The Warehouse

I sat idled in my Accord outside the office for what seemed an eternity. I felt a bit immature being so nervous for my first day. I'd never envisioned myself becoming a manager as I worked through my twenties. I was happy just to let the days pass by in a cubicle working 9 to 5 with little to no pressure while I made enough to survive, and live a content life. However, as time went by, I realized I could no longer get by on what I was earning, and needed some extra cash on a consistent basis. All of my appliances were falling apart at home, new repair jobs seemed to pop up every 2 to 3 months, and worst of all, my baby, Jasmine, my silver Accord was on its last legs. Nevermind if I ever wanted to settle down with my girlfriend, Jessica, and start a family. Things had been serious between us for a while now, and I was finally starting to get serious about popping the question.

My current position in Customer Service didn't lend itself well to upward mobility, so it was necessary to look elsewhere for new opportunities. I spent weeks scouring different job sites, and sending out resumes, but I couldn't even get so much as a call back. I was beginning to get depressed, and desperate wondering what the past ten years of my career were even worth. But, when I thought all hope was lost, I got a call from Fabrotec.

They were a local company, about a 20 minute commute, and they were looking for an Office Manager to take care of the administrative duties for their U.S. distribution center. I would be ensuring smooth transactions at the facility, handling all the paperwork and maintanence contracts, as well as managing the warehouse staff.

I spoke with an H.R. manager for about an hour, and everything went fantastically. The job seemed like it was something I could handle as I had done most of the day-to-day tasks in my current position. The line of questioning was very laid back and conversational. This loosened me up, and I nailed the interview. At the end, they remarked how they felt I would be perfect for the position, and wanted to offer the job to me then and there. I was happy with the pay structure, so that was a formality. I told them I could start in two weeks.

The two weeks passed, and I sat intimidated by the monster of a building that loomed over me. A 25,000 sq. ft. facility filled with large steel packaging containers intended for large scale industrial jobs.

Finally, I decided it would be a terrible look if I walked in late for my first day as manager, so Itook a deep breath, and headed into the front office area.

What I walked into dumbfounded me. There was absolutely no one else in the office.

There were four small offices, one of which had my name tag and computer set-up, but the other rooms were half finished, filled with boxes of random spare parts, and debris.

"Hellooooooooo...", I bellowed, but there was no response.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" I wondered.

"Is this even a real company for crying out loud?"

Suddenly, I heard a door open at the back of the office area, which connected the office space to the warehouse. A young man entered, and introduced himself as Dylan, the Warehouse Associate. I introduced myself as Daniel, and we exchanged friendly smiles. Then, Dylan broke the ice.

"You look a bit surprised. Corporate really sold you the moon when you had that interview, huh?" said Dylan, followed by a self-satisifed chuckle.

He continued, "Well, what you see is what you get, bro. It's going to be just me and you holding it down here for the foreseeable future."

The surprised look on my face remained as I replied, "There has to be another warehouse associate with you. You're working with forks, pickers, and containers that are hundreds of pounds. That's just crazy."

Dylan just shook his head, and replied with a simple, yet effective, "Nope."

"Wow," I replied, "What about OSHA? They must've stopped in here in the past. They wouldn't let this slide."

Dylan said, "Well, I heard they came just before I first started, but then, we did have two other guys working here. Since then, the've left, new ones have come, left, and corporate has basically given up."

"For the past couple of months, it has just been me back there, and honestly, I'm loving it. I get to go about my day with no distractions, and just get stuff done. As long as you can manage to keep our receiving days, and shipping days separated we should be fine," stated Dylan.

What a manager's dream. In the past four years, Dylan had learned everything he needed to do the job comfortably. Just stay out of the way, and he'll keep the process moving with no fuss.

Dylan seemed like he was a cool guy, and would be easy to work with. He was in his mid-twenties, skinny build, seemed goth/emo type, but it was hard to tell for sure. He had a tattoo sleeve of thorns and roses on his left arm that went from his wrist up to his elbow, and gauges in both earlobes.

"I'll do my best to make that happen," I cautiously promised. "I trust that you'll keep doing what you've been doing, and we'll go from there. But, listen, I'm booked with a crazy day of introduction meetings, and software training. Can I get a tour around the warehouse tomorrow, or something?"

