The Warehouse
Sean barely spoke on the drive.
The truck smelled like dust, dried sweat, and the leftover scent of sex from the park. I sat in the passenger seat with my shorts sticking to my thighs, his cum still slowly leaking out of me every time we hit a bump. My hole felt open and used. My throat was raw. The sky outside was already turning that deep orange-purple of late evening.
He pulled into an industrial lot on the edge of the city and parked in front of a long metal warehouse. Several work trucks and vans were already there. Light spilled out from the open bay door, along with the sound of male voices and low laughter. I could smell sawdust and metal even from inside the truck.
Sean killed the engine and sat there for a moment, both hands on the wheel.
“Last chance,” he said without looking at me. “You get out now and walk home, or you come inside and take whatever they give you. Once that door closes behind us, you’re not leaving until every single one of them is finished.”
I stared straight ahead. My hands were damp.
He waited a few more seconds, then gave a short, humorless breath through his nose and opened his door.
“Get out.”
I followed him.
The inside of the warehouse was bigger than it looked from the outside. Stacks of lumber, drywall, and tool crates lined the walls under harsh fluorescent lights. The air was warm and thick with the smell of men who had been working all day — sweat, dust, cheap deodorant, and beer. Six of them were standing around a couple of workbenches. Most had already stripped down to tank tops or were completely shirtless. Tool belts hung from chairs. A few open beers sat on a stack of plywood.
Sean’s childhood friend — the tall, bearded, heavily tattooed one from the gloryhole — was leaning against a pile of two-by-fours with a can in his hand. He looked up first. His eyes moved from Sean to me and stayed there.
Conversation died.
Sean put a heavy hand on the back of my neck and walked me into the center of the group like he was presenting something he had bought.
“This is the one I told you about,” he said, voice calm and carrying. “The gloryhole slut who’s been swallowing every load I give him for the last few days. Turns out it’s my little brother.”
There was a beat of shocked silence, then a couple of low laughs and a long whistle.
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not,” Sean said. “David. My own blood. And he came here willingly. So here’s how this works tonight. He sucks every single one of you. Properly. No half-assing. When everyone’s had a turn and is ready to finish, we cover his face. No one leaves until he’s dripping. Clear?”
A few of the men were already adjusting themselves. One of them — shorter, stocky, with a thick neck and a heavy gut — grinned and rubbed the front of his jeans.
“Fuck yeah. Let’s see what the little brother can do.”
Sean shoved me down to my knees on the concrete.
“Circle up. Cocks out.”
They moved in around me. Six hard or half-hard cocks and my brother’s. The air suddenly smelled stronger — sweat, skin, and the sharp scent of men who had been thinking about this since Sean first mentioned it. I looked up at them from my knees and felt my own cock twitch hard inside my shorts.
The bearded one stepped forward first. The same thick, veiny cock I already knew. He stroked it once, then tapped the heavy head against my lips.
“Open up, little bro. Show them why your brother keeps coming back.”
I opened my mouth. He pushed in deep on the first thrust, the flared head forcing its way into my throat. I gagged hard around him, spit immediately running down my chin, but he only groaned and started fucking my face with short, powerful strokes. His heavy balls slapped against my chin each time he facefucks me.
“Still just as fucking good,” he muttered. “Take it. All the way.”
He used me for a full minute, holding my head in place whenever I tried to pull back for air, before finally stepping aside with his cock shiny and dripping with my spit.
The next one moved in immediately — younger, maybe mid-twenties, lean and cut, with a long, slightly curved cock. He grabbed both sides of my head and shoved himself in until my nose was pressed against his stomach. I choked violently. He laughed and kept me locked there, hips giving small, mean thrusts while I struggled.
“Fuck, his throat is tight. Look at him tear up.”
When he finally pulled out, strings of thick spit dripped. He wiped the head across my cheek and stepped back so the next man could take his place.
This one was older, heavyset, with a thick gut and a even thicker cock that stretched my jaw painfully wide. He didn’t say much. He just fed himself into my mouth and started using it with slow, deep strokes, one hand resting heavily on top of my head like he was steadying a tool. Every time he pushed all the way in I gagged and more spit poured down my chin onto the concrete.
