This is a tinkered version of Work a Mile

Despite being on mute the phone makes a quick rattle on the conference table. No one cares, of course, and the meeting is almost over anyway. You grab and have a glance to see if it is something important, like a message from Rob where to have lunch. Instead your phone is showing the orange groin of a man in work gear. It’s a notification from that kinky dating app. Did the notification settings somehow change?

Dating is perhaps a generous term for it, and you haven’t used the app in weeks. The message is an uninspiring “hi how r u?”, but the image intrigue you. There has been too many full package dates as of late. You lust for something more visceral. You decide to go for it and responds. If nothing else it is something to keep you occupied between back to back meetings.

The guy has a decent profile picture, and isn’t immediately pushy with meeting up, even though that’s what he wants. Slowly, while zoning out project status reports that doesn’t concern you, you work out with him to meet him as soon as he has finished work at 5pm. His suggested location fit you perfectly. It’s on your way home, a few bus stops before yours.

It’s funny how despite the day dragging on slowly, once you are out of the last meeting for the day you find yourself short on time. You make a rush for the bus. Boarding, out of breathe, showing how unfit you are. You scan your ticket and take a seat. You text the guy, saying you might be a few minutes late. Hopefully you won’t screw things up.

The guy responds with a selfie, still in all of his workwear. “Ready for you” as caption. Damn he was what you want. You see his orange colours waiting at the bus stop well before you arrive. He greets you with a curt “Hi. This way.” and puts his arm over your shoulders. He smells like construction site. The sour notes of concrete and the muted notes of the least volatile diesel petrochemicals. “It’s not far” he says, but you have no idea where to.

He pretty much has control over what you are doing from now on. Slowly walking with him, wherever he feels like taking you. It excites you somehow. You walk towards a portakabin and you hear a fussing of keys. He picks one out from his pocket, unlocks and opens the door to the small room. He shoves you into the complete black of the room before turning on the light. Although the room is small, the energy-lamp is woefully under powered to light it properly. There isn’t much in terms of furniture, a desk, a chair, a small filing cabinet, but strewn all around the floor are clothes. Work gear, mostly. It smells of locker room and fiber board. Even the dim light can’t hide that no one has cleaned here for a long while. As you raise your gaze you see a mirror on the wall, facing the door. You and he are the same height, but that’s about the only similarity. He is broad, muscular, rough. You are not.

You feel a hand on your arse, and hear a grunt of appreciation. As you turn around to face him, smug grin appears on his face. He has you now, in his den.  “Let’s get this shit off you,” he sneers, disapprovingly looking at the clothes you’re wearing. Before you have time to properly react, still in a slight daze in pure lust over the guy, you feel your shirt being pulled, almost ripped away from your body. There is a slight cringe when at least one of the buttons ping off somewhere in the room, knowing the shirt would be pretty much entirely ruined.

His lips meet yours, one of his hands keeping you locked in his view, with the other feeling up your topless body. As he pulls away you look deep into his eyes. You love what he is doing to you. They way he roughly treats you, like unwrapping a pallet of building materials. Next you feel a tug as your belt is snapped loose, and your jeans pulled down low. His hands are groping your ass as he slides down also your boxers.

For a short moment you feel weightless as he lifts you up and almost drops you on the desk in the room. With his eyes he commands you to stay put. You comply with his demand, as his hands finish the task of undressing you. Your jeans are tugged away, along with your office shoes and socks. With disregard, almost disgust, he tosses it all to a corner of the room. Next you feel a blast of orange in your face, and that smell again of construction site. It’s a hi-vis sweater and a T-shirt that the previous wearer removed as one unit. You play along and slip you head and arms through the bundle. The T-shirt is damp, almost wet, and you come out the other end smelling decidedly more of construction worker than construction site. He looks at you approvingly. The fit is lose, but it is roughly your size.

