Pinewood Builders Ch. 08

Chapter 8

The whine of machinery gradually fell silent as word spread across the construction site. "Boss is here," someone shouted, so we quickly gathered out front to see him.

Bob stood by his gleaming black pickup, waving us over with a big toothy smile. At fifty-something, he still cut an impressive figure in his tight jeans and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off his bulky forearms. I stood next to Justin, the new carpenter. He had close cropped dark hair, was lean but strong, with elaborate tattoos covering his arms and travelling up his neck.

"Gather 'round, lads," Everyone had been killing themselves for weeks now working overtime to keep the client happy. Even though my back ached and my hands were sore, it was easily the best job I'd ever had.

"I've just come from the client meeting," Bob announced, "And I gotta say, they're impressed as hell with what we've accomplished here. You guys have busted your asses, and I notice that kind of dedication," he continued. "So here's what's happening. Tomorrow's a paid day off for everyone." Someone whooped and thumped me happily on the back.

"And," Bob raised his voice over the celebration. "Tonight, drinks are on me at the Red Lion. I've reserved the back room. I'll see you there around 8!"

Everyone cheered and started dispersing, Wells was on me instantly, his arm draped across my shoulders.

"Right. I'll pop home to shower and get a change of clothes, then come straight to yours. Sound good?"

I nodded, laughing. "Sounds like it'll have to be. But yeah, you need a shower." I teased, getting a whiff of his pits.

"Oh please, it didn't bother you on Tuesday," he whispered. "When we fucked straight after work."

I rolled my eyes. "That was in the moment."

The rest of the day blurred by in a haze. By the time I got home I was desperate to put my feet up, but I knew Wells wouldn't be long. I'd barely pulled on a clean T-shirt and run a towel through my wet hair when the front door swung open. Wells strolled in without so much as a knock. "Smells decent in here," he remarked, dropping a duffel bag by the door. "You light a candle or something?"

"That's all me," I joked. As I grabbed my phone to order in some food before heading off.

The evening air was cool as we strolled towards the Red Lion. He walked half a step ahead, turning every so often to throw me a grin that bordered on mischievous.

"So, Oscar, what's the plan tonight?" he teased, letting his voice dip ever so slightly. "Gonna charm the lot of them rugged builders and let them have a go on your hole?"

Smirking, I shot back, "Thought you'd be more interested in charming them yourself. You love a cock up there."

"Still too tight," Wells laughed playfully, sidling closer. "I can just about take your little prick."

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. "True. About you being tight. Not me having a little dick."

He chuckled, leaning in just enough for his arm to brush mine. "You're perfectly average, don't be insecure about your little dick."

As we turned the corner, we nearly collided with John and Mark.

"Evening, lads," John greeted, stepping forward with a grin. "Who's got a little dick?" he asked, pulling me into a rough hug, clapping me firmly on the back. "Surely not you, Oscar?"

Mark followed suit, his handshake turning into a quick, friendly pat on my shoulder. "Wells making you feel like less of a man?" He asked.

"Don't give him too much credit," I laughed. "I'm perfectly content with my manhood. Although I am questioning our friendship."

"Oi!" Wells interjected, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you. Admit it, Oscar."

I smiled and leaned into him slightly as the pub came into view.

We waved hello to the usual bar staff as we cut across the pub to the back room. It was warm and inviting, its exposed brick walls glowing in the soft light of old-fashioned lighting. There were two large booths and a dance floor scattered with smaller tables and chairs.

Pete, Bob, Justin and a few of the other guys were already there, their laughter echoing off the low ceiling as we walked in. They greeted us with a mix of handshakes, shoulder claps, and grins. Bob pulled me into a bear hug that lifted me off my feet for a moment.

"Good to see you, lad!" he boomed, releasing me with a hearty slap on the back.

I slid into the large booth alongside Wells, leaning back into the worn fabric, while the others found their spots around the room. The chatter began to fill the air, snippets of jokes, stories from the site, and good-natured ribbing.

A bartender appeared, carrying empty glasses. Bob immediately waved them over. "Everything's on my tab tonight," he declared with a wide grin, earning another cheer from the room.

Just as the orders started rolling in, the door swung open again. Dave and Eric strolled in, their entrance marked by a few sarcastic jabs about their punctuality.

The beers arrived swiftly, pints of amber liquid sliding across the table as we reached for them eagerly. The first round went down almost too easily.

"Another round!" Bob called out, already signalling to the bartender. "Can't let these glasses get empty, can we?" By the third round, the volume in the room had doubled.

"To Bob!" Wells shouted, raising his beer high. "For being the best fucking boss ever!"

"To Bob!" we echoed, clinking glasses that sloshed liquid onto the already sticky tables.

Mark started talking about a disastrous Tinder date he had last weekend and the table erupted in laughter as a tray of shots arrived. "Fuck me. We're gonna be hammered." moaned Dave as he distributed the small glasses.

I downed the shot and grimaced as I stood up. "Off for a slash, back in a minute."

Justin stood, "Me too."

