The Telemachus Story Archive

Security Guard Tony Bruno's Capture
Part 1 - Part One
By Glaucon55

Security Guard Tony Bruno’s Capture


Originally written in July 2009 and updated May 14, 2022

Disclaimer: If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for adults, and contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenagers with older men. This story is completely fiction, all descriptions and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly just that, purely similarities. I do not engage in or condone sexual activity between adults and underage boys which is regulated by law. These are fantasies for sexual private sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real life. Please share your comments with me.

Security Guard Tony Bruno’s Capture Part 1

The boy I have secured in the back of my camper reminds me of a buddy I knew in high school. The kid I have now is about 5’ 7” tall, stocky build, blond to the tufts on his toes, and sporting a nice thick, 6.5 inch boner, straight up and stiff—a little fuller in the middle, tapering to the head, and then a nice, fat, juicy pale cap. The buddy I knew in high school was closer to 5’ 10” and he was black haired, green-eyed, and threw a 7” prick that curved downwards, with a fat baseball knob on it. His skin was pale, he once described it as being “Black Irish.” But I didn’t care. He was built like a long-legged tennis player, which is what he was. On Friday nights, it was “get drunk and wasted, and let somebody drain your nuts time.” Now the kid I had in the back of my camper was not so cooperative, but he would get the same treatment—and like my buddy in high school, draining his nuts was what he was all about. I’ve always had a soft spot for this action, since high school, and for big boys whose pricks are constantly hard.

Cameron Collier, the kid from high school wasn’t too particular. He knew he wanted to cum, and he didn’t care if it was some slut sucking his cock, or some dude’s calloused paw jerking him off. For him, spurting his juice had been a pleasurable pastime, since he was 13 years old. It started when he would frot an old pillow he stashed in the top of his closet, and by the time he was on the freshman tennis team in high school he had found a number of folks who would enjoy servicing him.

When I’d see him at snack time in the mornings, he’d complain that he’d had a hardon since 1st period, and wished he could get a blow job at lunch time. That was Cameron, straight-forward and horny, just needing to get off as many times a day as time and opportunity would permit. I’d met him in Junior High, and trust me, he was the same then. His mom had been divorced from his dad since he was ten, and from that day on she had an endless stream of big dicked men come to the house on Friday and Saturday nights to fuck her silly. Cameron would sneak to her bedroom door, and open it just enough during the bouts of fucking to see the strong glutes of some hairy dude, his big balls bouncing between his legs, driving a sticky, wet shaft into his mom’s snatch, making her squeal with pleasure as his knob worried her greedy clit. His own pre-teen pricklet would get stiff as a nail, all three-and-one-half inches of it, and he spontaneously learned to rub and squeeze it till waves of dry sensation overtook him. He was hooked on the goose bumps and the shuddering, tit-hardening feelings that would overtake his body. From then on he masturbated to dry cums until junior high when with the help of his pillow, they were wet. In junior high he found out that both girls and guys would do it for him. There were horny cum dumps everywhere, from the older teen dude next door who paid him a buck each time Cam allowed him to suck his cock, to the middle school girls whose panties were always wet. Cam was good-looking, with green eyes and that dark hair setting off an Anglo-Saxon countenance, and his prick never went soft---he had all the skills he needed along, with an arrogant confidence, to get his nuts drained regularly.

Me, I just liked the way he was always ready to spunk wads of teenage spooge from his ever-bloated nuts that swung heavily between his legs. Some guys are just born with the need to cum. I’d only goofed around with Cam a couple of times in junior high, but both were exhilarating, and I knew I wanted more. His casual attitude toward sex was the opposite of my anxiety ridden guilt over the lewd pleasures of grinding my cock into my bed at night…wringing my own sweet dry cums from my feverish rod. But Cam taught me that pleasure was nothing to be guilty about, and that it was easier to get than my horny, but shy, personality realized. The first time me and Cam hooked up was in the bus from a field trip to a boring museum for history class. By the time we’d finished the tour and heard the docent’s endless commentary, Cam was sitting next to me in the back seat complaining about how stupid the trip had been, and how horny he was. He said that Jessica Raymond’s panties were showing every time she bent down to look at the captions of the floor exhibits, and that had made his dick start leaking. He was sure she was wet at the snatch (and he would know), and he could see her cunt lips sticking to the soft material of the panties. I nervously laughed it off hoping that he hadn’t seen my own boner as he talked about his prick. But as the bus got dark on the ride home, he pointed out how hard his cock was. The dudes across the aisle from us were sleeping, and so, I openly starred at his erection as it lay on his thigh, making a fat ridge in his pant leg.

