, make it shine for me." I told myself that I was doing it because he clearly wasn't inclined to clean up after himself, and I needed to make sure he didn't ruin the apartment. My new tenant was a slob, and it made sense for me to not let it get too out of control. That's what I told myself as I spent three hours of my free time toiling for him. I kept telling myself that I was going to stop, that I had done the big things and that was enough, but I always realized there was something more I could do. That I wanted to do for him. I didn't understand this compulsion, but I gave into it. Jack continued to laugh and tease me throughout about "woman's work," and "it being so hard to find good help these days," when he was paying any attention at all.

In the coming weeks, when not traveling for work, I came to learn more and more about my new tenant. One bright Saturday morning, I learned that Jack liked to swim and sunbathe in the nude. He had of course never cleared this with or even mentioned it to me me- as I came to the pool I was greeted by his big, hairy ass in one of my deck chairs. I only caught a glance before turning my head out of embarrassment. He sat up form the lawn chair, showing himself to me proudly. The image of his big, white body, covered head to toe in swirling gray and white hair, stayed burned in my mind. Even with one quick glance, I know he had one of the biggest penises I'd ever seen. I debated saying something to him, but just hurried to the hallway.

That next week I got back from work while the sun was still out, and low and behold, he was parked in the same spot in all his glory. His legs were spread wide in the lawn chair, his fat flaccid cock resting on his huge, hairy gut.

"Hey there Dicky! I got some beers in the fridge, bring me one, will ya?" He called out to me from the lawn. Was this a test somehow?

"Sure thing" I croaked out, nervously. Obedient as ever, I hurried up to his suite and got one of the beers from his fridge, opened it, and brought it back to him.

"Here you are, Jack." My shaking hand gave him his beer. I struggled to keep my eyes fixed on the ground, and not his big obscene white mass. My whole body was trembling.

"Thanks pal!" I realized I had a hard-on, and so I quickly headed back into the house. Had he seen my chub? I couldn't understand what was happening to me. Why had I let this man into my house, why was I waiting on him like a servant? Why did I want to wait on him like a servant? Why did the site of his enormous, hairy old man body make me tent up?

"Jack, I was going to do some laps in the pool, would that be all right?" I know it was absurd for me to ask his permission to make use of the pool I owned, that I had installed myself for a pretty penny. But something deep in my gut drew me to humbling myself before him further and further.

"Suit yourself, Michelle Phelps." He laughed at his own crack and farted shamelessly.

After my swim, Jack drank into the evening, calling for beers from me which I faithfully retrieved, though I was still unable to steal a glance of his nakedness or chirp out more than one word. He drank through his own supply and then had me serve him my own. Mi casa es su casa. He also smoked a massive amount of weed, and each new joint he summoned me over so that I could bend down and light his joints for him. I obeyed each time, like I was his manservant, leaning into him and using his lighter for him. Each time I got a whiff of his musk of his sweat from being out in the sun all day. I truly waited on him hand and foot. The only time he got up off his fat ass was to walk a few feet over and empty his bladder into my rose bushes with a long, loud piss.

I went into town for drinks with friends and tried to take my mind off my shameful fixation with my brute of a tenant. I tried to keep up with my guys, shoot the shit, maybe even chase some tail, but I was a space-case. My mind kept returning to Jack. There was something so impressive about his imperious demeanor and his level of comfort with his fat naked body. I thought of how I worked out like a maniac but was still as modest as they come. Jack was a true man, and being in proximity to him made me feel like a wimpy, unconfident little boy by comparison.

The next morning I woke with a strange idea which made my stomach roil with an odd thrill and made my penis painfully erect. I went to the grocery store and once back, shucked off my clothes and put on the skimpy light green speedo I do laps in the pool in, then returned to the kitchen and got to work. I cooked an elaborate breakfast fit for a king. Heaping servings of scrambled eggs slow cooked with gruyere, topped with scallions and shallots, bacon, fresh fruit, I even baked scones and hand-squeezed orange juice to go with the coffee and ice water.

Hours later, when it was all finally done, he had emerged. He was out the same spot on a lawn chair in front of the pool, legs spread and obscenely large cock unfurled over his belly. Once all of the food was ready, I took a deep breath and brought it out on a teetering tray.

His face lit up, grinning broadly. I could tell he was delighted not just by the food but by what my act meant. What it meant for me to serve him like this, in my own home. Putting my body on display for him in clothes that disparaged my own manhood.

"Well this looks lovely, little Dicky! What a treat." His words were sickeningly sweet, dripping with sarcasm and contempt. He sat up in his chair and adjusted the back to be upright. He looked me up and down and snickered at my ridiculous speedo.

"Aren't you just the best little housewife, huh?" He cackled at his jibe. I stood over him at a respectful distance like a waiter as he dug into the feast. I felt all the more ridiculous in my lime green little speedo. He ate the food greedily. Demanding additional things, second helpings.

"More coffee, Dickyboy." He barked in between bites, his mouth filled with eggs, slapping my bare hip with his empty cup .