The toilets were through a narrow hallway past the bar. Justin walked slightly ahead of me, his tattooed neck catching the dim light as we weaved through the crowd. "So, Oscar," he said, pushing open the bathroom door, "Who's top between you and Wells?"

I stopped in my tracks, feeling heat rush to my face. "What?"

Justin chuckled, moving toward the urinal. "Come on, mate. I've been here just over a week, and it's clear as day you're fucking. So, who fucks who?"

I stood there for a moment, Justin wasn't looking at me, just casually taking a piss like he'd asked about the weather.

"We, uh... take turns," I finally admitted, stepping up to the urinal beside him. "Depends on the mood. How could you tell?"

He shrugged, his tattoos shifting with the movement. "You don't exactly treat it like a state secret."

I laughed, surprisingly unfazed by the fact he and maybe others knew I was messing around with a guy. "And what about you?" I asked, turning the tables. "You seem pretty familiar with how it works."

Justin's eyes met mine in the mirror. "I've had my share of experiences. Mostly giving, if you're curious." The bathroom door swung open, and Mark stumbled in, breaking the moment.

"Fuck me, lads, Bob's ordering tequila now," he announced, leaning against the wall for support. "We're all gonna be crawling home tonight." We exchanged a quick grin as we washed out hands before we followed him back out.

As we re-joined the group, I heard Wells slurring, "I'm telling you, lads, with the right technique, you can blow up a foreskin like a bloody balloon!"

Everyone erupted in laughter and disbelief. Dave wiped tears from his eyes as he snorted into his pint. "Pull the other one, mate."

"I'm serious!" Wells insisted.

"Prove it then," Justin challenged, smirking.

Wells' eyes lit up with mischief. "Alright, who's got a long foreskin for me to work with?"

Dave, red-faced from laughter stood up, "Aye, I've got a fair bit to work with."

To my astonishment, Dave unzipped his fly right there and pulled out his dick. He was right: he did have a fair bit of foreskin. Wells immediately leant forward and took his soft dick into his hand, gathering the foreskin at the front. The only sounds were the music in the background as we all watched in bemused silence. He formed his lips into a tight seal around the end of Dave's foreskin.

I watched in disbelief as Wells blew, and Dave's foreskin inflated like a tiny, fleshy balloon. Dave's eyes widened in shock as his foreskin expanded to the size of a golf ball.

"Fucking hell!" Bob laughed, shaking his head. "I miss working on sites."

Eric, caught between horror and hilarity at seeing his dad's bits on display, couldn't stop giggling. "Oh my god, I can't unsee this!"

Wells released his mouth and Dave's foreskin deflated. "Told ya!" he crowed triumphantly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dave tucked himself away, chuckling. "You're a bloody menace." He sat back down and continued, "Anyone else got any hilarious skills? Or are we done traumatizing my son?"

John smirked and pushed his empty pint aside. "I've got a party trick for ya."

Wells grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Oh yeah? Let's see it then."

John stood and unzipped his fly and pulled out his dick, "Watch this," he said, as he grabbed an empty beer bottle from the table, gripping it with one hand as he lined it up with the head of his dick and then began rolling his foreskin over the lip of the bottle.

The table fell into an awed hush. Centimetre by centimetre, the elastic skin stretched and slid over the glass rim, until it had completely swallowed the bottle's mouth.

"Bloody hell," Wells muttered, eyes wide.

But John wasn't done. He repositioned the bottle slightly, adjusting his angle. Then, with a grin, he slowly let go. The bottle hung there, suspended entirely by his foreskin, swinging gently back and forth. "Ta-da," John said, spreading his arms.

The room erupted. Hoots, cheers, even applause as I wheezed with laughter.

"Fucking hell," Pete gasped, tears in his eyes. "Thirty years on sites and I'm still seeing new shit."

Justin, who'd been watching with a faint smirk, took a swig of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table with a thunk.

"Amateur hour's over, guys." The room hushed again. As Justin rose to his feet.

Wells grinned lazily. "Go on then, show us what you've got."

Justin unbuckled his belt and let his jeans drop to his knees, exposing his flaccid dick. His tattoos trailed from his torso and vanished into dark pubic hair. "Anyone got a lighter?" he asked casually. Mark tossed him one that he caught as he reached for his beer. He knocked it back again until only a splash of beer was left.

"Watch and learn, boys." He teased while pouring the remaining liquor over his palm and slicking it along his dick. Then he flicked the lighter open with a snap. Before anyone could react, he ran the flame swiftly across his shaft. For a heartbeat, a flame danced along the length of his dick.

"HOLY FUCK!" Eric nearly fell off his chair. "Did you just light your cock on fire?"

"Alcohol burns cool," Justin shrugged, zipping himself back up before bowing.

"That's not a party trick," Bob cackled, pounding the table. "That's a fucking fire hazard!"

Pete stared, gobsmacked. "You lot are absolutely mental!" Justin shot me a glance, then smirked.

Bob raised his glass again. "To the maddest bunch of bastards I've ever worked with!"

