“Hey, Carl,” I said, waving.
Carl put a hand up to his face and shaded his eyes with them. “Hey, Billy boy. Coming ‘round later?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Before I head home. Looks like you’ve got your hands full right now though.”
It wasn’t Carl’s hands that seemed particularly full. Big Tom was behind Carl and was reaming him out so hard that it was amazing that Carl could hold a conversation. We’d all seen Big Tom’s uncut hog dangling in the showers, but Carl just took that bad boy up his ass with the goony, fuck-drunk expression he usually got when a nice big one was banging at his doorbell.
They’d been at it awhile from the way Big Tom was sweating and the amount of precum Carl was leaking. Or was that a load that Carl had shot into the pouch of his jock while Big Tom fucked him? I stopped to watch for a bit, and neither man seemed to mind. In fact, Big Tom dipped his head in my direction and whistled as he slapped Carl’s ass with a meaty paw.
“I worked sixty hours this week, Billy. Haven’t had time to visit our friend here or even jack myself off. Got a six-day load churning in here. Should be good eats, if you’re inclined,” he said between grunts.
Carl had been a product of a round of tense negotiation with the management. Work in the quarry wasn’t as back-breaking as it was in the early days, before automation, but it was still strenuous. The management wouldn’t budge on shorter work days, but they beefed up safety protocols and included a few ways to the guys to blow off steam: on-site gym, sponsored happy hours after work, and Carl.
Carl was discreet, friendly, and best of all: insatiable. The first week there’d been a line backed way the hell out of the break area with guys waiting to try him out. I thought we’d finally gotten a Red Bull vending machine.
I was newly married at the time, so I took the high road. I was polite to our new “co-worker,” said hi when I saw him leaving the showers, or checking into work; he looked as hot showing up in jeans and a tight t-shirt as he did wearing a suit of fresh jizz.
It was a year before I caught Carl leaving the site and heading home for the night. All dressed up he looked like any other dude, which I think was what kind of turned me on about him. Not that I’d let myself be turned on by him.
I asked him if he wanted to get a drink and he turned me down.
“I’ve gotta head home and get a shower in,” he said. He laughed. “I’ve taken so many loads today, man. I need to clear the cache and head to bed, you know?“
"Why don’t you…uh…clean up here before you head home?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes but still grinned. “Taking a shower around these guys is an invitation for trouble. It’s easier just to head home.”
“Gotcha. And you’re just, uh. You’re still full? You know, from today?”
It was like someone else was asking the question. Carl’s grin broadened, and he cocked his head to the side a little.
“Oh yeah. I got fucked five or six times before quitting time. Got creamed in every time. I’m not just full, man: I’m fucking stuffed.” He looked me up and down, frankly evaluating me. “That’s your thing? I wouldn’t have guessed, and I’m good at guessing.”
I could feel my face turning red. “I’m just curious. I mean, I don’t know how it all works…”
“Curious,” he said the word with relish. “Come over here.”
The crunch of the gravel under my feet was the only indication I had that I was moving at all. I could not recall giving my feet instructions to proceed.
When we were close, Carl took my hand and pushed it down the back of his jeans. He guided my hand past the straps of the jock he always seemed to be wearing and around the curve of his supple ass. My fingers felt the wetness before they encountered Carl’s hole, but goddamn was I not ready for that experience.
“Spread me open, Billy boy,” he growled.
I pushed inside him, and use my forefinger and middle finger to pry his swollen lips open and was rewarded by an immediate trickle of hot, sticky wetness flowing out over them. Carl pressed against me at this point, and I could feel his dick, hard and pulsing in his jock and jeans. It took most my willpower not to cum in my jeans right then.
He leaned in and whispered to me. “I’ve got your number now, Billy boy.”
It started quietly. Carl would “bump into me” at work after having just taken a direct deposit or three and insinuate how wet and full he was. A week or two passed and I broke. I found him in the showers one night, just finishing up with a stick thin guy named Benito who had a long dick and low-hanging balls. As Benito pulled out of Carl, I could see the long string of cum stretching out between them. It only broke when Benito shook his dick and stuffed it back in his pants.
Carl caught me gawking and waved me over.
“It’s still hot. Want a taste?”
There are dozens of things I could have said or done right then, but instead I got down on my knees, Carl backed his cummy ass up against my face, and I tongued his fresh-fucked hole. He groaned as I rimmed his messy hole. I wasn’t prepared for when Carl relaxed his sphincter and let Benito’s load flow onto my tongue. The fresh, briny cum was hot and potent, mixed as it was with the man musk of Carl’s ass.
Benito, still standing nearby, whooped and clapped.
“This bitch is really eating my cum out of another dude’s hole! Holy fuck! Look at him suck it right out of there!”
The secret was out after that. It was embarrassing for a while, but even though the guys teased me mercilessly, I think they got off of watching me suck sperm out of Carl’s hole. I can’t tell how many times a guy has come jogging up to me on site to let me know that so-and-so just dumped a mega load inside Carl and to come right away while it was still fresh. And more often than not, I’d go running.
So when Big Tom, perched right on the edge of dumping his babies inside Carl, asked if I wanted to play clean-up; I just licked my lips, and it was answer enough.
This story is in large part in honor of Bill Drake over at @drakestories, who recently announced his retirement from writing stroke stories. He is truly one of the finest writers of gay man sex fiction ever to grace the digital pages and he will truly be missed. I wrote this (and the deeper dive into the themes of this story over at the xplainer blog) before I found out, but I’m glad there’s something here in this space to commemorate a man whose work is truly foundational to so many of us smut writers. Thanks for your contribution to form, Bill. I mean that.
Tales from Under the Mattress 