Handy Handy Men

The next week, I found myself utterly satisfied with all in the world.

When Josh did return to work on Wednesday, he was still moving carefully.

“You were right. He’s done a number on his back,” Jarrod confirmed his opinion. “I put him on light duties.”

“It’s from carrying that package of his around.” Chris laughed from across the office. Jarrod joined in with smiles.

“What do you mean?” I asked, suspecting, but wanting confirmation.

“Boss!” mock admonished my ops manager, “You have to have seen his junk filling his shorts, sometimes it looks like he's carrying his groceries down his pants.”

Now I did smile.

“I swear he’s getting bigger!” proposed Chris, before returning to his roster board.

“He’s fucken twenty, he’s done growing,” rebuffed Jarrod. “It’s just his clothes are getting more and more fucked.”

“Doesn’t matter how careful you wash this stuff,” he gestured up and down his frame, “it shrinks as it gets old.”

It was the reason I chose this brand, I thought to myself.

Good that it had been noticed, I smiled, inwardly.

I’d been late into work for midweek, the bulk of the crew had left for their jobs.”

I had breakfasted with Dan, apparently, I now had future dinner plans.

Good to know. He’d message me when he had the dates.

*

The one thing about being surrounded by handymen, is if you required building work, they all get excited.  I'd been observing how the office functioned forever. Now we were growing, we badly needed renovations. Over the last month, as crew became available here and there, I had them build a completely new admin area.

The existing offices were at the rear of the warehouse on the left, I had the new ones constructed on the right.

On Thursday, we pulled everyone off the road, and the entire crew spent the day shifting everything into the new digs. As half the team organised the new space. The other half deconstructed the old. 

We couldn't have the business impacted, so setting up the Operations Office for a seven o'clock start tomorrow, was critical. Jarrod and Chris were as busy as ten men. Pointing here, directing there, and all the while checking the systems still functioned. 

My own new larger office wasn't so chaotic. I had two guys bring across the furniture, files and computers. Settled in by eleven, I kept out of everyone's way. They knew what they were doing. 

As far as luxury went, I had installed a small private bathroom, and a lounge area on the other side of my desk.

Josh had recovered and looked to be moving freely, I'd nodded as he arrived, but we hadn’t spoken. The guys were right, his bulge did seem more prominent. I reasoned his new ball band hung lower, more forward. 

I noted Jamie had been assigned to the knock-down team out in the warehouse. We had our catch-up booked for the last meeting tomorrow.

Demolition takes a quarter of the time, any construction does. By noon they had the walls stripped, and plumbing disconnected. They were having more fun than the set-up team. I expected they would have some of the wall down by knock off, and the space completely cleared by end of week. 

One by one the set-up crew finished, the numbers working in the warehouse climbed. The noise and activity had been transferred from inside, to outside. As I looked out of my new office window, I could see all the way to the front doors. Excellent!  

The deconstruction zone was like an ant farm, bodies going here and there. With Jarrod and Chris remaining upstairs, Alex stood in the middle, commanding the show. More than half the guys now had their shirts off. The warehouse was airy, but this time of year it still got hot. The hard labouring eye candy, was fun to watch. I firmed as I took in the amount of young male skin on display.

More than half the crew was jacked, to some degree. Carl, Alex and Josh were heavily muscled, Jamie was leaner, but well on his way. None of the crew carried any fat, I was most happy with that.

* * *

On the last day of the week, Jarrod was giving me his weekly wrap. He’d made it a ritual.

As I stood, I took in Jamie, pulling into the warehouse below. I again affirmed; my new window was totally worth it.

We had five work trucks, and mine as a spare if it was needed. Jamie had parked, and set about giving the cab a clean. If you used a truck for the day, you cleaned it.

Jarrod continued; the week had been disrupted with the office move. The backlog was going to spill into the next few work days. He had it in hand, we were done.

Ten minutes later, I looked down as my Overseer spoke with Jamie, both of them dressed in short shorts. Jarrod pointed here, there, then departed. As Jamie finished his truck, he walked to the end of the warehouse to bring down the double doors. We were closed, just the two of us remaining.

As I sat, reading through Dan's latest email, Jamie arrived, knocked and came in. He sat with casual roughness, so we were already off to an interesting start.

"You look like you’ve made some decisions about the loan."

He sat up straighter.

"Um, yeah." Was it ever in doubt?

“You want me to go through it? Compare it to a bank? I asked.

“Nah, they won’t listen,” he replied, “if you’ll give me a loan, I’m definitely taking it.”

“You understand your obligations?” I asked, “like losing your balls?" I added.

“Yeah,” he replied confidently.

