New Update coming in the next few days.... 
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2023
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- Dublin, Leinster,Ireland
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Great story. Like the slow build up. Lyle better have something up his sleeve / trousers or I’ll be disappointed.
Ben's Plumbing Adventures: The Barn Job (Night at the Farm)
Ben settled into the guest room Lyle had offered, his body tired from a long day of running water lines in the barn. The room was surprisingly decked out for a hobby farm—a massive king-sized bed with crisp linens, a private bathroom with a spacious shower, a basket of snacks on the dresser, and a mini fridge stocked with drinks. There were even plush robes hanging in the closet. Ben, sweaty from the day’s work, grabbed a robe and hit the shower, the hot water easing his sore muscles. As he dried off, his phone buzzed with a text from Lyle: Dinner and drinks in the kitchen when you’re ready. Gotta head out for a bit. Make yourself at home.Ben pulled on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt from his bag, his ginger hair still damp, and wandered down to the kitchen. The spread was impressive: a platter of smoked ribs, glistening with sauce, alongside corn on the cob, potato salad, and a freshly baked apple pie. A note sat beside it in Lyle’s scrawl: Go for it, Ben. Need to keep you strong for tomorrow. A six-pack of cold beers sat nearby. Ben’s stomach growled, and he dug in, the ribs tender and smoky, the potato salad creamy, and the pie sweet and warm. It was the best meal he’d had in weeks, a far cry from the cheap takeout he’d been living on during his TaskRabbit grind.
Stuffed and content, Ben returned to the guest room, flopping onto the massive bed. He flicked on the flatscreen TV, noticing a stack of DVDs on the nightstand. Some had sleeves with titles—mostly old sitcoms—but others were blank, bootleg-style discs with handwritten labels. Curious, he popped one into the DVD player. It was just episodes of The Simpsons, Homer’s antics filling the screen. He tried another—more Simpsons. Shrugging, he grabbed a third disc, unlabeled, figuring it might be something different.
The screen flickered, the image shaky like someone was setting up a tripod. The room in the video looked straight out of the 70s—bright orange walls, wood paneling everywhere, shag carpet underfoot. Then a man walked into frame, naked except for a full-face black mask, his body lean but muscular. Ben’s eyes widened as he noticed the man’s cock—massive, thick, and rock-hard, the biggest hard-on Ben had ever seen. The man faced the camera, his voice low and commanding. “Look at my big, hard cock,” he said, stroking it slowly. Ben’s own cock, all 5.5 inches, surged to full hardness in his shorts, a wet spot forming as precum leaked.
The man on the screen kept talking, his tone cocky. “I can make anyone I want squeal on this weapon.” Ben felt a strange rush, his heart pounding. He slid his shorts off, his cock already slick with precum, leaking everywhere. The man continued, stroking faster, boasting, “I can outperform any man.” Ben was oddly turned on, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft. He rubbed just a few times, and his cock erupted, cum shooting across his chest. Panicked, he grabbed a tissue from the nightstand, desperate not to stain the guest room sheets.
Confused and a little shaken, Ben stopped the DVD, ejecting it and shoving it back into its case. What the hell was that? An art film? Some kind of weird porn? He couldn’t tell, but the masked man’s intensity lingered in his mind. He switched to regular TV, flipping to a mindless game show to calm down, his body still buzzing from the release. The beer in his hand felt heavier now, the day’s normalcy shattered by that bizarre video. He wondered if Lyle knew what was in his DVD collection—or if this was another hint of the “special themed B&B” Lyle had mentioned.
Exhausted, Ben drifted off to sleep, the TV droning in the background. His phone sat silent, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this job, like the others in Robert’s network, might take a turn into the strange. With one day left to finish the barn’s bathroom, Ben hoped he could keep things normal—but the $300 in his pocket and the promise of more made him wonder if he was already in too deep.
