[Updated and Expanded]
Ethan Stewart woke up with a hangover that felt like a truck had parked, then backed over just to make sure. The sunlight stabbing through the blinds felt cruel, spotlighting the heap of clothes he’d peeled off before he collapsed into bed. His mouth tasted like ashtray soda—which made perfect sense, since an empty Coke can sat on the floor with cigarette butts floating inside like some trashy cocktail.
His phone wouldn’t shut up. Notifications buzzed in waves—blurry, drunken selfies of his friends still celebrating what should have been his last summer before college. But it wasn’t. Not for him. One bad grade had chained him to summer school, ruining his 19th birthday and his whole fucking life.
And he knew that his classmates looked at him like a loser. But he really wasn’t. He wasn’t some slacker or burnout—he was a normal, popular senior with good grades, the kind of guy teachers usually liked.
Except Mrs. Armstrong. Fucking Mrs. Armstrong! The woman hated him from day one. His friend Joel nicknamed her “the cunt.” And she was. No doubt about it.
It didn’t matter what he did—he’d raise his hand to answer? “Wrong.” He wouldn’t raise his hand? “Why aren’t you participating, Mr. Stewart?” He’d turn in homework early? “Suspicious.” He’d ask for help? “You should’ve paid attention in class.” The bitch was a total monster. There was no way he could win.
And yeah, sure, maybe Advanced Math was hard, but not like fail-the-class hard. Every test paper covered with red ink. Every quiz tanked. Every extra credit attempt returned with a 0. By April, he knew he was in trouble, but he kept telling himself he could improve.
Then June rolled around, and boom—F. Big, ugly, permanent. Suddenly summer was fucked. No beach days and parties for him. It was going to be textbooks and four-hour blocks of math rehab with kids who actually skipped class. He wasn’t graduating with his friends, wasn’t walking the stage, wasn’t doing anything except staring at worksheets all summer because Mrs. Fucking Armstrong decided he wasn’t “up to the standard.”He wasn’t stupid. He knew he had worked as hard as he could. He was just unlucky enough to get the one teacher in the whole school who seemed to hate his guts. And he’d finally gotten a fake ID, and now it didn’t fucking matter.
And sneaking out last night only made things worse.
From the kitchen came the sound of his mother pacing—sharp footsteps, cabinet doors slamming hard enough to rattle glass. She was exhausted before the conversation even started.
She’d come home from work last night, exhausted, finding the living room empty again—no son, no note, no explanation. The same knot in her stomach: part fear, part frustration, part why won’t he just listen to me? She’d been warning him for months: “Be home by eleven,” “Text me if you’re going somewhere,” “Don’t make me worry like this.”
And these things happened before he failed Advanced Math. Before he had to go to summer school. Before he ruined his life.
She paced the kitchen, arms folded, waiting for the sound of the front door. When he finally stumbled in—smelling like pot and beer—he could hardly stand. As much as she wanted to scream in his face, she told him to go upstairs and sleep it off. This confrontation would have to wait until morning.
Sometimes she gave consequences: taking his keys, shutting off the Wi-Fi, grounding him for the weekend. Other times she was too tired to fight, too drained from juggling bills and double shifts and handling a teenager as a single mom. On those nights she just sighed and walked past him, muttering, “I can’t keep doing this,” hoping the guilt would land where the rules never did.
She’d already warned him after the last party—curfew blown, neighbors complaining—that one more screw-up would be it. This morning she was past it. He didn’t need to see her face to know it was twisted with fury and disappointment.
When she finally stormed into his room, it was like a one-woman SWAT raid. Her voice was low but sharp, slicing right through his hangover.
“You’re not leaving this house. Not today, not next week—try a year, Ethan. A year. You think I’m bluffing? Go ahead. Prove me wrong.”
He tried to laugh, to shrug it off as another empty threat. But the look in her eyes—cold, hard, like she’d already buried him six feet under and was just waiting for the dirt to settle—told him she meant every word. She stormed out, leaving him to suffer in bed.