Finally, after whining a bit more, he lay his head against the window, groaned softly as his fingertips grazed the erection, and whispered casually that I should feel how hard he was. Trembling, and looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, I threw my jacket over both our legs, and slipped my near hand underneath to grasp his woody. My heart was racing, not sure where I had gotten the nerve to feel Cam’s boner, but so horny and desperate to do it, that I was willing to take a chance at getting caught. Fuck, his prick felt so thick and strong for a fourteen-year-old kid, and he immediately closed his eyes and leaned back splaying his legs, giving me room to work. I found my fingertips drawn to his knob, since his erection had a sort of curve that forced the middle down, and stretched the material of his pants over the knob aimed down over his thigh. I knew how sensitive my own prick tip was, and somehow, I just wanted to see what Cam would do in this crowded bus if I teased his knob and he had to remain silent. When my fingernails drew across the material of his chinos to tickle the bloated glans, he jerked, squeezing his legs together to hunch away from my grasp, but almost simultaneously he jerked his legs open again, inviting the awful tickle, because, as I would learn, that’s what Cam lived for. The dude just wanted to get off, and the more sensation—especially on his cock head, the better he liked it. I gripped his prick and let my fingers focus on fat tip, making him strain his legs out reflexively and draw in gulps of air, stretching reflexively as his ejaculation became imminent. Apparently, he didn’t mind spunking his briefs, cause soon he was bucking gently as his prick launched his teen cum into the white briefs, writhing and squeezing his eyes tightly, as my fingers continued to drain every bit of his ejaculate from the turgid shaft. Finally, when he could stand the tickle no more, he pushed my hand away, and panted quietly until he fell asleep for the rest of the ride. For my part, I was determined to get my hands on Cam’s big boy cock as soon as I could.

The next time we hooked up was at a party held by one of the sophomore girls from the high school. We were fifteen, and soon would be in high school, but had met some of the girls by going to the football games and hanging out with the kids near our age. The girl’s parents were out of town, and shit was going down all over the place. Guys and girls were drunk off their asses, and guys were sucking face, fingering pussy, and pinching tit to beat the band. But these were older guys from the high school, and younger punks like us were out of luck. Cam was trashed, and when I saddled up to ask how he was doing when I spotted him in the kitchen pouring himself more hard stuff, he just grunted how fucking horny he was; his usual mantra. I smiled, and with a heady temerity asked what he was going to do about it.

“Fuck, how the hell can I do anything, with all these high school pricks getting the pussy. He reached down and gripped his telltale boner, and I smirked and said “Shit, that hasn’t stopped you before.” He looked at me through his soggy eyes, and said, “you wanna have a drink?” and offered me his glass, spilling some of the rum as his drunken hands reached out to me. “Thanks dude…let’s go down to the basement and party,” I suggested casually, and like a puppy dog, he followed. I saw the door to the basement, and when we went in, I looked around and latched it once we entered so we wouldn’t be disturbed. I found that Cam, once drunk, surrendered his body to whatever was going to happen, as long as he was going to get his nut. Within minutes, I had his pants at his ankles, his shirt unbuttoned, his flip flops abandoned so he could flex his long toes, and his prick firmly in my grasp. He bucked and writhed over the old couch we found downstairs, and as I reached up to pinch one of his tits, he whined out loud and shot streams of his cock snot over my hand, and into the air. I let my roiling fist keep milking his boner after he’d cum, and though he swore and demanded I stop--grasping my wrist with hands made strong from years of tennis---he did nothing to actually stop me from teasing his fat, swollen cock knob. In his helpless, drunken state, I started licking his stiff teats, and stroked his body from head to toe until he was rearing and ready to cum again, and then thumbed another sticky load from him. I left him to snore on the couch after I buttoned him up a bit, and I vowed that night would not be the last time I drained Cameron Collier’s spunk filled balls. It wasn’t.