Ben's Plumbing Adventures: The Barn Job (Breakfast Surprise)
Ben woke to the smoky aroma of bacon wafting through the guest room, pulling him from a restless sleep. The bizarre DVD from last night lingered in his mind, but he shook it off, eager to finish the barn’s bathroom and get out before anything else weird happened. It was early, just past 6 a.m., and he wanted to wrap up the job today. His phone buzzed with a text from Lyle: Come get some breakfast when you’re ready. Ben pulled on his work gear—cargo shorts, T-shirt, and socks—grabbing his boots to carry downstairs so he wouldn’t track dirt through Lyle’s house. His ginger hair was a mess, but he didn’t care; he just wanted to work.He padded into the kitchen, expecting to see Lyle, but froze at the sight of a woman standing by the stove. “Hi, Ben, I’m Rachel,” she said, her voice bright. She was stark naked, her body stunning—huge, bouncing breasts, a tiny waist, and a hypnotic, round ass that jiggled as she moved. Her pussy was hairless, the lips prominent and inviting, especially as she bent over in front of him to grab a pan from a low cabinet, her “pussy trap” on full display. Ben’s jaw dropped, his cock surging to life in his Jockey briefs, a wet spot forming as precum leaked. He stood speechless, his boots dangling in his hands.
Rachel noticed his stunned silence and laughed, her breasts swaying. “How do you want your eggs, Ben?”
“Um, what?” he stammered, his brain short-circuiting.
She giggled, flipping bacon in the pan. “Scrambled, maybe? Have a seat.”
Ben nodded, sinking into a chair, his hard-on throbbing painfully in his shorts. “Relax, Ben, have some coffee,” Rachel said, pouring him a mug, her movements deliberate, like she was making sure he got a full view of every curve. It felt like a live porn show, but it wasn’t—she was just completely unselfconscious, or maybe intentional, her nudity overwhelming. Ben sipped the coffee, trying to focus on anything but her body, his cock leaking steadily now.
Then he heard Lyle’s voice from the hallway, and his stomach flipped as Lyle bounded into the kitchen—also completely naked. His lean, muscular body was tanned, and Ben’s eyes involuntarily dropped to Lyle’s cock, massive and meaty, hanging low with heavy balls swinging beneath, bigger than Ben’s 5.5 inches even when hard. Rachel turned, unfazed. “Eggs, babe?” she asked Lyle, who grinned and nodded.
Lyle turned to Ben, his cock at eye level from Ben’s seated position. “Morning, Ben. You think you can get the rest done today, or need more time?” he asked, oblivious to the fact that Ben was the only one clothed in the room. Ben’s mind reeled, a sudden realization hitting him—the man in the masked DVD last night, with that massive hard-on, was Lyle. The voice, the build, the sheer size—it clicked, and Ben’s words caught in his throat.
Rachel slid a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him. “Yeah, I think I can finish today,” Ben managed, his voice shaky. Trying to lighten the moment, he forced a chuckle. “Guess I didn’t get the memo on the dining room dress code.”
Lyle and Rachel burst out laughing, her tits jiggling wildly, his cock and balls swinging as he leaned back. “Good one, Ben!” Lyle said, slapping the table. Rachel’s eyes sparkled, catching Ben’s flustered expression. Ben’s cock was throbbing so hard he worried he’d leak through his shorts, a damp patch already spreading. Desperate to escape, he shoveled down his breakfast, the eggs barely registering as he tried not to stare at Rachel’s curves or Lyle’s swinging manhood.
“Off to get started,” Ben said, grabbing his boots and bolting for the barn, his toolbox banging against his leg. His heart pounded, his shorts uncomfortably tight. The job—installing the shower and bathtub fixtures—was all that stood between him and getting out of this increasingly strange situation. But with $300 already in his pocket and more promised, plus Lyle’s cryptic “special themed B&B” and that DVD, Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that this day was about to take a turn, just like the others in Robert’s network.
The Shower Test and Lunch
Ben threw himself into the barn job, determined to finish and get out before things got weirder. He worked hard, installing the shower and bathtub fixtures in the open bathroom area—a gym-like wet room with four showerheads, fully visible from the barn’s main space, the toilet tucked discreetly out of sight. His shirt clung to his sweaty, ginger-haired, semi-muscular body as he connected the last pipes. Just before midday, Lyle appeared at the barn door, wearing soft cotton gym shorts that did little to hide the massive cock and heavy balls Ben had seen swinging at breakfast. “Wow, Ben, you look like you’re done!” Lyle said, genuinely impressed. “Wasn’t expecting that. You’re a hard worker.”Ben looked up, wiping sweat from his brow. “Yeah, another 30 minutes, and it’s all set,” he said, trying to focus on the pipes and not Lyle’s barely-contained bulge.
