Handy Handy Men

Later that evening, Josh and I sat after demolishing a pizza. It wasn’t usual for him to remain after pool and head job duty, but for whatever reason, the post-cum chat had extended to the point, where I felt hungry. I suggested home delivery.

I had continued with the beers; he had shifted to soda as he was driving.

“You know we’ve been working on me answering questions.” He said, during a natural conversation break.

“Yeah, we spoke of it earlier,” I responded.

“Well I was going to tell you about Jamie.”

I’d noticed that Jarrod had taken to teaming Josh and Jamie.

I wasn’t a huge fan of constant pairs, but Jarrod, and Chris knew what they were doing, I’d asked anyway.

“I’m watching it,” Jarrod had assured, “they’re a bit like Tom and Jimbo, just more.”

Tom and Jim had been on crew for years, they were strong performers.

“Have you seen them work together?” he had asked.

I confessed I hadn’t paid attention; Jamie had only been around for six weeks. I’d only noticed their pairing on the daily rosters.

“Well, its like they just know what each other is going to do, without saying a word.” He informed. “I was out at the Grant Housing job last week, with the inspector.” He explained, setting the scene. “For the entire time I was in the sun-room, I hadn’t heard boo. 

I can tell you, I was getting pretty hot under the collar, thinking they were standing around waiting for me to come back, rather than getting on with it.”

“Ok,” I replied, I understood. 

“I walked out the back ready to rip them a new one. Fuck me if they didn’t already have the paving half done.” He paused, “I felt pretty ordinary that I’d been pre-judging them.”

“I was lucky I hadn’t shot my mouth off.”

“Later, I went upstairs and watched them below. Not a fucken word, they just knew exactly what each other was going to do next.”

I shrugged.

“A good match up then.” He nodded.

“I don’t like perm teams, but while we’re this busy, I’ll take them doing a job 75% quicker, so I can get them on to something else.” I dropped it.

“Jamie?” I asked, refocusing on Josh in the moment.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. I’ve even hung out with him a few weekends here and there.”

“Anyway, during a break, he asks me how I can afford a car like mine?”

I shrugged.

“I gave him my standard answer. I was paying it off.”

“He didn’t buy it?” I asked.

“Nah, wanted to know which bank.” Josh paused. “He then says; ‘I looked for a loan last year, none would touch me. How come you’re different?”

“Ok,” I acknowledged, “but you said you had bank rejections too?”

“I did, but I haven’t gotten to the main bit yet.” He assured.

“Sorry, keep going,” I encouraged.

“So, he says, he doesn’t think we’re so different. Wants to know if I’m going to level with him, or keep talking shit!”

“I was shocked, but, I took my time, then answered.”

Josh was right, this was an interesting exchange to have with a workmate.

“Ok, I’ll bite, what did you say?” I asked.

“I made him pinky swear, then told him how it was.” He paused, “that I’d sold my body for sex, and now made payments like any other loan.”

Now it was my turn to take a breath. This boy was surprising me more and more.

“That shut him up!” Josh laughed out loud, “he knew I’d told the truth.”

“What question do you think he asked next?” he quizzed, pausing to see if I could guess.

“That’s easy,” I responded, “but, I’m not sure he’s that smart.”

“He’s not, he’s as dumb as me,” Josh assured

“So, what did he ask?” he quizzed, making sure I wasn’t bluffing the answer.

“He asked if it was guy sex, or woman sex.” I furnished.

He smiled, laughed out loud and slapped his bare thigh.

“Right on Boss, you’re the man!” he praised.

“Then the best bit.” He declared, “I told him the truth, guy sex!”

“I bet he asked if you were gay.” I predicted, which wasn’t that hard.

“Fuck Boss, you bugged my phone?” he laughed. “Anyways, I told him I was straight, and that was the end of it. Didn’t interrupt the rest of the day, and, it hasn’t changed a single thing in how we work together.”

“Thanks for telling me all this.” I acknowledged.

“You’re really growing.” I added

“Boss, this lock, and all the other stuff, is definitely going to get me out of having to live at home.” He paused, suddenly moist eyed. “Um, thanks and all.”

*

A week later, Josh and I sat in my truck as we made our way, through peak hour. It had been a busy day, for each of us. I had been buried in books, Josh had been on a mower, then a shovel. As we crawled along I23 Street, my so-called co-pilot slept a deep sleep. I let him; he was physically tired.

Ten minutes from Dempsey engineering, I woke him. I wanted him to have time to fully wake.

When he eventually shrugged off the drowsiness, he was brighter than he had been. He’d needed a kip.

“How does all this work?” he asked.

I pointed to the glove box.

He opened it.

“In that brown bag,” I directed.