He groaned, saying to himself, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He grabbed a sock that was right near his head to wipe the drool off his mouth and screamed, “EWWWWW!” It was covered with dried cum. He threw it in the corner where all his other cum rags were—socks, underwear, even a dish towel.
He was grateful that his mother never mentioned it—not once. She just folded his laundry the way she always had, not mentioning the condition of his sheets when she pulled them off the bed or the sticky or crusty socks from beside his dresser—the unmistakable mess that every parent of a teenage boy eventually found. She only sighed quietly, not disgusted so much as feeling a complicated mix of love, embarrassment, and the vigorous feeling that she was awfully glad she wasn’t a boy.
And he, of course, noticed. He wasn’t clueless. He’d avoid her eyes as he handed over his laundry basket, vowing to do his own wash; he hovered awkwardly as she stripped his bed, not having any idea what to say. It became an unspoken agreement between them—mother and her crazy, horny, confused son—hard, fast, too much. In its own strange way, it was a way for them to stay connected—through silence, through laundry, through the things neither of them could say.
Ethan wasn’t just “a lot” emotionally. He was “a lot” physically too—his body was changing faster than his mind could keep up. Too tall for his frame, broad shoulders just starting to take shape, muscles beginning but not fully settled. His hair never stayed the way he combed it, and his hands were too big for the rest of him, like he was growing in uneven spurts. But every now and then he’d look up and smile without thinking, and in those moments, it was easy to see the man he was going to become. He did sort of feel like a grown up. Not totally. But he certainly wasn’t a boy anymore.
And to top it off—even though he’d never told anyone or acted on it—he kind of knew that he was gay. He really had no doubt. It wasn’t some lightning-bolt moment, but more gradual, little pieces of understanding slipped into place each time he stared way too long at Coach Standish standing on the field in his tight shorts or noticed how he tingled and got hard as a rock thinking of Mr. Barnes, his favorite social studies teacher.
He thought some of his classmates might have figured it out.
The idea of being gay didn’t make him sick or angry or even ashamed. It just… complicated things. What did mortify him, though, was the size of his equipment. He was one of those short guys with a great deal to share. Not long—well, long enough—but thick. Wide. Hefty. Seeming larger on his short frame. That’s the reason the locker room was uncomfortable. People stared. Whispered. It was only in that way that he felt a little freakish.
He was a virgin, but he loved pornography. He had a lot of it. He knew his mother had found it. She never mentioned it. Part of their unspoken agreement.
The other thing he was sure of was that he wasn’t really attracted to boys his own age. He was only attracted to older men—his physics teacher, the volleyball coach, the security guard who greeted him each morning. It was his fantasy to have an older man be his first. Not even necessarily because he needed something romantic. He just wanted someone hot…and really…masculine. It was the only word he could think of. Flirty, dirty, and intense.
Since he was finally out of high school, he was looking for someone he could explore this part of himself with—get the whole virginity thing out of the way. His wildest fantasy, that he’d barely shared with himself, much less anyone else, was that he’d love to be shared by two men. But he’d put that image out of his head because he knew there was no way for that to happen to a 19-year-old like him.
Ethan groaned, sinking deeper into his mattress, trying to fall back asleep.
By noon his mother was in full dictator mode. She forced him out of bed, firing little jabs as she crossed the kitchen: “Maybe if you’d spent more time on schoolwork instead of being an idiot, you’d be packing for college right now.”
And then she twisted the knife: “Someone from Pieper Pipes is coming this afternoon. The toilet in the master bathroom is leaking again, and you’ll be here to let him in. Since you’ve got nowhere better to be, you can sit tight and wait.” The prison sentence had started. His whole summer stolen, capped with his very first “job”: babysitting a fucking plumber.
Around one o’clock she grabbed her purse and declared she had errands to run. Ethan knew what that really meant: escape—getting away before she committed a felony. She gave him one last hard look, a silent dare—Screw this up and see what happens—before she slammed the door behind her.