Many a Friday night in high school, especially when we were sixteen-year-old freshmen, but even later when he could not find a chick to bang in our junior and senior years, I would offer to take him out to the drive-in to drink. That was our standard excuse, and it was our unspoken code. We never discussed our trysts and he would brag about the pussy he’d fucked like that was his only predilection. If he was interested, and more times than not he was, we’d get together after dinner and I’d bring the booze. We’d take my parent’s van, and start drinking before we’d even gotten into the drive-in. We’d park toward the back, away from the lights and snack area; there were always dead areas where guys and their chicks could fuck and suck without drawing much attention. We’d park, and then get in the back seat where the tinted windows of the van offered us the maximum privacy. In the darkness of the lot, and secluded from other vehicles, we had time to get drunk without drawing anyone’s attention. Before the first film was half-way over, I had his t-shirt up over his firm, hairy pecs and his jeans down to his ankles along with his briefs. The drunker he was, the more liberties I could take, and they were delicious, from his pink coned nipples, to his “inny” belly-button and his fat, hanging eggs full of scum and always reeking of ball-sweat.

By the time we were seniors, I had added some spice to our meetings. I never knew if Cam approved of the stuff I did, or just accepted it since he was usually smashed by the time our exploits began. I had been going to internet porn sites from the time I was a sophomore and had my own connection in my bedroom at home. I’d discovered bondage, and the mere idea of guys being restrained by women dominatrix, and then milked and fucked, made my six-inch spike throb with delight, and leak copious amounts of pre-fuck. The first time I tied Cam’s arms over his head, and whispered in his ear that some bitch had him bound and helpless, he later came like a bull in heat in my rolling fist. From then on, I had refined my methods, and played that boy like a finely tuned instrument.

One of my favorite memories was while we were supposed to be watching “The Russians Were Coming.” I had Cam in the back seat as usual, and he was cooperatively stinko. I took both of his hands, and wound the rope around his wrists, tying them together, and then using the steel seat leg behind us to anchor the rope and pull his arms over his head. Then I reached down and unlaced and pulled off his low-tops, sliding off his socks at the same time. Then I tied each ankle to the bottom of the front seats, respectively, stretching his legs apart. I stuck a pillow behind his back, forcing his chest and stomach out and supporting his lower back; now for the fun.

I always started by using my fingers to tickle inside his ears, over his lips and under his nostrils, and then over his pronounced Adam’s apple. Straight guys have no sense of their own bodies, and Cam was always pleasantly shocked by how sensitive he was to my fingertips and fingernails, scratching, scraping, and flicking over his body. Eventually, I would get down to his pecs, still outlined by his shirt or t-shirt, and I would scrape my index fingernail over the already stiff nubbins that punched out the material. Fuck he was sexy, and I plucked and pinched through the material until his hips began to buck, he was groaning appreciatively, and I could see a wet spot forming where his fat fuck tip was rubbing against the material of his shorts and leg. Finally, I would unbutton his shirt, or tug his wife-beater out of his pants, and slide my hand underneath the soft, warm cotton. His firm abdominals would always shudder slightly as my fingertips grazed over them, searching out his deeply “inny” navel, my index finger rooting out any lint it could find and tickling deep into the sensitive hole. He would grunt and hiss, and his cock would immediately burp more pre-fuck, beginning the inexorable slide towards his much-needed ejaculation. Then my other hand would reach up, and through the cotton, seek out his stiffly pointed nipples, an erogenous zone I had helped Cam discover. He didn’t know his tits could be so sensitive, but once I started teasing them, he was like Pavlov’s dog, panting for more. I scratched my fingernail over each tit once I exposed them, and then grasped one, as my other finger continued to tickle and scratch inside his exposed navel. Soon I would have him bucking hard against the bonds, pulling and moaning, as I whispered sick, dirty trash talk about pussy and cunt into his ears. Then I would slowly unloosen his pants and lower the zipper, exposing his mounded boner. My wicked index finger would seek out his fat glans, and though the cotton briefs, find his wide corona and deliberately scratch around its pebbled surface. He’d swear, and demand that I stop that shit and get him off, knowing full well I’d ignore his orders. From corona to glans, my nail continued its relentless torture, while my other fingers under his singlet, scratching and pinching his turgid nipples. Fuck, seeing this handsome high school jock stretched out and helpless would occasionally make me cum spontaneously, but my prick would never go soft.

