I think it’s safe to say that most women are attracted to men in uniform to one degree or another. Manly members of the armed services, firemen, policemen, even deliverymen can start our pussies purring. And for me, you can add moving men. Well, a special few, anyway. Let me explain:
Last fall, having come into some money, I decided to move out of my cramped studio into a one-bedroom garden apartment closer to the university. Since I didn’t have a lot of furniture, there was no need to hire one of those big, expensive moving companies. But I was also leery of getting involved with a small no-name outfit. A couple of my guy pals volunteered to help me move, saying we could rent a truck and do it ourselves. I toyed with that idea for a bit, finally rejecting it because I knew I’d be uneasy with my stuff, unremarkable as it was, in the hands of two guys who knew absolutely nothing about moving furniture.
It was Doris—a friend I met at graduate school—who helped solve my problem. While helping me pack some of my breakables, she told me about three guys, Bill, Ben, and Bob, graduate students also, who had their own small (one truck) moving company. “They work part-time, on weekends mostly, to make money for school,” Doris explained. “They’re really cool. Reasonable. Careful, too.” Smiling, she added, “The guys moved me a few months ago, and I was, how should I put it… very satisfied. They really know what they’re doing. Especially Ben.”
I couldn’t understand why Doris got so dreamy talking about three grad students with a moving truck, but I took the phone number she gave me and the next day called “The Busy B’s.” Of course, I got their answering machine and had to leave a message, but that night my call was returned, and I talked to Bob. I was pleasantly surprised by his professional manner, and when he gave me what I thought was a reasonable estimate, I decided to hire The Busy B’s.
On moving day, Doris was only too happy to station herself at my apartment while I oversaw the action at my new place. Later, in the evening, she would come by and help me unpack the stuff I’d need right away. Worrywart that I am, I must have called Doris a half-dozen times to ask how things were going. The final time I called she breathlessly told me that Bob and Bill were waiting in the truck while Ben “finished up” in the apartment, whatever that meant.
Anyway, I was standing at the living room window when the The Busy B’s yellow and black moving van pulled up outside. I don’t know what I was expecting—three guys in ragged, soiled undershirts and tattered jeans, maybe. What appeared before me took my breath away. Bill, Bob, and Ben seemed stamped from the same mold, each one handsome, muscled and downright appealing in soft yellow T-shirts and solid black slacks with red stripes down the sides. It was a uniform that bespoke of pride and professionalism. I also found it exceedingly sexy, as the shirts and slacks hugged the guys’ hard bodies like second skins.
Hurrying to the front door, I opened it to find Bill (his name was stitched on the front of the T-shirt) smiling. “Ready if you are,” he said, displaying perfect teeth. Still a bit flustered, I smiled back and said, stupidly, “Okay, be careful.” Bill chuckled. “We know what we’re doing.” I’ll bet you do, I thought, as I watched him return to the van where Ben and Bob had begun to unload my stuff.
For the next couple of hours, I watched my empty living room fill with boxes and the furniture I’d had in the studio. I tried concentrating on the move itself, but I was constantly distracted by the sheer sexiness of my hunky movers. It was impossible to decide if I wanted the convertible sofa by the window or in the center of the room, when all I could think about were my wet pussy and the mouth-watering bulges in the guys’ tight uniform pants.
All three were friendly, but Bill was especially nice, and so I wound up talking more to him than the others. At one point we found ourselves in my small kitchen having cold drinks and talking about colleges and career goals. Of course, what we were really doing was flirting, our eyes saying much more to each other than our mouths. By the time his little “break” was over and he rejoined his pals, I was practically shaking with desire for him. And I knew he wanted me.
When the last of my earthly possessions was safely in my new apartment, Bill suggested that Bob and Ben wait in the van while he and I took care of the paperwork. The guys departed with knowing smiles, and when we were alone Bill said, “Do you want to give me the check now or later?” For an answer, I pressed my body hard against his and, while holding his head between my hands, kissed him with all the urgency I felt at the moment. “You are so damn sexy in that uniform,” I told him when I stepped back for air.
“Maybe I should keep it on,” he joked.
I was out of my shirt, jeans, bra, and soaked panties before Bill could even get his slacks off. “You’re too slow,” I said impatiently, as I dropped to my knees in front of him. I yanked down his slacks, helped him step out of them, and then got his shoes and socks off. Next were his briefs, which I quickly pulled down. And then I was staring at one big, beautiful cock fully erect and throbbing in readiness.
With a moan of desire, I stuffed what I could of his shaft into my hungry mouth and started sucking. It tasted as good as it looked. Bill urged me on as I went after his impressive member with whorish glee, alternately licking and sucking it and his lovely balls. At one point, he placed his strong hands on my head and held it in place so he could fuck my mouth at a leisurely pace.
By the time Bill pulled me to my feet my pussy was positively dripping. He looked around the living room and then at me. “Where?” he asked. It was a good question, given the fact that the room looked more like a furniture warehouse than anything else. “The sofa bed,” I said, thinking quickly. But that wasn’t going to work because there was so much stuff in front of the sofa bed it couldn’t be pulled open. “Shit,” Bill muttered. And then he had an idea.
Quickly, he pulled the two seat cushions off the sofa bed and threw them on the floor. Moments later I was on my back with Bill crouched between my legs, his handsome face mashed against my steaming pussy, his tongue doing wondrous things on my clitoris. I squirmed on the cushions, savoring the sensations, and at the moment of truth I reached down and, clutching his head, shoved my convulsing cunt up into his face and came with a howl of pure pleasure.
His face smeared with my juices, Bill quickly got into position between my spread legs and in a single bold thrust entered me, wrenching a moan from my throat. Having him inside me was heavenly, and with my arms locked around his sturdy back and my legs hooked around his middle, I held on tight as he pounded my pussy with hard, fast thrusts. In no time I was coming again, using unladylike language to express my joy. And then Bill was letting out a growl and blasting his semen into my still-convulsing cunt.
I was exhausted, totally drained, and all I could do was lie there limply on the sofa cushions and watch Bill quickly put himself back together. “Don’t worry about the check today. We’ll send you a bill. Sorry, but I’ve got to run. See ya.” And then, blowing me a kiss, he was off, hurrying out the door. Moments later I heard the sound of the van driving away.
That night Doris came by to help me unpack. “What did you think of the guys?” she asked. “Did they do a good job?”
“I was very satisfied,” I answered with a grin.
—Name and address withheld