That left Ethan alone in the house with his pounding head, the stale smell of last night still hanging in the air, and the sacred responsibility of waiting for some fat, hairy, butt-crack plumber to come fix the “royal throne.” The irony wasn’t lost on him. Freedom? Not a chance. Just him, a leaky toilet, and the longest afternoon of his life.
Ethan knew his mother always called Pieper Pipes when she needed a plumber. It had been in business for more than forty years, long enough that half the county could remember calling Ray Pieper himself to fix a burst pipe or a stubborn clog. Ray built the business from nothing—one truck, one set of tools, and a reputation for being the guy who showed up when he said he would and didn’t leave until the job was done. A lifelong bachelor, Ray Pieper was more than 65—dependable, professional, but very much had a “fat, hairy, butt-crack.”
A plumber showed up about ten minutes later, knocking on the door with a steady, unhurried rhythm. When Ethan opened it, his breath caught. This was no paunchy old geezer with a toolbox. Where was Ray Pieper? This was… something else entirely.
The man standing there filled the doorway was nothing short of a god.
His coveralls hugged a body that looked built out of lumber and iron—broad chest, thick shoulders, arms roped with muscle that flexed even when still. His thighs pressed against the fabric, heavy and powerful, giving him a kind of grounded presence that made Ethan feel lighter just standing in front of him.
Then Ethan noticed the rest of him. The man was probably mid-thirties, maybe closer to forty, but the years had only made him better. His red hair was cut short, steel-gray threading the temples, and his skin bore the light bronze of long days in the sun, but with a ginger’s complexion.
He wasn’t movie-star pretty—nothing polished or fragile about him—but he had that rugged, dependable kind of sex appeal, like the Maytag Man or the paper towel guy come to life. This new man working for Mr. Pieper certainly made plumbing look good.
Ethan froze, staring.The plumber gave an easy, knowing smile and stuck out his hand. His palm was broad, work hardened. “Hey, little dude. I’m Pete, the plumber.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked from the man’s face to his chest, then back again. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Pete chuckled softly. The sound rumbled low in his chest, and it jolted Ethan back into the moment.
“Oh. Uh—yeah. Sure.” Ethan stammered, finally reaching out. Pete’s grip closed around his hand—firm, warm, steady. For an instant Ethan couldn’t let go.
Pete tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “So… can I maybe come in? Your mom said you got a busted toilet.”“Right, right. Of course.” Ethan stepped aside hurriedly, still buzzing from the handshake, watching as Pete hefted a toolbox the size of a small cooler into the entryway. A heavy leather toolbelt was already slung low around his waist, the steel glint of wrenches and hammers hanging from it. Ethan’s fingers absently brushed against one of the tools, tracing the handle like it was part of the man himself.
The silence stretched, thick and awkward, until Pete broke it with another grin. “And the bathroom? I’ll need to know where that is.”
Ethan startled, back into the moment, said, “Oh—yeah. This way.”
He turned quickly, leading Pete down the hallway. He heard the steady weight of the plumber’s boots behind him, the metallic clink of the toolbelt with every step.
They passed through his mother’s bedroom on the way to the master bath. Pete glanced at the massive bed dominating the room and let out a low whistle.
With a quick wink, he said, “I always like a big spot for action, you know what I’m saying?”
Ethan nearly tripped over his own feet. The man was impossible—casual, confident, radiating that kind of everyman sexiness that didn’t need hair gel or face cleansser. And Ethan, still flushed, realized he was devouring every second of it and blocking the doorway to the bathroom, oblivious.
“Mind if I squeeze past?” Pete asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. As he stepped closer, Ethan tried to move aside—too quickly. His heel snagged on the edge of Pete’s tool box, and he pitched forward with a startled gasp, colliding with Pete.
Instinctively, Pete’s hands caught his arms, steadying him. Ethan’s face burned. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—” he stammered.
But Pete didn’t brush him off. Instead, he offered a crooked grin, holding him a beat longer than necessary.