Before the nights would end, I could occasionally make Cam cum twice, the first time in my calloused fist, and the second time using an old cotton sock filled with lube. I would twist and slide my hand around the sock, using it like an oversized condom, spinning round and round his fevered prick shaft and bloated glans. I loved to watch how his toes would curl tight, and his body would buck and grind after he came, but my attentions to his helpless prick knob would continue. When Cam and I graduated, I never heard from him again, but at our ten year reunion he was there with a beautiful, big-titted blond and pictures of two kids. I wondered who was taking care of his needs on the sly, knowing that his prick was too insatiable to remain confined to blissful domesticity. I made a mental note to find out someday. Even at 28 he looked damned good.The kid I had in the back of my camper was a college kid walking home from the late shift at the Bongo Burger at the edge of town, and a couple miles from the campus and his dorm. I drove past him the first time as he tried to hitch a ride the last couple of miles, but it was late and no one was out on the road. I zoomed round the next bend, then drove back. He paid no attention. He was just some goofy college kid, dumb as shit when it came to common sense, and full of cum. I turned my truck camper around, and drove up again, this time slowing as he stuck out his thumb and smiled broadly as I came to a stop.“Where ya going kid,” I asked as if I didn’t know.

“Hey man, I’m just trying to catch a ride home to the college, just a couple of miles down the road…can ya give me a lift? He asked with an innocence that made my cock lurch in my pants.

“Sure kid, hop in….”

I offered him a beer, playing to his vanity, and he took it and had several swigs before he put the can down into one of the cup holders. About 10 minutes later he was out cold, the knock out drops I’d used to lace the beer by injecting the can, had done their work. I drove past the college, and well into the nearby hills onto land I owned. I parked inside the barn next to my cabin, ensuring that we would not be disturbed in my van. Then I lifted him into the back of the cabin and began my work.

Stripping a mature college kid is not as easy as it would seem…but he was out cold and I had no problem manipulating him to get his shirt, t-shirt, pants, sneakers, and socks off. I left his boxers on…I liked the way they looked on his cut, muscular body. He must have played tailback on his high school football team, no-where else to get that short, hunky frame, with thick legs and broad feet, and a bubble butt that just ached to be spanked. His chest was deceptively powerful, with sharp plates for his pecs, and berry red cones thrusting through the swirls of blond curls that covered each breast. I tied him face down on the cushioned recliner, his feet hanging vulnerably over the edge. I strapped down his legs, turned his head to one side and placed a buckling hood over it so he could speak, but could not see. The holes at his ears ensured he would hear everything I had to say. I gave him a small injection, the agent to counteract the mickey that had put him to sleep and laced with Viagra. As I waited for him to return from dream-land, I flipped through his wallet.

His name was Justin Connor Maitland, and he was 20 years old according to the driver’s license. There were the obligatory pictures of friends posing in clown like expressions, and a picture of a lovely blond girl signed “yours forever, Karen.” He had his school I.D., and his employee card from Bongo Burger, and nine dollars in ones and a five. I put his wallet down with the rest of his clothing, wondering if I had a boy that I could sell on the white slave market, or just a one-night stand. While my land was here, I didn’t live here, so the chances of us running into each other again were slim…I am always careful. As Justin stirred, I reached over with my hand, and grasped his strong heel, cupping it, and then sliding my hand slowly up his calf, to his thigh, in between them, tickling over the boxers to graze his balls, and up the line of his crack to his lower back and up the rest of his smooth, unblemished back. The hair that profusely covered his arms, legs, trailed up his stomach and spread over his pecs, but was absent from his back. I would later find out that what he lacked there, he made up for in the trough of his firm ass cheeks. As he groaned, and then inhaled sharply, trying to understand why he could not see, I gripped one of his firm ass cheeks and squeezed it for good measure.

“What the fuck…dude…what the hell, hey, shit, fuck….lemme go…what the fuck is going on?” I love college students; they are so articulate and erudite. I could follow each of his emotions as he realized that he was bound, hooded, and almost nude. “Mister, hey, mister, you there…where are we…what happened, Jesus, hey mister, you there?”