“Thirty minutes? Damn,” Lyle said, stepping closer to inspect the open shower area. Ben turned on the water to test the system, the four showerheads spraying steadily. Lyle grinned. “Why not test it out, Ben? Take a shower, see if the showerheads and pressure are good.” Before Ben could respond, Lyle grabbed a towel and a bar of soap from a nearby shelf, his shorts shifting to reveal more of his heavy package.
Ben hesitated, feeling self-conscious after seeing Lyle’s monster cock that morning. “Come on, Ben,” Lyle urged, tossing him the towel. “I need feedback, then we can grab lunch.”
Ben sighed, giving in. He stripped off his sweaty T-shirt, shorts, and Jockeys, his 2.5-inch soft, uncut cock and low-hanging balls exposed, his ginger pubes stark against his skin. Lyle watched unabashedly as Ben stepped into the shower, soaping up under the warm spray, the water easing his tense muscles. Then Lyle, acting like it was the most normal thing, yanked off his shorts and joined him, his massive, thick cock and heavy balls swinging as he turned on all four showerheads. The water cascaded over them, Lyle’s cock dwarfing Ben’s by at least three times, even soft. Ben felt awkward, but Lyle was casual, scrubbing himself like this was an everyday occurrence.
Just then, Rachel appeared at the barn door, still naked, her huge breasts bouncing, her hairless pussy glistening in the light. Ben’s cock shot to a rigid 5.25 inches, his foreskin still covering the head, a bead of precum forming. He had nowhere to hide, caught between Lyle’s massive manhood and Rachel’s hypnotic curves. “Hello, boys,” Rachel said, smirking. Lyle turned to face her, his cock swinging, and Ben stood frozen, his hard-on obvious.
“Ben’s enjoying the shower,” Rachel teased, her eyes locked on his erection. Lyle glanced over, noticing Ben’s hard cock, and grinned. “Nice wood, man.”
Ben flushed, mumbling, “Thanks,” unsure what else to say. Rachel giggled, looking at Lyle. “You should get wood too, babe, so Ben doesn’t feel left out.”
Lyle chuckled and started stroking his cock, which grew harder and bigger, reaching an astonishing 9.5 inches, thick and veiny, dwarfing Ben’s erection. Ben’s jaw tightened, feeling completely outclassed as the water shut off, both of them still rock-hard under the dripping showerheads.
Rachel clapped her hands. “Lunch is ready, boys. Head up to the house.” Ben reached for his clothes, but Rachel stopped him. “No need, Ben.” Lyle added, “We’ve both been dying to see you naked. There’s a healthy tip if you keep your clothes off.”
Ben’s cock twitched, still semi-hard, as he followed them to the house, naked, his heart pounding. Lunch was a spread of grilled chicken, coleslaw, and cornbread, but Ben barely tasted it, his cock fluctuating between hard and semi-hard for the entire hour under Rachel and Lyle’s casual gazes. After lunch, he was ready to bolt, grabbing his work gear and dressing quickly as he packed his van. Lyle, still naked, handed him the agreed $600 for the job, plus a $300 tip. “Great work, Ben,” he said, his massive cock still swinging.
In his van, Ben stared at the $900, his mind spinning. The job was done, but the breakfast, the shower, the video—it was all too much. His phone buzzed with a text from Lyle: Awesome job, Ben. I’ll spread the word. The cash was incredible, but Robert’s network was pulling him deeper into a world where plumbing was just the start, and Ben wasn’t sure if he could handle what came next.
Ben's cock keeps getting shorter, now it's 5.25 when episodes before was 5.5 lol
Ben's Plumbing Adventures: The Studio Job
Ben drove back from Lyle’s hobby farm, the $900 in his pocket a hefty sum but not enough to erase the surreal memory of the naked shower and lunch with Lyle and Rachel. The image of Lyle’s massive 9.5-inch cock and Rachel’s hypnotic curves lingered, mixing with the shock of that DVD. He swore he’d stick to normal TaskRabbit jobs, but the cash from these “special” gigs was hard to ignore, especially after weeks of scraping by on lowball bids and rude clients. For a couple of days, he kept his head down, avoiding his phone, but the temptation of another big payout gnawed at him.On Wednesday evening, as Ben microwaved a frozen burrito in his cramped apartment, his phone buzzed with a new text: Hey Ben, Lyle gave me your number. I’m converting an art studio, need a sink and water line installed. $300 for the job, can you do Friday? —Marcus. Ben’s stomach flipped at Lyle’s name, that thrill-and-dread feeling creeping back. An art studio sounded artsy but manageable, so he texted back: Can do Friday. Where’s the job? Marcus replied: It’s in the city, old warehouse district. I’ll cover transport if you need it. Ben quoted $100/hour, expecting pushback, but Marcus agreed instantly: Done. See you Friday, 9 a.m.
