The Boss of Me - Origins

"Ready," Haskell called.

"Yep, ready." I heard the compressor cough to life, and immediately the hose started pulsing in my hand. Some oil dripped out, but the stream quickly ended.

"What's going on?" Haskell yelled over the din of the compressor.

"Nothing," I shouted back. In fact, the hose had stopped throbbing in my hand.

"Nothing?" he shouted again.

"No! Nothing's coming out!" Haskell moved to the edge of the ledge, and reached down and picked up the hose. The compressor started whining at a high, labored pitch.

"Hang on tight," he yelled down. He began pulling it violently, enough that it lifted my arm above my head, and then he began flipping it the way someone does with a garden house that has a kink in it.

Almost instantly, the whine of the generator turned into a cough and then dropped a full octave lower, and one massive surge snapped the hose so hard that my arm almost jerked out of my shoulder. Suddenly, shockingly, a putrid stream of thick oil fire-hosed me. I was blinded almost instantly, and my hair, face, shoulders and torso were doused before I could even think to let go of the house.

I dropped to my knees on the cold concrete as my hands shot to my face, and over the chugging cough of the compressor I heard Haskell shouting, "Close your eyes! Breathe through your mouth! Through your mouth! Not your nose! Don't open your eyes! Don't rub your eyes!"

The petroleum smell was in up my throat, my lungs were burning and my eyes were burning even though they were clenched. I grabbed at my chest with my hands; it was a greasy mess.

I felt strong hands under my armpits, lifting me to my feet and dragging me forward.

"Mr. Wilks! Mr. Wilks! Boss!" Haskell was crying out. I felt his hand leave my left armpit, and knew when I felt the rush of cold air that he'd opened the door to the office. A few more steps, and I felt us both bang through the door to the showerroom.

"Don't touch your face!" Haskell commanded as he sat me on a bench. I heard one showerhead kick on, then another, and felt some mist spray against my legs. That was apparently the only exposed skin I had left.

"What the fuck..." I heard Russ's voice bellow with an echo into the shower room.

"Accident, boss," Haskell said. "Need the degreaser. Can you get it while I get him in the shower?"

I felt Haskell's knuckles against my abdomen as he grabbed my sodden T-shirt and dragged it up over my head. He grabbed my ankles, and rolled me back against the wall. Without even unbuttoning my shorts, he grasped the waist and yanked them and my underwear right off my body. The force almost pulled me clean off the bench.

My hands went to my head; my hair was almost entirely a glop of oil. I felt the air get steamy and hot in the shower room, and sat blinded on the edge of the bench.

"Hang on a second," Haskell said, "i'm getting my jumpsuit off." A few seconds later his firm hands were under my armpits, lifting me and leading me into the spray of two showerheads. Just then, I heard the door slam open and Russ's voice.

"Haskell! Degreaser!" Haskell's hands left my body, I assumed to take the cleaner.

Russ kept talking: "That service bay is a fucking mess, and you dragged half of it in the office. You clean the boy, I'm getting back out there." Seconds later, I felt cool goop being poured over my head and shoulders, and then a firm scrubbing from both of Haskell's hands. He rubbed the cleaner into my hair, over my shoulders and down my back, then he reached around and went from the base of my neck down to the top of my groin. Over and over, in big sweeping motions.

He grabbed both of my upper arms, and spun my around once, twice into the hot torrents of water from the shower heads. The stench of the oil began to break, and his hands left me again for a few seconds. When they came back, they were full of cleaner again.

He again started at the top of my head, and this time worked his fingers into my scalp. His hands then rubbed down over my ears, around my forehead and down my cheeks to my neck. He pushed me into the hot stream again, reloaded again... but this time with soap from the wall dispenser. He worked it from my shoulders down to the top of my ass, then up and around my sides, over my nipples and kneaded into my pecs.