"Yes Sir." To which he chuckled brusquely. I hurried back in to the house.

"More toast, now!" As I turned to obey his order, he slapped my speedoed backside roughly, causing me to jump and yelp.

"Yes Sir!" I scrambled back to the kitchen and hastily made some more toast for him.

"Put that strawberry jelly on the toast for me, boy! With butter, too!" He ordered. I felt so ridiculous, waiting on him hand and food. My hands quivered as I applied the condiments to his toast, then put them back on the plate for him.

"More!" I added an additional heaping of butter and jelly to the toast. He roughly swiped one of the pieces right out of my hand and tossed the entire thing into his mouth. Jack then idly wiped the butter and jam from his hands onto my bare stomach, smearing the food into the light brown hair of my happy trail and abdominals. He was using me like a napkin, and he wasn't even looking at me.

"There better fucking be more bacon for me, Dickyboy." He glowered at me threateningly. I felt a wave of fear and anxiety wash over my already churning stomach.

"Yes Sir, of course!" Thank goodness there was, but I shuddered with a sickening realization that I would have jumped in my car and gone to the grocery store and bought more for him if there wasn't. When I returned he snatched one of the pieces of bacon and added it to his already full mouth. I stood beside him respectfully, eyes averted, but occasionally I couldn't help but steal glances at the outrageously large prick which coiled out from his dense white pubic bush, and his two pendulous balls like goose eggs rolling out from a hairy ball sack. I got a sickening pang of humiliation realizing that his mammoth flaccid prong was longer soft than the achingly hard boner currently tenting up my tiny speedo.

I stood there like an idiot as he continued to devour my offering. He was one of the noisiest eaters I had ever heard, grunting steadily like an animal. He had a truly bottomless appetite and nonexistent table manners, and for some reason I was impressed. For some reason I admired what anyone else would be disgusted by. Such a manly appetite, it seemed, with no womanly vanity or thought to calories. Once again he wiped bacon grease off his fingers and onto my speedo and leg, leaving a big greasy stain on the material. He didn't thank me once, but his noisy, pleased groans as he consumed the meal was all the praise I needed.

When he was finally done he let out a thunderous belch in my direction. The strong acidic smell hit me immediately as I leaned in to the table to side table to clear his empty plates. The coarse gray hair coating his entire body tickled my bare thigh. I returned to him by the pool. I started to move the serving tray, completely decimated but for some condiments melting in the sun.

"Leave it!" He barked, his white goatee glistening with butter.

"Can I get you anything else, Sir?"

"No boy, park your little ass right here." I did as he ordered, sitting at the end of the lawn chair. He flung one of his huge heavy legs into my lap.

"Time for a foot rub, Dickyboy." He widened his eyes, staring me down expectantly. His boldness made my face go red again.

"Yes Sir." I winced at the fresh humiliation I had brought upon myself. He smiled triumphantly as I placed my hands on his big hairy hoofers. This was a new low, to rub another man's feet. They were gigantic feet, and not pretty by anyone's standards. They were as wide as trucks, with graying cracks all throughout the hells and soles. The tops were coated in the same wiry gray hairy which covered his whole body, and his toenails were long and lemon yellow. I immediately got to work kneading his soles, and he groaned with almost lewd pleasure, shifting in his seat to rub his big hairy bare ass against the chair. I worked each toe individually, the balls of his feet, his heels. I labored for at least 30 minutes without stopping, the only sound his uninhibited, obscene moans and groans of sensual pleasure as I worshipfully massaged his huge feet.

Eventually I got up and got a bottle of moisturizer from my bathroom to assist with the foot massage, with his approval of course. He had me bring out the stereo for my living and tune it to a classic rock station. He had me cut his toenails, and then turned over to show his enormous hairy white ass to me so that I could continue with a back massage. He just pointed quickly at his back and I followed his command.

I worked his broad back obediently. I realized, blushing, that he had more hair on his back and shoulders than I had on my chest and stomach. While in the past I would have found a carpeted back like this objectively gross, now it made me look at him with a strange and pathetic admiration. The kind of hushed reverence for masculinity that a small boy feels for a father, a coach. I gave him a massage for what felt like an hour. I copied the technique of the women who had massaged me in the past, neck and shoulders, down the spine, down the entire posterior chain, with a lot of attention to his gigantic hairy glutes and wide thighs.

Eventually he turned over, again revealing his impressive manhood. He instructed me to massage his "front," too, so I added a generous helping of moisturizer in my hands and massaged his shoulders and then his heavy, fur-covered breasts. He moaned with lewd pleasure, and as I shifted position, standing beside him, one of his huge paws darted to the waist band of my lime green speedo and in one harsh motion, ripped the shamefully skimpy piece of clothing down to my ankles. Without a word, he had stripped me, he hadn't even opened his eyes. I stepped out of them daintily and continued to massage him, now bare ass naked, my achingly hard little boner an indictment, an admission.