Friday morning, Ben loaded his van with tools, his ginger hair tucked under a cap, wearing his usual work shirt, cargo shorts, and boots. The warehouse district was gritty, all brick buildings and graffiti. Marcus’s studio was in a converted loft, the exterior rough but the inside a sleek mix of exposed beams and modern lighting. Ben knocked, and Marcus opened the door—a lanky guy in his early 40s with a shaved head, wearing a loose tank top and paint-splattered jeans. His arms were covered in tattoos, and his grin was easy but sharp. “Ben, good to meet you,” he said, shaking his hand. “Come in, let’s see the space.”
The studio was a work in progress: canvases stacked against walls, a potter’s wheel in one corner, and a half-built sink area where Ben’s work would go. “I’m setting this up for pottery classes,” Marcus explained, pointing to the roughed-in plumbing. “Need a deep sink for clay cleanup and a water line for it. Can you handle it?” Ben nodded, assessing the job. It looked like a solid day’s work—run a new water line, install the sink, and test for leaks.
Marcus offered him an iced tea from a mini fridge, and they sat on some crates to discuss details. “Lyle said you’re top-notch,” Marcus said, his eyes flicking over Ben with a knowing look. “Said you’re cool with… unconventional setups.” Ben’s face flushed, his cock twitching in his Jockey briefs at the memory of Lyle’s naked shower stunt. He forced a laugh, steering back to work. “Uh, yeah, I’ll get this sorted. Should be done by end of day.”
Ben set to work, running the water line through the studio’s concrete floor, his shirt sticking to his hairy chest as the space warmed up. Marcus painted nearby, humming to loud music, but Ben felt his eyes on him occasionally, making his skin prickle. By noon, the water line was in, and Ben was installing the sink, sweat dripping down his brow. Marcus wandered over, wiping paint off his hands. “Looking good, Ben,” he said, then set a stack of cash on a nearby table—$300, plus an extra $200. “This is for the job,” he said, tapping the $300. “And this,” he pointed to the $200, “is if you finish it shirtless. Gets hot in here, and Lyle said you’re not shy.”
Ben froze, his cock stirring again, the memory of Lyle and Rachel’s casual nudity flashing through his mind. Shirtless wasn’t as wild as naked, but it still felt like a step into that weird world. “Shirtless?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Yeah, just to cool off,” Marcus said, his grin widening. “You’ve got a good build, man. Show it off.” Ben hesitated, the $200 tempting him. He was already sweating through his shirt, so he peeled it off, revealing his semi-muscular, hairy chest, his ginger pubes peeking above his shorts. Marcus gave a low whistle. “Nice, man. Lyle wasn’t kidding.”
Ben worked shirtless, his cock semi-hard in his shorts as Marcus’s gaze lingered. The sink went in smoothly, and by 3 p.m., he was testing the water, the pipes holding tight. Marcus clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering a bit too long. “One last thing,” he said, pulling out his sketchpad. “Mind if I sketch you real quick? For my portfolio. In your underwear and boots, wrench in hand—real working-man vibe.” Ben’s gut twisted, remembering Claire’s photos, but Marcus added, “No camera, just pencil. And another $150 for your trouble.”
Ben’s unease battled the cash. “Just a sketch? In my underwear?” he asked, wary.
“Promise,” Marcus said, already sharpening a pencil. Ben sighed, kicking off his shorts, standing in his Jockey briefs and boots, his 2.5-inch soft cock outlined, his low-hanging balls shifting as he gripped his wrench. Marcus sketched quickly, his eyes darting between Ben and the paper, muttering about “lines and form.” When he finished, he showed Ben a detailed drawing—his torso, the curve of his shoulders, the bulge in his briefs exaggerated, the wrench adding a rugged edge. “Artistic license,” Marcus said with a wink, handing over the $650.