“Guess I should’ve warned you I was coming through,” he teased, his eyes lingering—warm, amused, and steady on Ethan’s—casually patting the boy on his ass as he let him go.
Ethan, his heart racing to maximum speed, casually walked out of the bathroom and said, “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I sure will,” said the handsome plumber, winking.
Once out of sight, Ethan ran through the bedroom and down the hallway at top speed, realizing he had about three minutes to transform himself from “post-hangover loser” into “effortless hottie.”
This was his chance to lose his virginity just the way he wanted. Maybe not two. But this one seemed even better than anything he could have imagined or jerked off to.
He bolted through his bedroom door, running straight to the bathroom. The world’s fastest shower commenced: shampoo, rinse, conditioner-for-five-seconds, rinse, done. He nearly slipped climbing out, hopping on one foot while trying to towel-dry his hair and brush his teeth at the same time.
He found his skimpiest, most threadbare pair of running shorts in the back of his closet and put them on. When he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t really see any real detail of his cock and balls, but the outline in the thin, worn fabric couldn’t be missed.
He tugged the waistband up in back, the lining having been ripped out years back, making sure it conformed to his butt crack. He decided no shirt would be best. Ethan then ran back down the hall, slowing to casual as he got near his mother’s bedroom.
As he walked the last few steps, he could hear metal tools clinking against tile, Pete humming low to himself as he worked. Ethan swallowed his nerves and walked back to the bathroom, trying to project casual confidence while his heart sprinted in his chest.
Ethan stepped into the doorway—and stopped.
Pete had pulled the top of his coveralls down to his waist. He was shirtless now, sweat glinting, three buttons open on the sides, gaping. Thick hair spread across his pecs and ran down his stomach in a dense trail disappearing into the waistband of his boxers.
“Hey, Pete, you haven’t seen a T-shirt on the floor in there, have you?” Ethan asked, making sure to show off his bubble butt when bending over to look under the bed.
Pete looked up from underneath the vanity, smiled wickedly, eyed the boy’s basket in his tiny shorts, and said, “Don’t bother on my account, little dude. It’s just us guys here.”
“Oh, OK,” Ethan said. “If you’re sure you really don’t mind?”
Pete was crouched by the toilet again, sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing as he tightened something with an adjustable wrench. Ethan leaned against the doorframe, trying for casual.
Pete chuckled, setting it down and wiping his hands on his coveralls. “Well, you cleaned up nice. But you don’t need to impress me. I’m just here for the pipes.” He let the words hang, tone dipping suggestively, before adding, “Though I don’t mind a little company while I work.”
Ethan felt the floor tilt under him. He forced himself to saunter in, perching on the counter nearby. “Guess I’ll just sit here, then. Supervise. Make sure you… handle everything properly.”
Pete shot him a look, amused, like he knew exactly what game Ethan was trying to play—and didn’t mind at all.
Pete crouched low beside the toilet, one knee braced on the tile as he leaned in to work at the base. The motion pulled the fabric of his coveralls tight across his hips as he reached forward with the wrench. He did show crack. Not fat but yes, hairy.
“Looks like a bad seal,” Pete muttered, looking over his shoulder at Ethan with a grin. His voice was casual, but there was a gravelly undertone that made Ethan’s stomach flutter.
Ethan nodded quickly, his huge erection nearly coming out of the leg of his shorts, though he hadn’t really heard the words. His eyes were fixed on the top of the plumber’s ass as Pete pulled a basin wrench from his belt and tested its grip.
“You can hang out if you want, little dude. I work better with an audience,” Pete said after a moment, glancing up at him with a smirk.
Caught red-handed, Ethan flushed and laughed too loudly. “Sorry. I just… wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”
Pete arched a brow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t worry. I always come prepared.” He rocked the wrench slowly, testing the seal, the muscles in his arm flaring with the effort. “But if you want to hang around, I won’t stop you.”
Ethan swallowed hard, leaning against the counter, failing at relaxed. His pulse, though—fast, thumping, made Ethan realize that watching this man fix a toilet was somehow the most magnetic thing he’d ever seen.
