Chapter 1: The Crew Arrives
It was the middle of July, the kind of thick, sticky summer heat that made the air feel heavy and slow. Nineteen-year-old Jack Thompson was home alone in his father’s big suburban house, the long summer stretching out between high school graduation and the start of college in the fall.
Jack was small — barely five-foot-six, slim and waifish with narrow shoulders, a tiny waist, and long, smooth legs. He had a sweet, innocent face: big blue puppy-dog eyes that always looked wide and wondering, and full, soft lips that seemed permanently curved in a gentle, shy smile. His body was completely smooth and hairless, his skin pale. His ass was tiny and round and his thighs were soft and milky white. In the skimpy white athletic shorts he loved to wear, the thick, heavy outline of his massive cut cock was impossible to hide, the fat shaft and heavy balls clearly visible through the thin fabric. His pretty feet were small and curvy, toes perfectly shaped.
Despite being quiet and demure, Jack had always been very popular. People were drawn to his gentle sweetness and his eager desire to help anyone who needed it. He simply liked making others feel good.
His father, Michael, was away on a week-long business trip. Michael was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late forties with powerful arms, a thick chest, and a deep, commanding presence. Ryan, Jack’s older brother, was in the Marines and currently overseas. The house was quiet. Just Jack and the long, empty summer days.
Today, though, things were about to change.
A convoy of pickup trucks rumbled into the driveway around nine in the morning. Construction on the huge new deck out back was finally starting. The crew of eight knew exactly what they were doing — they didn’t even knock. They simply unloaded tools, lumber, and equipment and got straight to work behind the house.
Jack watched them from the big living-room window, wearing nothing but those tiny white shorts. He stood completely still, those big blue eyes wide with soft wonder as he took in the sight of the crew.
All eight men were darkly tanned, dirty, and sweaty from the July sun — mostly beastly, rough-looking working men with thick, powerful bodies. There was Marco, the tall, bearded foreman — six-three, heavily muscled, dark hair matted across his broad chest. Big Tommy, the bald giant with a massive gut and arms like tree trunks. Vince, the cocky tattooed blond with a sharp grin and a lean, athletic body. Steve, Derek, Kyle, Paul, and Luis — all of them broad, hairy, sweat-slick, and radiating raw masculine energy as they hauled heavy planks and set up sawhorses in the blazing heat.
Jack’s breath caught as the men started stripping off their shirts. Broad backs, thick arms, and hairy chests glistened under the sun. His eyes lingered on the way their worn jeans hugged powerful thighs and the obvious, heavy bulges at the front.
He couldn’t help it. He stared.
After a few minutes, Jack remembered the mail. He slipped on a pair of flip-flops and stepped outside, the tiny white shorts riding high on his smooth, creamy-white thighs as he walked down the driveway to the mailbox.
The moment he appeared, the crew noticed.
Tools clattered to the ground. Hammers stopped mid-swing. Conversations died.
Jack felt every pair of eyes on him as he bent slightly to open the mailbox, the tiny shorts pulling tight across his little round hand-sized ass and highlighting the thick outline of his massive cock. When he straightened up with the small stack of envelopes, he turned toward the crew and gave them a shy, sweet smile.
“Hi,” he said softly, voice gentle and polite. “I’m Jack. Thanks for working on the deck.”
Marco, the foreman, wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his thick forearm. His eyes were locked on the way those tiny white shorts clung to Jack’s pale thighs and the perfect round curve of his ass.
“Yeah,” Marco grunted, voice rough. “No problem.”
Jack gave them one last shy little smile, then turned and walked back toward the house, the tiny shorts barely covering anything as he moved, his shapely feet padding softly in the flip-flops.
The crew stood in stunned silence for a long moment.
One of the younger guys let out a long, slow whistle.
“Holy fuck,” another muttered under his breath.
A third chuckled darkly. “Jesus Christ…”
They slowly went back to work, but the July sun suddenly felt a lot hotter. Several of the men adjusted the growing bulges in their dirty jeans, eyes flicking repeatedly toward the house.
Inside, Jack stood at the living-room window again, watching the darkly tanned, dirty, sweaty, beastly men labor in the heat. A soft, sweet smile played on his full lips as he gently bit the lower one.
He had no idea what he was about to start.
But he couldn’t look away.
End of Chapter 1
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