Ben dressed fast, his face burning, and packed his van. The $650 was huge, but the sketch and Marcus’s vibe left him uneasy. As he drove off, his phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: Great work, Ben. I’ll pass your name around. These odd gigs had made him an extra $9700, a fortune compared to his TaskRabbit scraps, but Robert’s network was pulling him deeper, and Ben wasn’t sure if he could keep dodging the weirdness much longer.
Ben's Plumbing Adventures: The Kitchen Job
Ben was still reeling from the art studio job with Marcus, the $650 burning a hole in his pocket but the memory of that sketch in his underwear leaving him uneasy. The $9700 from these odd gigs in Robert’s network was a lifeline, but each job seemed to pull him deeper into a world where plumbing was just a pretext. He tried to focus on regular TaskRabbit gigs, but the low pay and rude clients made the high-paying, weird jobs harder to resist. On Sunday evening, as he sat in his apartment eating instant noodles, his phone buzzed with a new text: Hi Ben, Marcus passed along your number. Need a kitchen sink swap and dishwasher hookup in my condo. $400 for the job, can you do tomorrow? —Vanessa. The mention of Marcus sent that familiar thrill-and-dread through him, but a kitchen job sounded straightforward. He texted back: Tomorrow works. Address? Vanessa replied with a downtown high-rise address and added, I’ll cover any parking fees. $100/hour okay? Ben, expecting a haggle, was stunned when she agreed instantly.Monday morning, Ben loaded his van, his ginger hair tucked under a cap, wearing his usual work shirt, cargo shorts, and boots. The condo was in a sleek building with a doorman who eyed Ben’s toolbox suspiciously. Vanessa buzzed him up, and when she opened the door, Ben’s breath caught. She was in her mid-30s, tall and curvy, wearing a sheer silk robe that barely hid her full breasts and shaved pussy. Her dark hair was loose, and her smile was sharp. “Ben, thanks for coming,” she said, her voice sultry. “Coffee?”
Ben nodded, his cock already twitching in his Jockey briefs as he followed her into a modern kitchen with gleaming appliances. The old sink was out, and the dishwasher sat unconnected, pipes ready. “I’m upgrading the kitchen,” Vanessa explained, leaning against the counter, her robe slipping to reveal more thigh. “Need the new sink swapped in and the dishwasher hooked up by tonight.” Ben assessed the job: no new lines needed, just swapping the sink and connecting the dishwasher, though the dishwasher hookup looked like it could be a challenge due to tight spacing.
Over coffee, Vanessa’s eyes roamed over him. “Marcus said you’re a pro,” she purred, “and open to… creative arrangements.” Ben’s face flushed, memories of Marcus’s sketch and Lyle’s shower flooding back. He chuckled nervously, steering to work. “Uh, yeah, I’ll get this done. Six hours, tops.”
Ben set to work, swapping out the sink first, his shirt sticking to his hairy chest as the condo warmed up. Vanessa hovered nearby, her robe slipping further, revealing her nipples through the fabric. By noon, the sink was in, and Ben was wrestling with the dishwasher’s drain line, the tight space making it a bit of a challenge. Sweat dripped down his brow as he maneuvered the hose. Vanessa appeared with a cold soda and a stack of cash—$400, plus an extra $300. “This is for the job,” she said, tapping the $400. “And this,” she pointed to the $300, “is if you work in your underwear. It’s hot in here, and Marcus said you’ve got a great body.”
Ben’s heart raced, his cock stirring again. “Underwear?” he asked, his voice hoarse, the memory of Claire’s pegging comment and Marcus’s sketch making him wary.
“Just to stay cool,” Vanessa said, her smile wicked. “You’re a working man, Ben. Show it off.” The $300 was tempting, and he was already sweating buckets. He sighed, peeling off his shirt and shorts, standing in his Jockey briefs and boots, his 2.5-inch soft cock outlined, his low-hanging balls shifting. Vanessa’s eyes widened, then she smirked, pointing at a wet patch on his briefs where precum had soaked through. “Looks like you’ve got a leaky tap in there, Ben,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.
