The Posh Boy (Patreon)

All characters are 18+

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I lived an extremely sheltered childhood, which was solely down to my mom and dad's over the top parenting. I don't particularly blame them, considering we lived in a sketchy part of the city where drugs were rampant, and the possibility of being stabbed to death was quite high.

Unfortunately for me however, this also meant that by the time I blossomed into adulthood, I was completely naïve to all things sexual.

I had a few friends from school who had already done the deed, and so my knowledge of sex came entirely from their exaggerated stories. It was around this time too, that I realised that I became more aroused picturing them than I did picturing the girls they had fucked.

I was a decent looking lad, and in the right setting I would have had no problem finding somebody to fulfil my teenage urges, but I attended and all boys school, and my folks had always kept an eye on me outside of school.

We were pretty poor, so college wasn't an option for me when high school ended. My hunt for employment began almost immediately, and much to my surprise, it took only a few days before I landed my first paying job.

It wasn't glamorous by any means, and earned me some teasing from my friends, but it put money in my pocket, and that's all I was interested in.

The family I worked for were quite well known over on the more affluent side of town. I believe the father sold luxury private jets, which afforded them a lifestyle that I could never have imagined. The woman looked more like a melted Barbie doll than an actual human, and spoke in an annoyingly high pitched voice that made me shudder.

My father wasn't impressed with my new line of work. He believed that the Di'Piero's hired poor, impoverished teenagers for the sole reason of humiliating them by giving them the nasty jobs that they didn't want to do themselves.

He wasn't exactly wrong either. I was essentially their slave, given that I worked from seven in the morning until six in the evening, and did whatever was asked of me. I walked their three rodent dogs three times a day, I cleaned whatever room or rooms they told me to, I washed dishes, took out trash, did their laundry, cleaned their windows, mowed their ridiculously large lawn, tended their garden, cleaned their pool and even scrubbed all seven of their bathrooms. It was tough work, but it gave me a taste of money which was the reason I was there.

Oliver was their only son, and a bigger douchebag I had never known. He was a year older than I was, and just by looking at him you could tell that he'd had a very comfortable life so far. He was quite tall, and paraded around his million dollar home as though he were part of a royal family. Oliver was a handsome guy, and an avid swimmer by all accounts. He kind of had that look of an Australian, with messy blonde hair and golden skin. He was enrolled in college, though he didn't actually go, and so for most of the day it would be just him and I in the house.

I wasn't too bothered by the fact, considering the place was big enough that we could have gone a year without bumping into each other, but the nineteen-year-old was an only child, and apparently easily bored.

"Did you clean the pool?" He asked me one morning, standing in the doorway to the kitchen wearing only a pair of loose shorts.

I don't think it was a secret that I didn't like the guy. He was a dick, and he knew he was. My job was difficult enough with his mother's endless list of chores, and his father's reluctance to part with a single cent before inspecting each fucking inch of the house. I didn't exactly need him to add to the workload.

"It's nine in the morning" I said back, holding his breakfast plate in one hand and a sponge in the other.

"I want to go for a swim" he scoffed, as though I should have known this and acted upon it before his Royal Highness got out of bed.

"I cleaned it on Monday" I told him, and for the first time, found myself becoming fascinated by his tanned physique.

"And today is Thursday" he replied, speaking slow and clear in case my poor, dull brain couldn't comprehend the days of the week.

Arguing with the handsome, yet irritating young man was pointless. It wasn't like his parents were going to come home and side with me, and I certainly couldn't afford to lose my job over it, so whatever he asked, I did, and an hour later I watched from the kitchen as Oliver glided through the freshly cleaned pool.

"What's your name again?" He asked when I when I went outside to give him a towel.

"Justin" I reminded him, for the sixth time in the two weeks I'd been working there.

"I have some laundry in my bedroom, Justin" he remarked, doing a backstroke, "can you take care of it?"