Glancing over his shoulder, catching Ethan staring again, the corner of Pete’s mouth tugged into a grin. “You’re real quiet back there. Watching me work?”
Ethan felt heat rise up his neck. “I… just making sure you, um, don’t need anything.”
Pete chuckled low in his chest. “Yeah, you said that. I usually don’t,” he said, voice teasing. “But sometimes it’s nice to have someone keeping an eye on me.”
Ethan shifted where he stood, fingers gripping the bathroom counter. He couldn’t look away—every motion Pete made seemed electric. Swallowing hard and nodding, he saw Peter smirk and bend down again. He thought he might be going deliberately slow, giving a full view of his ass, toying with him.
“So,” Pete said casually, voice muffled as he worked, “your folks usually leave you all alone in this big house?”
The question landed like a spark. Ethan stammered something halfway coherent, but Pete only chuckled again, the sound low and intimate, as if he enjoyed watching him squirm.
Pete rolled over and popped his head out from under the sink, looked over at Ethan, grinning, and said, “I’ve got my hands full here, little dude, and I’ve got a terrible itch on my belly. You think you could scratch it for me?”
Ethan froze, believing he’d misheard. Pete put his head back under the sink,but stayed on his back, saying, “Right in the middle.”
Ethan nervously slid both hands into his chest hair, lightly scratching all over his chest and stomach.
“Ah, you can do better than that. It really itches.”
Ethan used both hands harder to really get all over his chest, pecs and abs, even going as low as the top of his thick pubic hair, underneath the tied sleeves at his waist.
“Feels so good, but just a little bit lower.”
Ethan moved his hands down deeply into the plumber’s coveralls, scratching and rubbing in his thick bush and underneath his ball sack. Hefting the plumber’s heavy nuts, Ethan weighed and lovingly squeezing each one.
“Now just a little higher,” growled Pete. “And this, little dude, is all yours.”
Ethan slid his hand up the plumber’s hard, warm shaft, stroking up to his skin-covered knob.
Pushing his coveralls down to his feet and kicking them out of the way. He lay back completely naked, his massive cock sticking straight up. Ethan pumped him with both hands.
Pete moved his hand into the tent Ethan’s stiff rod was making.
“Right here?” Pete asked, grabbing the boy’s hard length. Ethan squealed.
Pete’s face was close to Ethan’s ass, so he pulled up one of the boy’s legs and rubbed his nose in the crack, squeezing the cock harder, jacking it faster, pressing his tongue against his ass, eating him.
“Oh, God!” the boy cried, the intensity building inside him. Trying hard to control himself, he couldn’t help it. He shot his cream into his thin briefs.
“Quick on the draw, are you, little dude?”
“Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I tried…
“No worries, my man. All good,” said Pete, pulling Ethan into his lap, wrapping his arms around him as Ethan leaned against his chest.
“Looks like somebody’s made a little mess,” said the plumber, wiping his sticky cum-soaked hand on Ethan’s shorts. The thin fabric of his briefs almost transparent, one of Pete’s large meaty hands reached over and whipped them down his legs and away
Sliding off Pete’s ass, Ethan swooped down on the plumber’s crotch and took his whole cock to the base, coughing and choking.
“It’s not going anywhere, baby. Take it slow. It’ll be here as long as you want to taste it.”
Ethan relaxed, pulling a little bit off the shaft, grabbed some air and then went to work sucking and licking with, not skill, but gusto.
“Whoa, little man,” laughed Pete as he pulled off of Ethan’s mouth. “I gotta take a break or I’m gonna cum. You wouldn’t want me to waste a load, would you?”
“No, sir,” Ethan sighed, sitting on the floor, leaning against the vanity.
He could see how the man’s red chest hair turned darker as it ran in a river over his belly down toward his thick cock and balls.
Pete pulled himself back under the sink and started working on the drain again to distract himself from everything that was Ethan all around him, both still completely naked.