Ben’s face burned, his cock twitching despite the embarrassment. He dove back under the sink, focusing on the dishwasher hookup. Vanessa leaned closer, her robe now open, her pussy fully visible. “Ever been pegged, Ben?” she asked, her voice low. “That ass looks like it could handle a good strap-on.”
Ben froze, his cock now fully hard at 5.25 inches, the wet patch growing under his briefs. He remembered Claire’s similar question. “What?” he stammered, his heart pounding.
“Pegging,” Vanessa repeated, smirking. “I love strapping on and taking charge. My ex begged for it.” She stepped closer, her robe falling open completely. “I’d pay an extra $200 to see how you’d take it.”
Ben’s mind reeled, his hard-on straining against his briefs. “Uh, no, I’m good,” he managed, diving back into the dishwasher hookup, his hands shaking. He didn’t fully grasp pegging but knew it was way out of his comfort zone. Vanessa laughed softly, not pushing further, but her eyes stayed on him.
By 4 p.m., the sink and dishwasher were fully operational, the pipes leak-free despite the tricky dishwasher connection. Vanessa clapped, handing him the $400 and $300, but held back the $200. “No pegging, no bonus,” she teased, then relented, slipping him an extra $100 for “looking good.” Ben dressed quickly, his face burning, and packed his van. The $800 was huge, but Vanessa’s proposition and the “leaky tap” comment left him rattled. As he drove off, his phone buzzed with her text: Fantastic job, Ben. I’ll spread the word. These odd gigs had made him an extra $9700, a fortune compared to his TaskRabbit scraps, but Robert’s network was pushing boundaries Ben wasn’t sure he could handle, and the pegging comments from Claire and now Vanessa hinted at a pattern he wasn’t ready to face
Ben's Plumbing Adventures: The Late-Night Sink Fix
After Vanessa’s kitchen job, Ben hit a dry spell. TaskRabbit gigs dried up, with barely any jobs coming through, and Robert’s network went silent—no texts from Marcus, Lyle, or anyone else. The $9700 from those odd gigs kept him afloat, but his bank account was shrinking fast, and the memory of Vanessa’s pegging proposition and “leaky tap” comment left him on edge. He spent weeks refreshing the TaskRabbit app, bidding low to no avail, the stress greying his ginger hair further. His apartment felt smaller, the instant noodles tasting worse each night.On a rainy Thursday evening, as Ben scrolled through his phone in his dimly lit living room, a text pinged: Hey Ben, got your number from Vanessa. Urgent leaky sink in my apartment, can you come tonight? $200 for the job. —Ethan. The mention of Vanessa sent that familiar thrill-and-dread through him, but a leaky sink sounded simple, and $200 for a quick fix was too good to pass up. He texted back: Can be there in an hour. Address? Ethan sent a location in a trendy part of town and added, $100/hour, plus a tip if you’re quick. Ben, desperate for cash, grabbed his toolbox, pulled on his work shirt, cargo shorts, and boots, and headed out into the drizzle.
The apartment was in a sleek high-rise, all glass and steel. Ethan opened the door, a fit guy in his late 20s with short black hair, wearing tight jeans and a fitted T-shirt that showed off his toned chest. “Ben, thanks for coming so late,” he said, his voice smooth, his eyes lingering a bit too long. “Sink’s in the kitchen. It’s a mess.” He led Ben to a modern kitchen where water dripped steadily from the faucet, pooling on the counter. Ben assessed it—a worn cartridge, an easy fix, maybe 45 minutes.
“Mind if I hang out while you work?” Ethan asked, leaning against the counter, his T-shirt riding up slightly. Ben nodded, trying to focus, his cock twitching in his Jockey briefs at Ethan’s intense gaze. “Vanessa said you’re the best,” Ethan added, his tone suggestive. “Said you’re… open-minded.” Ben’s face flushed, memories of Vanessa’s robe and Marcus’s sketch flooding back. He mumbled, “Uh, yeah, I’ll get this done,” and dove under the sink.
Ben swapped the cartridge, his shirt sticking to his hairy chest as the kitchen warmed. Ethan watched closely, chatting about his job as a graphic designer, his eyes never leaving Ben. By 9 p.m., the sink was fixed, no leaks. Ethan grinned, handing over $200, then pulled out an extra $300. “This is for the job,” he said, tapping the $200. “And this,” he pointed to the $300, “is if you let me give you a blow job. Just stand there, maybe close your eyes. I promise it’ll be the best blow job you’ve ever had.” He smirked, his hand brushing his own crotch, where a bulge was growing.