“Ok,” I said leaning back, “dump your gear.” I instructed, pointing to the back corner of the room.

He froze for a second, then got to it.

Compliant, he returned to stand in front of the desk, now in white sports socks, and a silver nut padlock.

Wow, not yet a day in, and already full of surprises.

He’d obviously not returned Josh’s ball lock to the glove box in my truck.

I hadn’t noticed.

I wondered how long he’d been wearing it?

What to do now? I wondered.

"Put your boots back on," I directed, as I opened the bottom drawer.

I put the kit bag on the desktop, as he returned to stand at a loose Display.

I pulled a new ball gag from its plastic wrapper.

I'd planned to use it in Josh play, but Jamie was a good substitute. The ball wasn't oversized, but it filled his mouth, keeping his jaw spread.

I strapped it behind his head.

Then I sat, butt to desk, and took his already padlocked balls in hand. They were warm to touch, beautifully hairless in their medium size. On anyone else they’d be balls of a man. On Jamie, they were mine.

I gently added another lock to his sack, an exact copy of the one he was already equipped with. He began to be concerned. I smiled to myself.

I added a third, causing him serious worry. As I toyed with the fourth and final lock, his breathing rate had picked up. His crutch was becoming seriously crowded with metal. The last contraption was actually difficult to place.

In the end, it sat protruding forward, pushing all the locks below, to point in weird angles.

He had started whining around his gag, but nothing I could understand.

He could have intervened; his hands were free.

Instead, he kept them at his side. I thought it was a positive sign.

"Let's go for a walk." I suggested, as I stood and made for the door. I held it open as he shuffled towards me, and through. The mess of locks attached to his junk, was making movement complex. Slight squeals here and there, betrayed it must have been occasionally painful.

When we arrived at the staircase down to the warehouse floor, he just looked down with worry. Drool and spit were now surrounding his mouth, dribbling down his chin. I casually, and brightly walked down a few steps, turning to encourage him down. He looked doubtful, but he took the first step.

It wasn't obvious, but I made sure I stood within catching range, in case he stumbled. The discomfort of having his junk trussed this way and that, clear on his face. I didn’t yield, and he made every step. Three or four times on the way down, something pinched or jammed. These events generated weird utterings; all very humorous.

When we finally arrived at the base, he was drenched in sweat. We began a casual loop around the workshop, he shuffled along beside me. More drool, more sweat. As we walked, I chatted inanely about this and that, touching on things a Boy needed to be aware of. I pulled to a stop in the area the crew termed the 'metal shop'.

"You've been well behaved," I praised.

"Want me to take some of these off?" I pointed towards his junk.

He nodded wildly, yes!

As he stood wide legged, I removed the locks one by one. At two hundred grams a piece, I'd relieved his nuts of six hundred weight, before I stopped to consider next steps. 

I motioned for him to dip his head. He did, and I unbuckled his gag. As he worked his jaw, he swiped his mouth with his forearm, clearing the drool.

I waited for him to fully recentre.

"Kneel up here," I directed, "as I pressed my hand to the stainless-steel bench top."

He made his handy man mechanical assessment, sat on the lip, then rotated and raised himself kneeling.

I reached forward, removing his final lock. His balls, stretched from a week of weight, hung low. They were still lovely to look at.

I moved two foot, to the left, lining myself up with the metal vice.

I un-cranked the jaws, then placed my fingers between the flat metal plates.

"Slide your balls in here." I said, simply.

Blood drained from his face.

"Boss!" he said.

I didn’t respond. I waited.

"Oh, Boss, oh boss, what.......?"

I tapped my hand on top of the vice, refusing to say another word.

He moved unsure, eventually, straddling the vice from the rear. 

He lowered his nuts between the Jaws.

I began to crank the machine closed: he was almost shaking when I stopped.

I'd made firm skin contact on front and back sides, his balls were a little distorted, but he wasn’t in physical pain.

I pulled across the stool the tradesmen used, sitting in front of him.

He regrouped, but was breathing heavily.

I waited for him to settle, there was no rush.

“Can I talk?” I asked.

He nodded vigorously. I’m not sure he trusted himself to say anything.

“You’ve done well.” I praised, meaning it. He relaxed, a little. “Did everything you were told, even putting your junk in a vice.”

He nodded.

“Are you hurting?" I asked, he paused, then shook his head. "So, no pain?”

“No Sir, pressure, but no pain.”

“Good,” I replied. “Let’s chat.”

He nodded, beginning to breathe normally.

“I think you’re a dumb fuck.” I dived in.

“But, you’re a good-looking guy, who’s skilled with his hands, and will probably make a good tradesman. If you stick with it.” I took a breath, “but, at foundation level, you’re a dumb fuck.”