"Of course," Dylan replied. "But do me a favor, OK? You have to give me a call on the phone before you head back there for safety reasons. I can't state that enough. I'll need to get you a hard hat, and stuff..."

It seemed a bit odd to me, but I agreed, and we went on with the rest of our day.

**********************************************************************************

It was a sunny mid-afternoon the next day, and I was catching onto the company's software very well. It was similar to what I had used in the past, and I was feeling comfortable. E-mails were straight-forward, invoicing was a breeze, so I thought it was the perfect time to get my eyes off the computer screen, and take a walk into the warehouse. I could check in with Dylan, and get a quick tour around the facility.

I opened the door to the warehouse, and had gotten 30 meters down a corridor lined with massive steel racks filled to the brim with heavy containers before I remembered his instruction to call first. I quickly brushed off the thought, and decided to just make an executive decision to continue.

I puffed out my chest a bit, grinned, and thought, "I could get used to calling the shots."

As I reached the end of the corridor, faint sounds echoed towards me that I needed to really concentrate to hear. It that sounded like Dylan was working his ass off with some heavy equipment. They seemed to be grunts, and deep moans in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Maybe he's trying to lift something?" I wondered.

"Or get a piece of equipment unstuck?"

I picked up the pace anticipating Dylan might need a hand with whatever he was struggling with. I took a left at the end of the first long corridor. There were four more corridors to my left filled with the same types of containers, and a concrete wall to my right. Soon, the right side would open towards the staging area where Dylan had all of his shipping and packaging supplies, crates, forklift, and computer.

The sounds I heard were getting steadily louder. They were more relaxed than what I had originally thought.

It gave me an innate feeling of sensuality, and ruggedness. My balls instinctually churned for a split second.

There is nothing like the moment you realize you're hearing the sound of sex. This could be it, and I was overwhelmed with curiousity.

"What the hell is he doing over there?" I thought. Then, strained my hearing as much as possible.

"Yeah, you like that don't you, baby. Well, take a good fucking look," boasted Dylan.

Then, he proceeded back to his rhythmic, machine-like moans.

I almost blurted out his name as I turned the corner, but decided against it. He had specifically asked me to call before heading back here, and I didn't want to anger my best, and only employee. If this guy left the company I'd be royally fucked.

I tip-toed to the corner, and slowly peered around it. I could see through a three shelf rack holding some boxes of packaging supplies.

There was Dylan on the forklift with his phone out, pants down, recording himself slowly, but surely, stroking a hard-on. By the looks of it, it was an absolutely massive erection.

My eyes widened, and I just stood there frozen. The scene was fully set.

"Oh, fuckkkk," Dylan sighed.

"Look at this big cock drip precum for you, Babe."

I realized just then that he wasn't recording himself. It seemed he was facetiming with his girlfriend!

Dylan wore paint stained tan Dickey's pulled down just below his knees revealing his skinny, pale thighs. Wolverine boots stained with oil from a few years on the job. His black company issued "Fabrotec" t-shirt was pulled up slightly above his belly button. His last name "Johnson" was tatted in a half moon shape above it. Dylan's head was leaning back against the seat of the forklift with his hard hat still on. Then, there was his dick.

Dylan may have looked unassuming, but he carried around a serious piece of equipment. It was legit. Pale white like his legs, and I thought to myself exaggeratedly, probably half the thickness. It looked like he was uncut, and a good inch and a half longer than mine, probably just around 8 inches in length, as well as, thick and girthy. He was thoroughly enjoying showing off his cock to his girlfriend.

"If I had a dick like that I'd want to show it off any chance I could get too," I thought to myself.

Boy, was Dylan really putting on a show. The way he verbally commanded the situation really made my dick strain in my pants. It was about half hard when I started to rub myself through my Dockers.

As I began to rub myself, Dylan's eyes shot open, and he gave a quick glance to his right towards where I was standing. Luckily, my reactions were quick enough to duck down and around the corner slightly, so as to not be seen, but make no mistake, I was ready to sprint back to the office.

Then, I heard Dylan say, "Ah, sorry, Babe! I thought I heard something, but it must've just been my imagination."