“Good little cocksucker,” he rumbled. “Sean wasn’t lying.”
They kept going around the circle.
A tall, quiet one with almost no body hair and a long, elegant cock who fucked my throat in near silence, only breathing harder when I took him deep. Another from Sean’s crew — dark-haired, solidly built, still wearing his work boots — who kept calling me “little brother” in a mocking voice while he facefucked me, clearly getting off on the fact that I was Sean’s actual blood. He held me down longer than most and only pulled out when I was coughing and gasping.
Sean stood just outside the circle the entire time, arms crossed, watching with that same cold, satisfied expression. Every so often he would give an order.
“Deeper. I already fucked him in the park, so he’s all yours for now.”
“Don’t let him breathe so much.”
“Make him take all of it.”
My jaw was on fire. My throat felt scraped raw. Spit and precum covered the lower half of my face and had dripped in long strings onto my chest and the floor between my knees. Every new cock that pushed into my mouth tasted slightly different — salt, sweat, skin, the leftover heat of a long workday.
After everyone had used my throat at least once, some of them twice, Sean finally stepped forward and pushed two of the men aside.
“Enough warm-up,” he said. “Time to finish him.”
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back so I was looking straight up at the circle of men standing over me. Their cocks were all fully hard now, glistening with my spit, some of them already dripping clear fluid from the tips.
“Open your mouth. Tongue out. Eyes open. You don’t close them until every last one of us is done.”
I did as I was told. Mouth open. Tongue flat and waiting. Eyes up.
The first man stepped in close and started stroking fast. A thick, heavy rope of cum hit my right cheek and the bridge of my nose. The second followed almost immediately, painting the other side of my face in long pulses. Sean’s bearded friend came third — he aimed carefully and most of his load landed across my eyes.
“I guess I made you blind, little faggot.”
The bitter taste flooded my mouth. I swallowed what I could. The rest ran down my chin.
They kept coming.
One after another.
Hot, thick spurts landing across my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, my open mouth. Some of it got in my hair. Some ran down my neck in warm trails and dripped onto my chest. The smell became overwhelming — sharp, heavy, pure male. I kept my mouth open and my tongue out exactly like Sean had ordered, letting them use my face as a target while more and more cum coated my skin.
The older heavyset one came with a low grunt and aimed low, covering my tongue and chin. The quiet tall one finished almost silently, adding another layer across my cheeks. The dark-haired one from the crew stroked himself fast while looking me dead in the eyes and came across my forehead and into my hair, laughing under his breath.
“You have a hair mask now, pussy boy.”
Sean was last.
He stepped in so close that the head of his cock almost touched my tongue. He stroked himself slowly at first, looking down at the absolute mess the others had already made of my face, then faster. When he came it was thick and heavy — long pulses that landed over everything else, mixing with the other loads until my entire face felt coated and dripping. Some of it hit my open mouth. I swallowed it.
For several long seconds the only sounds in the warehouse were heavy breathing and the soft, wet drip of cum falling from my chin onto the concrete between my knees.
Sean released my hair. I stayed kneeling, face completely covered, tongue still out, the mixed taste of seven men thick in my mouth. Cum clung to my lashes and made it hard to keep my eyes open. It ran down my neck in sticky trails.
Sean looked around at his crew, then back down at me. His expression was pure ownership.
“Good enough for now,” he said. “Somebody get him a rag. Wipe his eyes so he can see. He’s riding home with me. Next time he’s gonna give you his pussy and you can bring friends.”
One of the men tossed a dirty towel with paint stains at my knees. I wiped just enough to clear my vision. The rest of the cum I left where it was — drying on my cheeks, my lips, my forehead, in my hair.
Sean grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. My legs were unsteady. More of his earlier load leaked out of my hole and ran down my thigh as he walked me out of the warehouse toward the truck. Behind us I could hear the men laughing and talking, already replaying what they had just done.
Sean opened the passenger door and shoved me inside.
He climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out of the lot without another word.
I sat there with my face still covered in the mixed cum of his entire guys.
Sean had decided what I was, a filthy cumdump cocksucker.
And he was only getting started.
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