Ben froze, his cock going soft in his briefs from the shock of the proposition. “A blow job?” he stammered, his heart pounding. He’d never had one from a guy, and the idea threw him. The $300 was tempting, though, with his bank account so low. “I… uh, never done that,” he admitted, his voice shaky.
Ethan stepped closer, his eyes locked on Ben’s crotch. “No strings, man. You just stand there, eyes closed if you want. I’ll make it quick and good.” Ben’s mind raced, the cash outweighing his nerves. Against his better judgment, he nodded. “Okay, fine.”
Ethan knelt, unzipping Ben’s shorts and pulling them down with his Jockeys. Ben’s limp 2.5-inch cock flopped out, his low-hanging balls swaying. Ben closed his eyes, his face burning, as Ethan’s warm mouth enveloped him. The sensation was electric, Ethan’s lips and tongue working expertly, taking Ben’s cock right to the base as it swelled to its full 5.25 inches, foreskin sliding back. Ben kept his eyes shut, overwhelmed by how good it felt, his knees trembling. Ethan’s mouth was relentless, and Ben was so worked up from the day’s tension and Ethan’s skill that he climaxed hard within what felt like three minutes, pumping a thick load into Ethan’s mouth. He shuddered, gasping, as Ethan licked his cock clean, tucking it back into his briefs and zipping up his shorts.
Ben opened his eyes, his face flushed with embarrassment and confusion. Ethan stood, wiping his mouth with a grin. “Told you it’d be good. Your cock tastes and smells like a real hard-working man’s blue-collar cock, Ben.” Ben mumbled something incoherent, his mind a mess. Ethan handed over the $500, his eyes twinkling. “You liked that, didn’t you?”
Ben grabbed his tools, desperate to leave, and bolted for the elevator. In his van, he sat counting the $500 for just over an hour’s work, his heart still racing. He was a little embarrassed, a tad confused, but the cash was undeniable. His phone buzzed with Ethan’s text: Great fix, Ben. I’ll spread the word. The $9700 from these odd gigs was now $10,200, a fortune compared to his TaskRabbit scraps, but the blow job had crossed a new line. As he drove home, his cock still tingling, Ben wondered if the money was worth the escalating weirdness of Robert’s network—or if he was too deep to turn back.
Ben's Plumbing Adventures: The Hens Party
The week after Ethan’s late-night sink fix was painfully slow, with TaskRabbit gigs barely trickling in—a measly $120 for a dripping faucet and a clogged drain, both clients haggling over every cent. The $10,200 from Robert’s network was a lifeline, but Ben’s bank account was dwindling, and the memory of Ethan’s blow job left him rattled, his ginger hair greying further from the stress. He spent his days refreshing the app, hoping for anything to keep him afloat.On Saturday afternoon, as Ben lounged in his apartment, his phone rang. It was Claire—the woman with the pool pump—her voice frantic. “Ben, it’s Claire. I’m hosting a hens party for my friend’s niece, and we’ve got a plumbing emergency. Can you come now? I’ll pay $800.” The urgency and the cash grabbed him, so he agreed without asking details, assuming a blocked sink or toilet. He threw on his trades gear—work shirt, cargo shorts, tool belt, and boots—grabbed his toolbox, and sped to Claire’s mansion in the gated community.
Ben arrived, toolbox in hand, the familiar thrill-and-dread creeping in as he heard a chorus of female voices laughing inside. Claire answered the door, wearing a tight dress that hugged her curves, her sharp cheekbones flushed with excitement. “Ben, thank you for coming!” she said, pulling him inside. The foyer was filled with the buzz of a dozen women, music thumping, and wine glasses clinking. Ben, confused, set his toolbox down. “Uh, what’s the plumbing issue?” he asked, realizing he’d forgotten to clarify over the phone.
Claire laughed, her eyes glinting. “No, Ben, you’re here to fix my friends. We forgot to book a stripper for the hens party, and I thought of you.”
Ben froze, his heart pounding. “What?” he stammered, his mind racing with panic and terror.
“Strip for us, Ben,” Claire pleaded. “I feel like a bad host, and I don’t want to ruin the bride’s night. Please.”