Ethan caught his breath, wiping the drool dripping out of the sides of his mouth, taking in the back, the ass, the muscular legs, the magnificent cock on the body of his fantasy come true. Every time, Pete made a move inside the vanity, tightening and securing pipes, his ass would tense delectably. His hard cock bobbing.
Pushing himself up, Ethan crawled down and stuck his nose into the plumber’s pink, tight hole, inhaling as he tasted and licked.
“Yeah, little dude. That’s not helping me stay distracted at all,” Pete said over his shoulder to Ethan, laughing.
As Ethan feasted, he heard Pete inside the vanity making a phone call.
“Hey, Carlo…Yeah, bro. I could use another set of hands over here…Where are you?... I’m still over at the Williamsons’, working on that sink. You’re only five minutes away…Oh yeah, this kid is having the time of his life. The more the merrier…No, no, his ma won’t be back until late afternoon…Just come in the back door. I have a feeling Ethan might like two at a time…Sure, sure, out, bro.
Holy shit, thought Ethan. Two! How could this get any better?!
Mr. Pieper had patiently taught Pete how to replace a cracked pipe without flooding a basement and how to treat every customer like they mattered. Pete absorbed the lessons first, Carlo just two years behind him. The two were close. Always had been.
The pair also shared something else—a particular kind of attraction. It was something unspoken between them but understood. And they shared everything.
Pete pulled his head out from under the sink, his large cock shooting toward the ceiling, grabbing Ethan and pulling him into an embrace. It went deeper as Ethan opened his mouth to receive Pete’s tongue and they practically devoured each other.
“That’s it, baby! Let Daddy have that mouth.”
Bringing the younger man onto his chest, his hands explored all of Ethan’s naked body, ending up by cupping his ass cheeks.
“Hey, baby, I need you to share some of your fine ass with my buddy, Carlo. You don’t mind, do you? Having two?”
“Oh, no, sir. Whatever you want.”“Well, then let’s get you ready.”
Spreading Ethan’s ass cheeks, Pete went to work with his tongue. Lapping and tasting the younger man’s pucker. He bit down on each cheek, one at a time, and then used his hands to spread the boy wider, eating from beneath his balls to above his hole.
Spitting into the cleft of his ass to get the area as wet as possible, Pete slid a finger into Ethan’s mouth, forcing him to suck on it deeply. The boy took it down his throat, sucking for all he was worth, getting it as wet as he could.
Pete then added one finger, rubbing around the hole, as he continued to taste and slurp the lips of Ethan’s pussy. Slurping around the finger at the entrance of his chute, he pushed the finger in slowly to the knuckle, continuing to lick and spit as it disappeared in Ethan’s hole. Pulling it back and forth, covering it each time with more saliva.
Keeping that finger in his hole, Pete reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of lube, squeezing on his other hand, then on the finger that was pushing into and out of Ethan’s hole.
He added another finger, spreading lube as deeply into the boy’s hole as he could reach, then added a third.
The back door opened with a soft thud.
Pete glanced up from the floor and grinned.
“There he is,” he said. “Took you long enough.”
Ethan turned toward the hallway—and stopped.
“Little Dude. Carlo,” Pete introduced his buddy. “Carlo. Little Dude.”
The other plumber looked like Pete’s younger cousin—cut from the same mold, just cast in a different color. He looked a couple of years younger—early thirties, maybe—but just as solidly built.
Where Pete’s hair was thick and red, bright copper under the light, Carlo’s was thick and jet black, each cropped short like working men. A trimmed beard framed Carlo’s broad grin, skin tanned and golden, where Pete’s was lighter with a scatter of freckles across his nose and shoulders.
And just like Pete, his coveralls stretched tight across a chest and shoulders just as powerful, the fabric hugging arms roped with muscle and dusted covered with dark hair.
He wasn’t polished or pretty either, but there was a rough, unmistakable magnetism to him.
“Holy Shit. Look at the two of you. Thanks for letting me crash your party, little dude,” said Carlo. “And for sharing that fine ass with me.”
