Hey, y'all. It's been a while. Sorry for the next story, it's been a busy few months. But with summer in full swing, the days are hot and sweaty. So, I thought I'd start something new in honor of that. Enjoy. Lemme know down in the comments what y'all think about this one!
The sun's rays were beating down on me, hot and bloated. The palm trees swayed lazily, carried gently in the ocean winds as it flowed all around the island. For a mid May day, it really was not all that bad. Or so was my thought as I brought my ax down hard on the stump in front of me, splitting the log in two.
Why we had to start so early, building the damn foundation of the resort when even the most basic of the machinery would not be here for another three weeks, I do not know. Guess, when the pay is this good, the questions themselves render unsung in people’s minds.
My shirt stuck to me like a second skin, most probably ruined beyond much use. But hey, supplies were limited as it is, considering we are stuck in the butt crack of nowhere, with the nearest outlet of any kind being a whole boat ride away. The supply boat comes every four days with the tools and amenities we needed. (The overseers really were not all that into expenditure for pleasure - the bare minimum for this rag-tag bunch of, admittedly well paid, construction guys.) The last shipment was yesterday, and I was trying to save as much clothing as I could to potentially use after the workday. Not like there was much to worry about in the modesty department.
There were four of us here on this island in the middle of nowhere. Me, Axel, Grant, and Eduardo. All of us were chosen, in what I am assuming, on a basis of desperation. I was pretty sure people would not sign up for a gig like these without that much needed boost.
‘Ya about done?’ Case in point as Grant walked into the clearing, bare skin glistening with sweat and construction dirt. People like us knew to do with all we had. And in this case that was ourself. Our hands and bones and ability to work a graveyard shift with the body we had honed from decades of unrelenting work.
He was just in his work jeans, the denim barely hanging on for dear life. Most of his body was adorned in tattoos (much like all of us), swirling lines of ink tumbling down his neck, across his wide, beefy pecs, disappearing down below where his jeans lay low, exposing much of his pubes. His black hair, on his head and body, was matted with sweat and sawdust.
I gestured at the pile beside me. ‘Yeah, this should be enough for today. Damn woodcutter almost gave up on me halfway through. I have to requisition a new one when the next drop happens.’ He gave a nod as he came to stand beside the log pile, hands down in his pockets, making the fabric drop down lower, exposing the top of his dick. I gave a nod, ‘Piss?’
He grunted: ‘Ya.’
I dropped to my knees without a word.
Now, here’s the thing: the first night on the island, we quickly figured out the other familiarity, and potential reason for us being here. We were, all of us, open to anything -- sexually and otherwise. Man, women, non-binary, sweat, crass, piss, crack sludge -- nothing bothered us. Which was necessary to work in an environment like this and not go mad due to either the heat or the boredom.
All of us have our own likes and dislikes of course (Axel likes to put on a show, Eduardo is really into anything coming out of us, Grant is a jack of all trades, and I, as you can probably already guess, really liked a warm shower.) The conversation had been open, frank. Boundaries were set and were respected. Nothing occurred, in and out of the workplace, without a conversation about it beforehand. And that is how we were able to survive here for the month that we have already without one of us conking out. (And I guess the overseers were fully aware of that, and probably had eyes on us, since some stuff showed up in one of the supply drops that were not asked outwardly but rather discussed around the fire at night somewhere in the second week. But hey, we weren’t complaining. We were many things; ashamed of our vices were not one of them.)
Here now, Grant came closer, unbuttoning his jeans. It took a few seconds as the sweat and grime made it difficult to work with the zipper. It gave me time to better situate myself on my knees, my own cock hardening in my jeans a bit at the anticipation. I tugged open my shirt, loosening it around my shoulders, but not letting it fall to the ground. It exposed my pierced nipples and taut body, ready to receive its rewards. And I also wanted my shirt to soak a bit so the warmth would spread all throughout.
Grant finally managed to liberate his cock from its prison. He went commando so there was no extra bit of clothing to maneuver around. I looked up at him from where I kneeled. He looked at me as he gave his cock a few tugs, the uncut shaft hardening a bit at his ministrations. Soon it was at hard mast, bobbing a few inches above my head. His balls were hanging low and full, tucked into their bed of hair. I reached my hands up, gave them the gift of freedom too as I gently fondled them in my sweaty palms.
‘Rough day?’ I asked, as a few seconds went on and the stream still had not started.
‘Yeah, had the call before I came,’ he replied. ‘Kinda went as we had thought it would.’
Just as I was about to reply, his cock bobbed, hardened, the pink head poking out of the outer skin, and the first jet hit me square in my open mouth. I quickly shut it, swallowing the little that was in there, as Grant finally let go completely.
If pressed (pun intended), I would say I got into golden showers as a coping mechanism. You see, I had a rough childhood. (Okay, okay diminish the eye roll I can hear coming from a continent away. I know that for those of you who have had some sort of sexual liberation, you’d have an inkling of why this act is such a pleasure. But. I am telling a story here, and I am pretty sure half of ya already have your cock in your hand - or finger up your pussy or whatever ya got in between your legs. So, yes, I will try keeping it brief, but I don’t know. For me, personally, a bit of backstory just enlivens it a bit more, makes it more real.)