He retrieved the bag and slipped a chrome ball ring from it. Thick as a finger, it was a rectangle with rounded corners. A solid loop with no breaks or joins. It was high end manufactured.

“Wow,” he expressed on first sight, “this is heaps better than the lock.”

He weighed it in his hand, shrugging when he found it was what he expected.

It was actually 30grams more than the lock, but the closest I could match.

“So, what happens?” he asked.

“Simple,” I started, “push your balls through, one after the other. Then sit in a cradle while the hydraulic press squashes the ring, just a bit.”

He nodded, unperturbed.

“You may as well start now,” I suggested as I fumbled to my right.

I retrieved a small key ring and handed it across the cab. He looked at the key, then his lock, making the connection.

He unlocked the metal, then lent back, stretching his nuts out between his wide spread thighs.

“First time free in six months,” he smiled. “You know, I think my balls are bigger. They’re definitely longer,” he laughed to himself.

I pulled to the side of the road, and motioned for him to swing around in his seat. He did.

I took his now metal free nuts in my grip, then locked eyes.

“When you push your nuts through that ring,” I said with utter directness. “You’re transferring ownership of your balls to me. You understand that?”

“Yes Sir,” he replied, as if he’d already taken that into full consideration.

“Good,” I praised, “I just wanted to be as upfront with you as I could.”

“I know,” he replied evenly. “Boss, to be honest, sometimes you make it sound like a big deal. Then when you say it, it’s just ordinary stuff. I get nervous, then find out I don’t have too.” He informed.

Ok then, I thought, not knowing how to respond.

He picked up the ring, making clear his intent.

“You might want to use some of that hand creme,” I motioned towards the tray under the dash, “I think you’re in for some pain.”

His orbs were a bit bigger than I’d calculated.

He looked again, studying the ring, then his nuts.

“Pain here? Or when I’m in the press?” he asked wisely, a crease of concern flashing across his brow.

“Nah, the jaws don’t even touch skin, they just make the oval a little smaller. Not by much.”

He nodded, mechanically understanding, and satisfied.

“In that case, it’s not going to be an issue.”

He reached for the lubrication.

As he pressed his first nut through, he produced a muffled part squeal, then a deeper groan.

Sucking in breath through his teeth, he had clearly decided to just get the next one over with.

This time the groan was longer.

He pressed back in the seat, taking deep breaths.

I didn’t engage, as he returned to center.

Not more than seven minutes later, he was mostly over it.

“Well, that wasn’t fun,” he declared, puffing his cheeks a few times.

“Done now though.” I replied. He nodded.

“Actually, if that’s the worst of it, then big fucken deal!”

He looked down at his new addition, then took some time to ‘arrange’ it.

“Looks heaps better!” he smiled to himself, then me.

“I can easily explain this to a chick.”

*

When we walked into the cavernous metal workshop, the place seemed deserted. I guess five was way past knock-off for the tradesmen crew.

“Simon?” came a voice from our left. I turned to see an overall clad man, emerging from a side office.

I put my hand out.

“That’s me,” I introduced myself.

“Hank,” replied the tradesman, taking my grip. “Dan said you’d be calling, thanks for being on time.”

“No problem, thanks for fitting us in.” He nodded.

“This your boy?” he quizzed. I confirmed with my own nod. “Son, you need to get that gear off real quick. Boys don’t wear clothes around real men, where’s your manners?” Shocked, Josh sprung to action.

“Sorry about that.” I apologized, “won’t happen again,” I added, cutting my losses. Hank just nodded.

“Leave your boots on boy. Too much shit laying around here for barefoot.” He directed, as he started towards the opposite end of the building. I followed, choosing not to engage Josh. We’d both wordlessly decided we weren’t going to fuck with this guy

“How long have you had this unit?” Hank asked, meaning Josh, his tone now lighter, more conversational.

“Six months,” I answered.

“Oh, new chums then, both of you. That explains some.”

“Have two of my own. One’s around here somewhere, I’ll show you his metal work later.”

As we arrived, at what I guessed to be the stamping press. Hank began dragging stuff this way and that. He then disappeared behind the machine, returning with what was a metal chair, of sorts.

The back was deeply reclined, with a seat probably eight inches wide at the most. He positioned it, lowering the stamping press two or three times to ensure the alignment was right. When he was satisfied, he motioned a now nervous Josh to take a seat.

When the boy sat, Hank nudged his legs as wide as he could get them.

“Hold your junk out of the way, while I fit this.” Came the instruction.

As Josh complied, Hank fitted a mini platform about three inches tall, hard up against my boy’s crutch.

“Ok, rest your balls here,” Hank directed, pointing to the flat three-inch square platform between his legs. “Good, now, you just hold your dick out of the way, don’t move. And, let me do the rest. Understand?”