I clenched my jaw, and my fists, but it was better to keep my mouth shut, and so I did and found his bedroom amongst many other rooms upstairs.

I hadn't been inside his bedroom yet, because he spent most of his time there but it was no surprise to find that it was around the same size as the entire downstairs of my house. A huge king sized bed sat against the wall, with a giant tele on the wall opposite. A large desk, plenty of closets, his own personal bathroom, a balcony and even a sofa.

I think I spent my time in a perpetual state of jealousy when I worked there, but one thing made it worth while.

I found a bundle of clothing on the ground next to his mammoth bed and reached down for them before pausing abruptly. My first reaction was disgust, followed quickly by anger, and then suddenly something inside me changed and I stared down at the underwear with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

A pair of black designer briefs sat atop the pile, which in itself was no issue. I had plenty of male siblings, so handling dirty underwear wasn't exactly a big deal. What was a big deal however, was the fact that the underwear was soaked in an extremely large load of sperm.

It was fresh too, and pooled in the centre. There was no way that the act wasn't deliberate, it would have been impossible for me not to have noticed the puddle of cum, which meant one of two things.

Either Oliver was that sadistic and cruel, that he felt that it was acceptable to have me clean even that, or he wanted me to see his load. Whatever it was, I was now frozen in place, staring at it and much to my horror and surprise, found myself becoming increasingly aroused by it.

Yes, he was a cunt, but he was an extremely hot cunt, and my recent discovery that I perhaps wasn't as heterosexual as my friends, was beginning to make sense.

From his bedroom window, he had a view of the pool and so carefully I tip toed over and peered down. He was still there, his lithe swimmers body tearing through the water, perhaps oblivious to what was going on up here, or perhaps not.

I rushed back over to the mess he'd left me, and carefully lifted up the briefs. Part of me was disgusted with myself for even considering this, but I was becoming harder by the second, and my horny teenage brain had kicked into overdrive.

I brought them to my face, holding them under my nose and inhaling the strong, musky scent deep into my nostrils. It was a warm stench, which further proved that the load was fresh. I don't know how to describe it exactly, but I think any man reading this will know the unmistakable smell of cum. My cock stretched in my cheap, second hand tighty-whities.

My intention had been to take a sniff and bring the whole pile down to the laundry, but his scent had driven me crazy, and now I wondered when I'd ever get an opportunity like this again. I didn't think about it, I knew that if I did, I'd talk myself out of it and realise how much of a sick little pervert I was. I dipped my finger into the lukewarm mess and stuck it between my lips.

I felt his viscous sperm against my tongue, and my cock began to leak furiously into my underwear. It was delicious, with a strong taste of salt, yet there was something almost sweet about it too. I stole another glance down to the pool, and did it again.

Five minutes later and my index finger had become wrinkled with moisture, and yet the majority of Oliver's load remained pooled in the briefs. He had gotten out of the water now, and lay on a sun lounger with a pair of sunglasses on that likely cost more than my house.

His wet body glistened beneath the hot sun, and I simply couldn't contain myself any more. I slid down my shorts, grasped my drooling, six inch cock in one hand and plunged my face into his wet, cum soaked briefs with the other.

It felt like heaven, and as I took his cool load into my mouth, tasting and smelling him, I began to squirt almost instantly.

I kept his cum on my tongue as I erupted across his window. Thick, leaking streaks of my seed slid down the glass, leaving stains in their wake as the most powerful orgasm I had ever had, rushed through every inch of my eighteen-year-old body.

It was mind blowing, and left me shaking all over, and during the spectacular frenzy, I gulped down the treat that Oliver had so kindly left for me and fell back onto his soft, comfortable bed.

My body felt like I had just run a marathon, and my brain raced with thoughts of the handsome, muscular swimmer. Had it been a purposeful act? And if so, why? Did he want to humiliate me, just like my father had said? Or was it something else, something dirty, something sexual?