So, cliff’s notes: rough childhood. Orphan, bounced around from house to house. Was always mostly cold, hungry. Neglected. Until. This one family had 5 of us crammed into this little room with next to no ventilation. (Pretty sure they were very happy with the cashing in the cheque they got every month. Nice business idea, if I do say so myself. Just ya know, fuck them since we were actual children in need of help and love. Aside from that, prime money.) So, yeah, where was I? Right.
5 of us (all boys for some reason, though with the way the guy in the house stared lingered for just a bit too long . . . well, shame that he got burned to a crisp before that glimmer could lead to something more. (What ya looking at me for? I am inocente!)) were in this room, sharing two beds. So, yeah, it was stuffy and cold. And since it was a basement room, the cold was so bad that even the bedframe was frigid to the touch. We had one big blanket that we all huddled under, during those long winter nights. We were old enough to know about body heat, and also about the fact that we got hard because of our bodies, not because of any control we had over it. (Thanks shitty public schools for something, I guess. Not the teachers though. Whatever I am today, the most prominent of it being alive, and mostly mentally okay, is all that to Ms. Reid, and Mr. Brady. Total heroes.)
So, anyways, that worked for a while, sharing body heat, snuggling close together. Until one night, when Dustin ‘D’ Heuse had to go to the bathroom. Oh, another thing I forgot to mention, the door was barred from the outside at night, so that we could not call the police when they were sleeping. (Now if I were to have some sort of hand - not that I do - into burning that god's forsaken place to the ground with its tenants still inside, you know why.) And the cherry on top, we were not allowed to dirty the sheets or our clothes since Y’all do know detergent ain’t cheap, right? You ungrateful swine! It is up to you to maintain decorum and cleanliness. Now fuck off, my favourite show’s on.
So, yeah, we mostly did not dirty our clothes if we could help it. Or the room. None of us were eager to be introduced to Our Savior (by which I mean the [redacted]’s belt, of course).
Wherein lay the problem.
It was Abe who came up with the solution. We could not dirty the room, and the clothes had to last the rest of the week before we could swing my Ms. Muffle’s house for a cleanup. The only thing left was us.
‘Think about it,’ said Abe. We were sitting up on the bed, with me and D on the floor, and he did a tap dance to hold on to his bladder. ‘If he pisses on us, then it’ll soak through. Sure we will smell, and it’ll be a bit crusty, but hey, we can shower tomorrow and it’ll wash off. The room won’t be dirty, and more importantly nothing will give them a cause to introduce us to the fucking Saviour again.’
In the end, at least the first time, it was the stinging that lingered on long after the belt was done, that compelled us.
So, there we were, at the furthest corner from the bed, the four of us in a line, with D standing before us, cock in hand as he finally let go of the pressure.
Since Abe and I were in the direct line (it would be passed equally all amongst us so as to mitigate the discomfort, and also so that no one had to take more than they had to), it hit us first. I watched, in slow motion, as his cockhead flared, and the warm, yellow stream hit me square in between my pecs. It was for a second before it moved on to Abe and then to the next fellow, before rounding back to me.
We were all shivering a bit as we knelt to the floor on that cold wintry night, and the piss was like a warm blanket cocooning us in its wet warmth. It felt . . . safe, as D pissed all over us. The stream ran down my body, rivulets getting stuck before moving on in the creases of my abs, before it went down to our dick and legs. My cock was becoming thick, engorged with blood, as the safety and the rebellious nature of the act filled my entire being.
Looking to my right I saw Abe looking up at D, enrapture, cock standing at attention as the next stream hit it directly. So were the other two, hard as rocks. Abe then turned to look at me. And as we looked at each other, with the sweet nectar of heaven raining down from up above, the only good we’d ever get to experience, that we slowly grinned at each other.
To this day I would not forget the sensation of my first golden shower -- the desperation and terror giving way to elation and rapture of pure pleasure. The ascension we experienced at that, and the subsequent event, would forge a bond so deep and melodious, sung with unbridled brotherhood, that we’d go to the ends of the earth, burn it all down for each other.
And even to this day, 20 years later, as I look up at Grant as the golden nectar rained down all over me, forming a river of pleasure -- marking my chest, my abs, my shirt, my jeans, marking me -- he was looking right back at me.
His eyes were hooded, heavy with meaning. With pleasure. At this task of marking me. Aside from D and Abe, he was the only other guy I had let mark me in this way.
I saw this thought cross his mind, cross his cock as it hardened further, obscene in its girth as it still went on with its gift of rain. His other hand that was not holding his dick slowly caressed my face, tousling my hair a bit before it came to rest down on my neck. And as he held me, there on an uninhabited island, away from the rest of humanity, I closed my eyes. The sounds of the forest became muted, distant.
As the jet of warm piss finally inched upwards to rain down my hair, my face, I smiled.
And with Grant holding me there, I let the sunshine in.
I let go.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