Ethan just stared at the new plumber, moaning.“Dude, I got him all ready for you,” said Pete, still working his hole. “Lubed and waiting. Now get naked.”
“You’re the man,” said Carlo, starting to take off his shirt.
The shirt was gone in less than a second, revealing his meaty chest and biceps, covered with dark, black hair. More than Pete’s but not so much as to seem gorilla like. Muscles, sweat and testosterone. Solid. Feet far apart, almost posed. Hairy toes even. His big grin betraying how aware he was of being seen, making it impossible to look away.
For a second, he just stood there and neither spoke.
Then he untied the sleeves tied around the waist of his coveralls, turned around, lowering the zipper as low as it would go. Carlo always went commando. What appeared was nothing short of perfect. Two globes. Covered with hair. Muscled, tensing. He leaned over so Ethan could see the dark hair that covered his pucker. He stepped out of his coveralls and stood their completely naked. Ethan kind of lost his breath.
He slowly turned to face Ethan, sharing a growing thick, long cock with a huge head that glistened with precum. He shook it at Ethan, as it grew even more engorged, lifting up his ball sack and making it swing.
“Like what you see, baby. My fucking dick is growing big and tall just for you, little dude.”
Picking up Ethan from the floor like he weighed nothing, he pulled the kid up and into doggy-style. Rubbing and squeezing, with one finger teasing his hole. Carlo moved behind him, sinking four fingers into Ethan’s ass without ceremony, scissoring them.
“Oh, God,” moaned Ethan. “Fuck!”
“Goddamn, Petey, this little dude is on fire. And so fucking tight!”
Carlo grabbed the lube from the floor, adding more as he kept working Ethan’s hole, keeping him moaning. Carlo could see, though, the slight grimace on his face and hear Ethan’s discomfort, slowing his pace.
“Little dude, I get the feeling you haven’t gotten fucked before? Is that right? Be honest.”
“Uh, not really. I mean not officially, I guess.”
Still working his hole, but more slowly and gently, Carlo asked, “You sure about this?”
“Oh, God. Yes. You have to. I want you to. Please.”
“Well, since you’re begging and all, sweet butt boy, I guess we gotta.”
“Carlo and I are pros,” laughed Pete. “We’ll treat you right. Make you feel so good.”
They high-fived over Ethan’s back.
Carlo kissed Ethan’s ass, each cheek and then his hole, gently, adding only one finger at a time and slowly working them deeper and deeper, stretching and spreading the chute, lubing as he worked, taking his time so Ethan was ready for his assault.
“Buddy, help me here,” asked Carlos and Pete put a hand on each cheek and opened up Ethan’s ass. Lining up his erection, Pete watched as Ethan’s ass began to split, letting Carlos’ cock inside, the head disappearing—sucked inside.
He sank deeper slowly, stopping so Ethan could get used to it, until his low-hanging sack bottomed out between the kid’s spread legs.
“That’s it! Open up for me, baby! My cock was made for your tight, wet pussy.”
Pete moved to Ethan’s front, picked up his face, kissed it. He began to press his cock and balls into Ethan’s face, spreading his precum and making him take deep breaths of his sweat and scent.
He then pressed his cock into Ethan’s mouth. The kid, lightheaded from the rear assault, focused on sucking and licking Pete’s head, working it and splitting the slit as wide as he could with this tongue.
“Gnaw on Daddy’s nob, you sweet little cock whore. Mother in heaven, eat it!
Even filled with cock, Ethan hissed and groaned, while the sheer size of Carlo’s member, stretched him more and more open, a feeling of such fullness taking over. There was just a little pain, but the rest was pleasure mixed with fullness, and quickly the pain faded leaving only an extraordinary feeling of being claimed by these two men. Ethan couldn’t believe the way it made him feel.
His fingers clawed Pete’s back, pulling him into his mouth more deeply. With one plumber’s cock in his mouth and another in his ass, Ethan loved his first spit roast. His cock was so hard it ached.