“Yes Sir,” came the meek reply.

Hank set Josh’s chrome ring in the holding cradle, and lowered the press arm to rest on top.

A triple check of everything, saw the Tradesman activate the machine. It loaded, groaned for twenty seconds, then backed off. Hank checked his measurements. He sent the arm back down, this time for just five seconds.

Then he backed everything off, removed the mini platform, and motioned for Josh to stand.

“Check that.” He instructed me, nodding towards the newly compressed metal.

Josh had automatically shifted to ‘display’, as he had stepped off the chair. I was grateful. I examined his new ring and was pleased with its fit. It had enough loose play, and it wouldn’t be coming off anytime soon. I held eye contact; he gave me a slight nod to indicate all was ok. We’d suddenly found ourselves adept, at no verbal comms.

“Great job,” I praised.

“Ok,” continued Hank, “you want me to fit anything else?” He paused, “collar, cock hood, waist band?”

“Nah, I think we’re good.” I declined.

“Boy,” Hank shouted at the top of his voice, “let me show you anyway,” He offered. I shrugged. Why not?

Twenty seconds later, a young guy, possibly eighteen or nineteen, emerged almost silently from between the machines. Wearing only steel caps, he was covered in metal shop grime from head to toe. His buzz-cut hair was blonde, making his skull look like it was shaved. His thin fat-free frame had minimal hair, and he was covered in metal adornments.

As the guy stood at a rigid ‘Display’, I saw the inch and a half high steel collar, fitted around his throat. If he did much more growing, he’d need it removed, and replaced with another allowing more girth. Each arm and leg were circled with steel at the wrist, and above the ankle. Around his waist a tight band fitted like a belt, pressed against his skin, it had no slack.

“Take a proper look,” encouraged Hank, “I can fit any of this shit to your boy, even custom stuff, if you’re looking for something special.” I nodded and moved closer; I was actually curious. There was no doubt about it, he’d been fitted with high end, quality material. I realized the boy wasn’t just laboring hard at the business, his grubby state and oversized muscles demonstrated that. He was also being used as a walking catalogue for Hank’s product range, and workmanship.

I looked down and took in the guy’s junk. His balls were distended downwards, as three rings, similar to Josh’s were set between his skin tight bulged nuts, at one end, and his body at the other. Beginning at his root, a loose wire cage was fitted two thirds along the length of his medium, currently flaccid cock. I could see the skin pressed against the metal, and wondered what happened when he got hard.

“You can touch him, he’s not going anywhere,” Advised Hank. I took the invite and carefully lifted the cock before me.

The head of boy’s dick was completely encased in an elegant cap. Adorned almost as an understated dragon’s head. I couldn’t work out what kept it in place. I could see his piss slit through the opening in the end, but I was none the wiser.

“We use Body Super glue, to hold it in place,” said Hank, answering my unstated question. “It lasts four to five months. But, it only works on cut guys.” He added, as I gently released my grip.

“When we bought this Unit, he was uncut, we experimented for a few months trying different methods, nothing worked. It was easier just to have him cut, and be done fucking around.”

“Turn,” the tradesman instructed the boy, who complied immediately.

“Remove,” Hank added, before turning back to me. “The only other thing he’s equipped with, is what we call a ‘posture corrector’.

The young guy had bent one leg up onto a nearby machine, and was now working something out of his arse.

He’d taken grip, and carefully began pulling downwards. A rod of chrome came brightly in to view. Initially I estimated a diameter of an inch and a half, but I quickly realized I was wrong. The metal’s girth expanded to at least double. The guy was straining to remove it. A bulge, part way along its length emerged.

“It keeps it wedged in place,” Hank answered, my second unasked query for the day. “Again, we tried smaller, but they’d drop out, when we worked the Units hard.

The guy continued to extract the metal. I was genuinely shocked at its full length. It had to be twelve to fourteen inches!

“How does…” I started.

“He fit it in?” Hank finished for me, I nodded.

“Well, to be honest, before their morning shifts, they have to do a fair amount of internal gut rearranging.” He replied, “It can take them eight to ten minutes to get loaded.” I blinked.

“And, it means they can’t bend at the waist?” I asked.

“Nah, they have to squat.” He smiled.

“So, you want I should fit your Unit with anything extra.” Hank pressed. “If you were worried about visuals, I could do one of these,” he gestured to the chrome shaft now being held by his boy, “for $280. Your Unit is taller than this one, I think he’d need an extra two or so inches. We could test him now, I’ve got some demo stock out back.”

He nodded towards the back corner of the building.

“To be honest Hank, we’re pretty new to all this. Like Dan says, your stuff is top notch.”

“Well, you know where we are, when you do want to fit him out properly.”