I felt his chest lean into my back, and I toppled forward, catching myself with my hands against the tile wall. He rubbed the soap down into the creases on either side of my genitals, where my legs meet my balls, and on his cleaning stroke back up both hands traveled over my balls and up the length of my cock. I felt like a dog that had been skunked; I was in no position to fight the person helping me out.

It wasn't until this fingers ran up the length did I realize I was half hard, and tingling.

He felt it, too. I felt him press into me with his lower half, and I felt a thick, firm tube scrape it's way from the back of my left thigh into the opening between my legs; once free of my thigh, it sprang up, it's thickness nestling into my balls. His right hand left my chest, and reached to the right, pumping the soap dispenser for a couple more creamy globs.

His soapy-filled hand went right down to my balls, back into the crack of my ass and over my rosebud, and then back and around both thighs. All the while, I felt heat and pulsing from his root, into my thighs, ass and balls. My cock pointed achingly up toward the tile wall that my hands were planted against, but he never touched it.

"Let me make sure you're all clean back here," he rasped in my right ear. He reached over for more soap and stepped back away from me. He rubbed the lather deeply into my shoulders and lats with both hands, and then down my through my ass crack, and out and around each cheek. He must've kneeled, because he worked the soap down both of my calves, and then all the way back up.

Then, the rubbing stopped and I felt his left hand firmly clasp on my left shoulder, near my neck. He pulled me back a bit from the wall, and in a series of short motions moved my body around in the hot spray of the shower heads. The rhythm picked up pace, and I heard him huffing in irregular way.

Suddenly, he leaned into me, sliding his left hand all the way across my upper chest and falling into me, his left chest against the right side of my back, and his chin digging into my right shoulder.

His body flexed, then pulsed, and out of my lower right a stream of white, as slick as the oil and creamy white as the soap, arced from behind me and splattered against the tile wall.

"Ahhhhh oh fuccccck," he moaned, and his left hand flexed on my right shoulder in concert with the second, the third, the fourth and the fifth bolts of cum. His breath was huffing in my right ear, and his tension went slack against my body. Then all there was, was the hiss of the shower heads, his man-spunk forming grotesque graffiti on the tile wall, and my swollen cock bobbing wildly in search of release.

Haskell straightened, and wiped the remaining cum from the head of his cock onto the outside of my right thigh. Wordlessly, he turned the two shower handles to off, and sloshed over to a shelf holding rolled up white towels. He tossed me one, took another for himself and we began to dry.

Unlike this morning, I looked directly at what had just entered my life. After everything that had happened today, I felt like I should better start looking at everything head on. Haskell's cock was ebony, with a plum colored head. Unlike Russ, he was circumcised. Like Russ, he was bigger than I'd seen before today.

While Russ was thick and flared near the tip, Haskell's cock was extremely thick at the base, and gradually tapered to a smaller mushroom head. But he was every bit of 8 or 9 solid inches. His ball sack hung low, with massive testicles hanging almost independent of each other, and nearly as low as the head of his cock.

Haskell walked toward me as he toweled off. He had no problem with nudity, either.

"You need to be more careful, son. Russ doesn't have accident in his vocabulary. You fuck up around here, and there's a price to pay. Understand?"

I nodded. Haskell drew in close me, and for the first time in my life I had an urge to do something to a man. What, I didn't know. Inches from me, he flicked the head of my cock down once, twice, three times, and then broke into a smile.

"And you might want to do something about this, before Russ fixes that, too." He laughed, and walked toward the door. "Get yourself a work jumpsuit to go home in. Your clothes are going into the trash."

I heard the shower room door open, then settle shut. I glanced down at my swollen cock, and my mind reeled forward, out of this crazy world and back to the one I thought I knew before.

"Well, Pete," I could hear my dad say at the dinner table, "how was your first day of honest work?"

I sighed, and turned the shower head back on with my left hand. With my right, I scooped Haskell's seeping cum off of the wall, mixed it with a couple pumps of soap, and reached for my own man sex.