“Work on my balls for a bit, baby. You’re going to make me cum if you keep sucking that head like a vacuum,” Pete said with a big laugh.
All of Ethan’s concentration was now on taking the large, swinging balls into his mouth and pushing back as hard as he could into Carlo’s driving thrusts.
“That’s the way, give your sweet ass to me, baby. Work it for your second Daddy!”
Carlo started pumping slow and then faster, his hips swinging back and forth, then snapping forward with renewed force.
Completely at the mercy of the man behind him, he took Pete’s cock back into his throat, working to take him nearly to the base.
Suddenly Ethan screamed, “Oh, God! Oh, fuck! Yeah, right there!”
His body shook and then he gasped, as what felt like an electrical charge went through him. His balls pulled up and his dick jerked, painting the floor in quick, helpless spurts. He had never touched his cock.
“Fuck yourself on it, baby! Let me get that ass! Daddy’s little whore! I’m gonna fuck you til white pumps out on the floor!”
The kid’s ass clamped down fiercely around the second plumber’s cock as he came and shot a load deep inside Ethan’s tight ass.
“Give it all to me, Daddy. Yes! Yes!” Ethan whispered.
Giving one long, wet suck, Ethan took Pete’s cock deeply into his throat.
“Oh, God!” shouted Pete. “Chew the skin off the fucker!”
His cock flexed and he felt one heavy jolt after another fill Ethan’s mouth as the kid swallowed as fast as he could.
As Carlo was filling Ethan’s ass, pubes to hole, Pete was flooding his mouth, face to pubes. He pulled out and fisted his slick cock, stroking the last ropes onto Ethan’s face.
Breathing hard, Carlo thrust one last time, burying himself deep, as if to push every last drop of his seed deeper.
The three of them, quietly panting, Pete gave Ethan a passionate kiss and Carlo rubbing and lovingly soothing the kid’s ass, he leaned over and kissed Ethan’s back, pulling out his softening cock, the river of cum leaking to the mess already made on the floor. Ethan fell backward, letting go of Pete’s big dick, lying flat on his back to catch his breath. He crawled over, taking Pete’s softening cock in his hand, wrapped his lips around the head, and drew out the last drops, sucking it like a strawGiving Pete a hand up off the floor, Carlos gave him a deep kiss. Ethan just lay there, letting the bliss take over. His face was covered with Pete’s seed and his ass leaking Carlo’s.
The two plumbers dressed slowly
“Baby, your mouth and ass are magic!” praised Pete and he turned and barked at Carlo, “Thank the boy, fucker!”
“Oh yeah, bro, your cunt is so tight. Thanks for sharing it,” said Carlo.
Pete gave him a dark glare.
“Little Dude, you got yourself some skills. You’re a natural. No one would have known it was your first time,” said Carlo, zipping up his coverall.
They gathered up their tools and got ready to leave. On the way out, Pete leaned down to the floor and gave Ethan a deep kiss.
“Hey,” he whispered in Ethan’s ear. “I’ll give you a call next week and see if you wanna go meet Mr. Pieper with us.”
“Fuck, he’s gonna love you. Such a cock hound,” added Carlo, leaning down to give Ethan a peck on the cheek.
His eyes lit up and he gushed, “Sure, guys, that sounds like fun. Thanks for the expert plumbing.”
Pete winked, “And no extra charge for the added service.”
He and Carlo walked out the door.
Ethan lay there for a moment, his heart still pounding, while his body buzzed with a heat that was new.
Just an hour ago he had been someone else. There was no way that what happened was going to get put back into any bottle.
What shocked him wasn’t what he’d experienced. It was how right it had felt.
Ethan was certain he had stepped into a new version of his life today. And he was going to greatly enjoy exploring it with his two hot plumbers, the future feeling larger, his summer no so long and no so horrible.
“Well, Mom,” he thought. “I’ll babysit the plumbers anytime. And I’ll make sure I meet Mr Pieper before curfew.”
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