"TO MAD BASTARDS!" the room echoed, glasses clinking.

"Alright!" Bob boomed, still wiping tears from his eyes. "Last orders, lads or we'll need a fucking ambulance!" About half an hour later, the room had thinned out. Bob and Dave were deep in some drunken story and Wells was slumped sideways against me in the booth. "Mmmfuck... think m'drunk," he murmured into my ear, breath hot.

I laughed, slinging an arm round him. "No shit. Come on. Let's get you out of here."

We half-stumbled through the room, waving goodbyes.

"Later lads!" Wells called, grinning stupidly.

The cool night air hit us like a slap. Wells groaned. "Oof. S'cold. Warm me up, Osc."

"Walk faster then," I teased, looping an arm round his back to prop him up as we set off down the road. Wells' voice was thick with booze as he muttered, "Y'know... Justin's a good-lookin' fella."

I laughed, "He is. But not as fit as you though."

He stopped dead. Just stood there, eyes dark in the streetlight. "Say that again."

"You're fitter."

Then suddenly his hand was at the back of my neck, mouth crashing into mine. A filthy, open-mouthed kiss. We staggered sideways as he pulled off. "I can't fucking wait," he gasped. "Osc, I need you. Now." Before I could answer, he grabbed my hand and dragged me off down a dark alley between two shops.

"Please," he slurred, leaning against the wall and undoing his jeans, shoving them halfway down his legs. "Please, fuck me right here, I need it."

I stared. He'd never begged like this before. Never this needy, usually he was cocky, teasing, even when he bottomed. But he was shaking, desperate like he might explode if I didn't give it to him.

"Please, Osc," he begged, voice breaking. "I'm so fuckin' ready for you."

My own dick was already straining in my jeans, throbbing at the sight of him like that. I didn't even answer, just dropped to my knees right there on the dirty alley ground.

I put my hands on his thighs, spreading them wider, yanking him down the wall a little. His hole was right in front of me now, pink and perfect. "You want it?" I growled, voice low.

"God, yes. Eat me mate."

I dove in, tongue flat and greedy, lapping at him like a starved animal. Wells cried out, fingers scrabbling at the brickwork.

"Ah, fuck, fuckin' tongue me, yeah-"

I gripped his arse cheeks hard, pulling him open, getting my tongue deeper. Spit dripped down his crack as I worked him open.

Wells was babbling now, hips jerking, his cock slapping against his belly. He was gone. Out of his mind on booze and lust, and I couldn't stop staring at his hole.

I pulled back just for a second, smirking up at him. "Still want me to fuck you right here?"

His eyes were glassy, lips wet. "If you don't fuck me, I'll scream."

That was all I needed. I got my jeans open, my cock springing free, aching hard. I spat in my palm, slicked it up fast, then spat again straight onto his hole, making it twitch.

I lined up, gripped his hips, and pushed in hard.

"AH, fuck-fuck yes!"

I buried myself to the hilt in one rough stroke, both of us moaning loud enough to echo down the alley.

"You feel so good. So fuckin' good mate." I groaned, already fucking him hard, slamming my hips forward, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the brick.

Wells had one hand braced on the wall, the other fisting his cock like a man possessed. He was loving every second, pushing back onto my cock, shameless.

"Fuck, gonna fill you up. Right here where anyone could fuckin' see!"

"Do it, fill me up, don't fuckin' stop." My balls were tight, hips pistoning faster. Wells was whimpering now, noises getting more desperate.

"Osc. Ugh, I'm cumming."

I slammed in deep, grinding as he cried out, shooting thick ropes all over the brickwork. That pushed me over the edge--I snarled low in my throat and pumped my load deep inside him, shuddering hard.

We both sagged against the wall, panting, wrecked.

"Fuckin' hell," Wells slurred, grin lazy. "That was... that was filthy."

I laughed breathlessly, still inside him. "You're the one who begged for it."

He winked over his shoulder, cheeks flushed. "Yeah, and I'd beg again."

We stayed there a moment, our bodies still pressed together. I eased out of him slowly, he didn't move, just looked over his shoulder with that shit-eating grin of his. "Oi," he said, voice hoarse. "Take a picture."

I blinked. "What?"

He straightened up slightly, jeans still around his thighs as he pulled his cheeks apart.

"Take a fuckin' picture," he repeated, smug. "I wanna send it to John."

I stared at him. "You're joking."

He turned, still panting, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Dead serious. That smug bastard thought he was slick with his little bottle trick. Let's see how he feels when he sees me freshly fucked."

"You are deranged." I shook my head, laughing as I pulled out my phone. "At least turn slightly so you're not showing everything."

"Why? Let him see what a proper hole looks like." He wiggled his arse with zero shame.

I took the picture. The image came out filthy as fuck. Wells' jeans around his knees, arse flushed and shiny, him smirking over his shoulder like he'd just won a prize.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "You want me to put a caption?"

"Yeah," Wells said, finally zipping up. "Just write: Still tighter than you."