Ben’s face burned, his cock already hard as a rock at 5.25 inches in his Jockey briefs, straining against the fabric. He was embarrassed but a little comforted that it hadn’t shrunken and hidden in fright. “Strip?” he choked out. “Like, all the way?”
Claire nodded, stepping closer. “Everything, Ben. Show off that great body. How about an extra $200 to make it $1000? No photos or videos, I promise.”
Ben’s mind screamed no, but $1000 for one night was more than he’d made all week. He swallowed hard, coddled by the cash and terrorized by the idea. “Okay,” he said, his voice shaky, “but just to my underwear.”
Claire shook her head. “Everything, Ben. The ladies have your extra $200 in $5 bills to tuck in as you entertain us.” She winked, ushering him to wait in the hallway. She returned moments later, grinning. “Ready, Ben. Bring your tools—they’ll love the rugged look.”
Ben’s stomach churned as he followed her into the living room, where a dozen women—ranging from their 20s to 50s—lounged on couches, cheering as he entered. The bride, a young woman in a tiara, clapped wildly. Claire dimmed the lights and cranked up a cheesy dance track. Ben, clutching his wrench for moral support, stood frozen, his tool belt jangling, his hard cock throbbing visibly in his briefs. “Go on, Ben!” Claire called, and the women hooted.
His hands trembling, Ben started clumsily, trying to move to the beat. He unbuttoned his work shirt, fumbling with each button, his hairy chest slowly revealed. The women cheered, tossing $5 bills that fluttered to the floor. Ben, red-faced, tried to sway his hips, but tripped slightly over his own boots, catching himself on a coffee table. The crowd laughed, loving his awkwardness, and more bills landed at his feet. He kicked off his boots, one flying into a corner, earning louder cheers. His socks came next, but he nearly fell pulling them off, his balance off-kilter.
Ben hesitated at his cargo shorts, his cock still rock-hard, a wet patch forming as precum leaked through his briefs. He unbuckled his tool belt, letting it thud to the floor, and unzipped his shorts, sliding them down clumsily, stepping out of one leg but getting tangled in the other. The women screamed with delight, tossing more $5 bills, some pointing at the obvious bulge. Now in his Jockey briefs, his 5.25-inch erection outlined, his low-hanging balls shifting, Ben tried a spin, but it was more of a stumble, his hands flailing. The crowd roared, bills piling up.
Claire shouted, “All the way, Ben!” and the women chanted, “Take it off!” Ben’s heart raced, his cock throbbing harder, precum dripping onto the hardwood. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, his hands shaking, and yanked his briefs down, nearly tripping as they caught on his ankles. His naked body was exposed—ginger pubes, semi-muscular frame, and his hard, leaking cock bobbing, foreskin partially retracted. The women screamed, clapping wildly, tossing the last of the $5 bills, some tucking them into his discarded briefs on the floor.
Ben, mortified but turned on, felt his cock pulse under their gazes, precum dripping steadily. He tried to dance, swaying awkwardly, his balls swinging, but the attention was overwhelming. The bride giggled, shouting, “Look at that leak!” as the women howled. Ben’s face burned, but he kept moving, collecting the scattered bills clumsily, bending over to reveal his slightly hairy ass, which drew more cheers.
After a few agonizing minutes, Claire cut the music, clapping. “Amazing, Ben!” The women applauded as Ben, still hard and leaking, grabbed his clothes and toolbox, clutching them to cover himself. Claire handed him the $800, plus the $200 in crumpled $5 bills the women had tossed. “You saved the party,” she said, winking. Ben mumbled a thanks, dressed in the hallway, his cock still tingling, and bolted to his van.
In the driver’s seat, he counted the $1000, his heart racing. The embarrassment was intense, but the cash for an hour of awkward stripping was unreal. His phone buzzed with Claire’s text: You’re a star, Ben. I’ll pass your name around. The $10,200 from these odd gigs was now $11,200, a fortune compared to his TaskRabbit scraps, but stripping naked for a hens party had pushed him further than ever. As he drove home, his cock still semi-hard, Ben was thinking WTF, hoping the women were all drunk enough not to really remember details, he was kinda pissed at Claire for setting him up, (He thought maybe it was his fault for not clarifying the job) but grateful for the money. Then Ben had a chuckle, at least her place wasn't cold.
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