He turns away, picks up a jockstrap and tosses it your way. You’ve never worn one, but decide to pick it up and put it on. It feels unfamiliar the way it holds and lift you ass, like it is almost too small. You realize you didn’t check in the dim light if it was clean or anything, but you don’t have time to reflect. A pair of orange and dark blue trousers with specks of dried mud or concrete or something are thrown your way. Straight, loose and a ton of pockets. As you pull them up you are almost surprised they can’t stand on their own, with such thick, heavy fabric. Plastic zipper, plastic button and a plastic belt with a plastic clip in front, like those back pack things. You do them all, hastily. You like the direction this is going at least, wherever the destination may be. Finally a pair of damp, thick socks. You think white, and they probably were once. Not now. Not ever. No amount of washing would turn them white again, without unraveling the fabric. With no second thoughts they are on your feet, matching the dark imprints of the previous owner. Bulky, steel capped boots comes right after. Too well worn and scruffy to be sold second hand, but sturdy and well made enough to keep together for many more years.

You never wore this kind of boot before, so you are unsure how tight to lace them. You make a few trial steps to feel them out. It’s surprising how well they fit, but also how strange the sensation is with that kind of weight on your feet. Like your legs had turned into pendulums.

He lets you walk back and forth some steps before he grabs your shoulder and turns you to face the wall. “Now let’s give you what you came ‘ere for” he says. With one arm around you waist to keep you close he begins to rub his erection against your arse. The work gear shield you from the warmth of his body, but you can feel his breath against your neck. Despite several layers of hi-vis polyester-cotton-blend dulling the sensation of his grinding, this is one of the most erotic moments of your life so far. He moves his hand to unbuckle, unbutton and unzip your trousers. They drop into a big heap around your boots. You only had them on for like, what? Four minutes? From behind, he frees your erection from the confines of the jock and puts on a condom. You have no idea what his plans are, and you don’t care, as he puts it back in the straining jock.

He pushes you down on the table you were sat on, and you can hear the sound of his trousers being unbuckled and lube being applied. As you are heating the damp clothes, the smell of male body is getting stronger, enveloping you. You get no warning when he enters you.

He fucks you. Hard.

You’ve never had anyone so deep inside you before. It’s like he is fucking all your organs. He lasts a long time. You love every moment of it.

When he comes he is holding you tight as a vice, pumping shot after shot as deep as he can. In your mind you get the vivid image of a giant cock shooting load after load of cum. Gallons of cum. You can feel a warmth in your chest, spreading out in the body as he fills you with cum.

You too erupts, filling the condom in your jock with shot after shot of cum. It feels heavy, as if it would fall of if not for the jockstrap.

You mind is swimming in cum. Literally. Beside the immediate sensations, all you can think of is a sea of cum. A big, white, warm, gloopy ocean. There is nothing to grab on to. Any attempt to hold on to any deeper thought slips from your grip. There is a dick in your ass, filling you with cum. There is a dick on your front, draining cum from you. Everything is amazing.

He pulls out and you feel something else, larger enter, and then pull in and settle in place. You realise he’s plugged you with probably the biggest plug you’ve ever taken. You can’t be sure, because your thoughts keep wandering off towards cum. An ocean of cum.

You get pulled up from the desk, and in your dazed head swimming state, you let it just happen. Any new position is as good as the last one. He pulls the condom off your cock, ties the end of it and walks off. You don’t follow him with your eyes. Instead you stare into the wall and think of cum. You tilt your head back and forth to see if the cum will slosh around. You hear the filing cabinet open and close. Why were you tilting your head again?

He returns with a marker pen, kneels down and writes on the jockstrap. You can’t tell what, and your mind is going so slow you can’t even begin to think of options. You open your mouth to see if it will drain cum from your thoughts. It doesn’t.

When he’s finished, he directs you towards the mirror by the entrance. You look up and down and see two guys in hi-vis. They look very similar, broad, muscular, rough. One of them, the shorter one, has his trousers down, showing his jock. Something is written on it. You slowly mouth the text, “Mike’s Apprentice”.

Mike’s Apprentice.

Yeah, the other guy is Mike. Your Boss.

You do what he says, ‘cause you’re dumb as cum.

He just grins at you. He knows you aren’t very smart. You know that too.