With that, he went back to it.

"Mmmmm, that pussy is so wet, Babe. Would you like to ride me on this forklift?" questioned Dylan.

From the way he said it, he already knew the answer was yes.

He continued, "Would you be a good girl, and make me cum right here at work?"

Dylan then propped the phone on the steering wheel, and pulled his pants all the way down to his ankles.

"Oh yeah, you want it, don't you, Babe? You want this big fucking load, huh?"

As he pulled his pants to his ankles, so did I. The truth of the matter was the sights and sounds before me were exciting me beyond belief. Here I was, secretly watching this younger man stroke his cock for his girlfriend on the phone, and I couldn't get enough. I absolutely did not want it to end. I took my cock in my right hand, and furiously started to beat off. Then, I took my cellphone out with my left hand, and started to record the hot stroke session in front of me.

Dylan was in his own little world. The lusty way he spoke was an indication he had forgotten about everything around him. All he cared about in that moment was making his dick feel good until he came. Each exhale that escaped him was a deep, glutteral moan from the depths of his loins.

I was breathing heavily. Never before had I played the voyeur like this, and it was driving me crazy. I'd listened to roommates and stroked before, but that was about as much experience with voyeurism as I had. The feeling was so thrilling and electric that I was praying Dylan would work his thick cock for hours.

Just then I heard the faint sounds of a woman moaning and screaming with pleasure through the tinny speakers of his cell phone.

"Oh, yesss," said the girl.

"Drip that big dick, Daddy. You know how much I love it. Please, don't stop, Babe. Not until you make me cum," she panted vigorously.

"This is INSANE. I should show this whole scene to Jessica when I get home," I thought.

The thought of showing my girlfriend put me right on the edge of bursting. I tried to stop to gather my thoughts.

I removed my hand, and a moment later heard her start to scream with pleasure.

"Ohhhhhh, DADDY! Do it. Make your little slut cummmmm. Unghhhhhhh..."

I knew she had just achieved orgasm watching Dylan stroke his cock at work, and ropes of cum started to shoot out of my dick involuntarily. The passionate and lusty scene that played out in front of me was too much, and I came without even gripping my cock.

The first spurt had hit the back of a package on the shelf. The next, a white line across the floor. Finally, I gripped my penis, and pushed out one last thick drip into a small pool at my feet.

I wasn't in the right state of mind to try to control my cum. I let out the last of my own moans, prayed that Dylan hadn't heared, and wondered if I showed Jessica my recording if she'd be able to hear me bust my nut.

Luckily, Dylan's girl's orgasm, coupled with his mindnumbing edging, ensured that he didn't hear anything going on around him.

Dylan continued on, "Oh, you deserved to cum like that, Babe. You deserve my big load too. Do you want it?"

She greedily gave her approval, and Dylan stood up in the forklift, gripped the ceiling above him with one hand, and furiously beat his cock into the camera with the other.

"Fuck yeah, you want it. Take it, Babe. It's all yours," he said as he unloaded rope after rope of thick cum.

The spurts never seemed to end. I counted at least seven, or eight.

Over the sounds of his moans, I thought, "This is better than any porn I've ever seen in my life."

As Dylan started to come down from his intense orgasmic bliss, it dawned on me that I needed to get the hell out of there before he came to his senses. I didn't want to lose my only employee to a confrontation on the second day, and I certainly didn't want to lose out on the possiblity of seeing something that hot again.

I pulled up my khakis, stuffed my half hard cock into one leg, zipped, and started into a pacy, noiseless jog towards the office.

When I reached the door to the office, a thought hit me like a punch in the gut. As noiseless and sneaky as I had been, I had forgotten to clean up my cum...

Right as that thought finished, I heard a voice in the distance.

"What the fuck," exclaimed Dylan.

I opened, and closed the door gently. Then, waited for a confrontation that never came. Maybe he hadn't found the cum after all.

I sat locked in my office for the next couple of hours until I knew Dylan had gone home for the evening. I walked to my hiding place in the warehouse, and found that there was no sign of any cum. He cleaned it up.

My mind was swimming. I couldn't wait to get home to tell Jessica about what had happened, and show her what I'd recorded.