Before I answered I made him realize that my hand was still on his butt cheek by squeezing it again, and letting my fingertips trail down toward his crack where the material was now getting damp from fear. “Shit, get the fuck off…hey, don’t do that, who are you…shit, please say something, and fucking stop touching me…Christ…where the fuck am I?” My oh my, what happened to that sweet boy I had picked up on the highway…suddenly he was so tough and in no condition to be so. I’d tame that soon enough, but I wanted to enjoy his confusion and fear. I slid my hand down from his butt over his hairy thigh, and down to his calf and foot. As my hand moved, he continued to ejaculate curses and tried vainly to shift his body and legs, only able to curl his toes and flex them as well as scrabble his fingers over his head. When I got to his size 10 feet…big for a boy his size, I felt the soft soles and meaty pads of each foot, separating the rather long, thick toes, and gently scratching underneath them and across the ball to his instep.

“Shit…fuck…stop that…, his toes flicking helplessly, and straining as my fingernails gently scrabbled across his muscular feet.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh…shit….oooooooowwwww fuck, aaaaahhhhh, ha, ha, ha……ha, ha, ha….sotp, stop….aaaaaahhhhhhhh…” He alternated squealing and yelling, telling me to stop which only increased my efforts, and made him clench his ass cheeks tight and continue to strain his feet in a hapless effort to avoid the maddening tickling. I did this for almost ten minutes, making sure I wore him out a bit, before my hands began their trail up his legs again, luxuriating in the thick and increasingly damp hair covering them. The perspiration was half fear, half exertion from the tickling…but it all worked well, to make him seek a moment of quiet respite and he didn’t insult me as my hands felt him up on this trip.When I got to his butt, I let my fingers push the damp material of his boxes into his crack, and my index finger began to root a bit, searching for the magic portal. He grunted, and then begged.

“Aaaaaagggghhh…shit…please, please don’t…fuck…please…don’t do this….” and he clenched his cheeks tight, hoping to avoid the inspection that was inevitable. I had a way to deal with unruly boys who tried to resist. I pulled out the small slapper I had and snapped it against the nearby counter. He reacted by trying to turn his head, and again scrabbling his fingers and crinkling his toes…the realization that something bad might be about to happen. It was time for me to speak to Justin.

“Justin, you don’t know me, but let me make it clear, you will do everything I say and cooperate, and if you do, you’ll be okay and be home sooner than later. But son, if you don’t cooperate, I’m going to have to keep you as long as it takes to make you understand who is in charge here. Do you understand me, Justin?” My tone was slow, deliberate and calm, and as I spoke, I let my index finger tease the cloth of his boxers into his deep cleft, and gently tease and tickle at his tightly clenched, hairy portal. “Why are you doing this, c'mon Mister, I just wanna get back to school, lemme go and I won’t tell anybody, c'mon, please---don’t! Please stop…don’t touch me like that, fuck…please, Mister.” As he spoke, my finger increased its intensity in terms of wriggling into his now perspiration-soaked trench, and as I increased the pressure, my fingernail dragging against his wrinkled anus, his voice rose and became more excited.

“Justin, just one more time, I’m going to ask you to cooperate.” As I spoke, again deliberately and calmly, I snapped the slapper against the edge of the recliner near his thigh, and he shuddered from surprise as the shock of the sound registered near his body. “If you keep resisting, I’m going to punish you, and its just going to increase the time you spend with me…do you understand?” Then, as he still clenched his ass, I quickly and suddenly snapped the slapper against his near butt cheek, and left a slight red imprint under his damp boxers. It wasn’t meant to hurt, but to shock, and it achieved its goal.“Jesus….oh my god….Mister, please…fuck….oh God…Mister, please, don’t hurt me…don’t hurt me!” he almost squealed.

“I won’t Justin as long as you cooperate, so now, stop clenching your ass muscles, and from now on, don’t resist anything I do. Otherwise, I’m going to have to spread those handsome ass cheeks, and use my crop on your asshole…and that will hurt…get my meaning, son?” In a ginger, almost defensive way, Justin began to force himself to allow my finger the room to wander up and down his crack…and slowly, I reached his sweet tight slit, and scratched my fingernail against it through the soggy boxers. This time, his toes strained outward as he forced himself to comply with my instructions in spite of his revulsion and fear, and when my finger tip tickled the ragged entrance, something happened he did not expect, he groaned loudly….Uuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhhh.”