“Accurate?” I asked.

He took a moment, nodding almost in slow motion, thinking.

“Um, you think,” he started slowly, “you think, I’m good looking?” he asked, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

This guy’s left of centre focus, constantly amused me. Its what made him such fun.

I nodded. Was that really the only thing he heard?

“Yeah, I know I’m dumb.” He said matter-of-factly, “but, um, what you said. Um, on the good-looking scale, am I a seven?” he asked, “You know, just so I know like.”

My turn to pause, as I smiled inside.

“I’m sure people have told you, you’re good looking before,” I responded.

“Some,” he confessed, “But, you know, people just say that, about everyone.” He took a breath, “not like you Boss, you scare the crap out of me. So, I know you only talk the truth like.”

“I think you’re a nine,” I replied, honestly.

“A nine!” he brightened.

“Can we focus on the fact your balls are in a vice!” I said flatly, feeling this dramatic set up had lost its impact.

“Yeah, sorry Boss,” he responded casually.

“Could I have a go? You know, at saying something?”

I just nodded, thinking maybe I had no idea.

“Boss, these are your balls.” He looked down at his slightly distorted orbs, “you own them, so you get to do what you want. I get that,” he assured. I believed him, but I still had no idea what to say.

“People don’t tell it like it is, not like you do.” He continued, “can I tell you some truth? Like, my true stuff?”

I nodded, thinking ‘why stop now?’

“Um,” he began, then paused, embarrassed almost. I held eye contact, encouraging him, “Um, I sort of liked having the lock on, for the week.” He paused, “I, I, is that weird?”

“I mean, I know it’s weird to have a padlock, but, but, is it strange that I liked the idea you would be telling me what to do, you know, all the time?”

“I know I’m dumb, is that why I was thinking that stuff?”

I put my hand up. He was running the risk of yammering on for the rest of the night.

I deliberately left some time for quiet. This guy was almost impossible to rattle, I was slightly at a loss.

I decided in the silence, my only recourse was to be honest.

“I have no idea what’s weird, or not weird for you,” I started. “I suspect, that part of you thinks you might be on to a good thing here. And, selling your balls, and getting fucked, even if it’s rough-fucked, is still a good deal.”

He nodded, contemplating.

“The lock is probably a positive reminder. Almost like, oh I’m locked, Boss owns me, he’ll tell me what to do!”

“That’s what it’s like Boss, that’s what……”

I put my hand up quieting him again. I un-cranked the vice, feeling foolish.

“Maybe that’s you being lazy,” I paused, as I motioned him to free himself. “Maybe it’s you being thankful you’ve found someone to give you a hand.”

He climbed down off the bench, his face suddenly a crumpled mess.

He launched himself at me, gripped my chest in a bear hug, and sobbed his heart out.

Holy fuck! His bravado, his unfocused confidence was all front!

He was a little broken, like the rest of us.

I hugged him back lightly, he cried more.

* * *

As he recovered, slowed and finally stopped bawling, he began to release his grip on my torso.

He stepped back, and attempted to wipe his face with the crook of his elbow. I stepped across to the clean rag bin and handed him a freshly laundered cloth.

He cleaned his face, then tried to wipe the snot and tears from my shirt. I waved him off.

He stood and looked around.

“A nine?” he said suddenly, “and I might make it to be a tradesman?”

he locked eyes, to see if I’d been serious.

I nodded I had. He let out a breath.

* * *

“Grab all that and take it upstairs to my desk.” I nodded upwards.

He gathered the locks and ball gag, as I went across to confirm all the rear doors were locked.

When I arrived upstairs, I found I needed a piss.

As I stepped out of my new bathroom, he’d refitted three of the ball locks, and was examining the fourth.

“Just the one,” I directed. Appreciating his keenness, and stupidity.

“But Boss, I can…” seeing my look, he broke off mid-sentence, and began removing the metal.

We walked down stairs, me dressed, him ball locked, naked, clothes under his arm.

“I stay naked around you?” I nodded.

“When we’re alone,” I confirmed.

I gestured towards the front doors. He walked beside me, his unlaced boots clomping on the concrete.

As the door rolled down, I flagged for him to get in to the truck. His surprise showed. I had intended to drop him home all along, but he hadn’t expected it.

I assumed he planned to take the bus.

“Be at my place at ten tomorrow,” I directed, pointing to the mini card rack in the dash. “The address is on the back.”

he picked one up, and turned it over, nodding.

“You won’t be home until Sunday.” More nodding.

“Boy training?” he asked, with insight.

“Yep,”

As I pulled away from his place, I was mostly satisfied with the night’s outcomes. We’d see.