I looked under the raised surface of the recliner, and as I had it designed, the opening at his crotch revealed the thick, stubby head of an erection, thrusting through the fly of his boxers and exposed under the recliner. I reached under and slid a cloth collar with a Velcro fastener around the beefy joint, and then secured it beneath the recliner to a bolt in the floor. That way, Justin’s big boner was secured under the table so he could not pull it back out, and the oversized knob was fully exposed to my ministrations.

Now I grasped a pair of shears and cut off his boxers, revealing the hairy trench of his ass, and let my finger dance and pry, finally tickling my way into his hot, clinging hole. Initially he couldn’t help himself, and he started to resist, so I whispered into his ear that bad boys had to be punished, and snapped the slapper against his taut ass cheeks. He yelped in surprise, and begged me to stop, saying he promised to be good. I responded in calm tones as the slapper came down on his pale, hairy hiney. “Whap, whap, whap….” “Now I know you’ll be a good boy Justin, a very good boy….” “Whap, whap, whap….” I hit hard enough to get his attention, but not so hard as to hurt him or leave welts. I must say, he ground his hips into the recliner, and I wondered how he’d looked trussed up gagged, and bound, fucking a girl as someone administered stinging swats to his beautiful ass. Looking under the reclining table, I also think that unconsciously he was a bit of a kink, his thick prick remaining rock hard and the bloated knob was leaking after his brief spanking. I returned my fingers to his hole, and warned him against any further foolishness…he whinned and moaned, but let me have my way. Within minutes, I was gently masturbating his boy pussy, rubbing his fuck nut, and making him wail and helpless trying to thrust his anchored prick as he moved his hips, but there was no escape.

“Oh Jesus, Mister…ooooooohhhhh fuck……fuck….ooooooooohhhhh shit…aaaaagghhh” “Ooooooohhhhhhh God….aaaaaaagggghhhhhh.” From the level at which I had the recliner, I could easily reach under it, and as I gently finger fucked Justin’s itchy, hot hole, a place he had never touched or investigated himself, my other fist cupped his bloated fuck knob, and using a very soft touch, twisted my fingers and rotated my palm around his leaking glans. He couldn’t pull his cock away, and his toes again clenched helplessly while his hands scrabbled futilely, and he begged sweetly.

“Oh god, oh Mister…oooooohhhh fuck… ooooohhhh it tickles…. Stop, stop, Mister, aaaaggghhhh…no, no….aaaaaahhhhhh, Jesus….help me…..aaaaahhhh it TICKLES!” “Yes, Justin, it tickles, and we’re gonna tickle it all night and see just what a big boy like you can do….” It took thirty minutes of teasing, bringing him to the edge, then backing off and trying again, but Justin helplessly shot a load worthy of a big boy, and filled most of a shot glass held under his flaring knob, and wide piss lips. Then I teased two more loads out of him in this position, and fed it to him before I would agree to let him go. The last time he came I used an electric tooth brush on his glans, corona and circumcision scar. He wailed and squealed so sweetly as I worked him mercilessly, and his toes clenched till they were white from the pressure, before he ejaculated one last time. I let the bristles dance over his now exhausted cock head what he thought was one last time, making him cry out and beg he would do anything if I just stopped. That was what I wanted to hear, so I retied him face up, his legs over his head, and let him watch me as I masturbated him yet one more time for good measure, this time into his mouth held open with a funnel gag. As the dregs of his last cum drained into the funnel cone, I smiled as he was forced to swallow his own swill, and I tickled his Adam’s apple with my index fingernail as it bobbed.

The next dose of knockout drops was concentrated and the photos I took were perfect. Justin returned to school the next day, but from that night on, he had a secret craving for fingers up his tight, blond ass, and his cock was often made hard by boys who touched him in casual, buddy ways making him blush in fear and secret longing. It took another ten years, but his secret was discovered by his boss at a construction firm where he worked trying to support his wife and young child. He ended up with a cock cage and anal prod secured up into him every day and often many nights—only freed to service his wife. My prick leaked when I heard the news, imagining how stiff and horny Justin would be most of the time, waiting for his master to generously milk him dry when the occasion warranted it. I could see him now, with his hard hot on, and tool belt, but otherwise naked on a work-bench in the boss’s office after the other workers had left. His cock unlocked and now firmly in the grasp of his boss who was milking him to several cums as he fucked the calloused fist that gave him a guilty, greedy pleasure.

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