I first spotted him in the grocery store. Waiting at the seafood counter for the fish guy to wrap my salmon, I caught something interesting out of the corner of my eye. Turning in that direction, I saw a thickly built young guy walking rapidly through the store. Grabbing my order, I turned and fell in behind him, following his husky ass though the produce section. He had that swagger in his walk that men built like that often do. He was very dirty, obviously having spent his morning doing some sort of hard manual labor. He wore a white, un-tucked thermal undershirt , the long sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing heavily muscled forearms. His plain label jeans weren’t tight, but fitted well enough to display a rounded ass and thick thighs. They were slightly askew, the seat seam running a little to the left. His tan work boots weren’t fully laced, so they flayed open at the top. His thick hands and stubby fingers were covered with dirt and grease. I followed him all the way to the checkout counter where he joined an older gentlemen, similarly dressed. Standing behind him in line, I looked him up and down, from his thick neck down to his thick calves. A slightly faded tattoo on his neck bore a name written in cursive and underlined. I couldn’t quite make out what it said. His dirty blond hair was buzzed around the sides, short on top.
He moved to the side, turning his profile to me as he started to squeeze between people to go to the end of the line and begin put the meager purchases in a bag. He had a barreled chest, obviously solid. His abdomen was slightly distended. It wasn’t a gut, necessarily, as it seemed really firm. It appeared to be the kind of slightly rounded belly some bodybuilders develop. His wasn’t a physique honed in a gym, however; it was borne of hard work and sweat.
The old man paid for his meager purchases with a food stamp card. As he checked out, the young hunk bagged everything. I studied his face as he stood there. Round, close set eyes, the short hair atop his head coming to a pronounced widow’s peak in front. He had a small, pointy patch of hair hanging off his chin, a style that seemed in favor with the young. He was almost unbearably masculine, but there was an innocence behind the machismo, a naive purity. He couldn’t be more than 20 or 21, but he had a weariness about his demeanor. It seemed he had seen his share of hardships. Having finished, the older gentleman went to the service counter, while the young one went outside. I hurriedly finished up myself and walked to the exit.
The young man stood by the newspaper dispenser, a lit cigarette between his greasy fingers. He brought it to his lips and inhaled as I moved closer. “Hey, man. How’s it going?” He grunted in response, the smoke curling from his lips as he did so. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help noticing that the gentleman you were with inside used food stamps to pay. Things must be pretty rough, huh.” He nodded tiredly. “Yeah, the old man ain’t workin’. I lost my job a few months ago, and been doin’ whatever I could to bring in some money.” His voice was rugged; deep and raspy. Just the sort of voice I expected. “Dad’s been sick, too. He needs to see the doctor, but we just can’t afford it. Rent’s behind too. I’m afraid we’re gonna get kicked out any day.” He shared freely, which was something I didn’t expect.
“Dude, I’m so sorry. What’s your name, son”? “Hank,” he responded wearily. “Hank, I was wondering if you would be interested in doing some stuff for me. I’d be willing to pay you pretty well for certain things.” His eyes lit up,intrigued. “Sure, man. What’d ya have in mind? I can do a lot of different stuff. Been doing construction for most of my life. I’m pretty good at a lot of different things.” “What do you mean ‘your whole life?’ You can’t be more than 21,” I replied. A sadness washed over him. “I’m only 20. I had to kind of grow up pretty fast. Dropped out of school when I was a sophomore. Been doing labor work ever since, to help out, mostly in construction. It’s just dad and me, after all. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, actually, it’s not really that kind of work I had in mind. I would like you to do something else for me. I would pay you handsomely.” He looked puzzled, then suddenly the light bulb went off. “Dude, I don’t swing that way. I mean, I ain’t got nothin’ against gays, but I just ain’t like that.” “Relax. It’s not like that at all. I only want to videotape you. No sex involved. Not that I wouldn’t want to, because you are smoking hot, but, no. You don’t have to do anything but let me film you. You don’t have to take anything off. As a matter of fact for this, I would want you dressed exactly like you are now, grease and everything.”
“I don’t know, man. I mean, I need the money, but I’m just not sure. Can I think about it?” “Sure, not a problem,” I responded. “Tell you what. Here’s my card. If you decide to, just call me on my cell. That’s the number down at the bottom. I hope I hear from you.” I turned to leave, seeing his dad coming out of the store’s sliding door. As I got in my car, I watched them go towards a ratty, brown Saturn station wagon. The young man climbed in the driver’s door and started the engine, a thick cloud of black smoke pluming out of the tailpipe as they drove away.
Almost a week passed, and I heard nothing from Hank. I was beginning to assume that he wasn’t interested, when the phone rang that Thursday night. The caller ID said “unknown caller.” I don’t usually answer those, but I picked up anyway. “Hello,..hello.” A second passed and a familiar raspy voice responded. “Dude, it’s Hank.” “Hank, I’m glad to hear from you. Have you thought over my proposal”? “Yeah, and I need the money bad. Dad’s in the hospital. It’s nothin’ big, but we can’t afford it. We got an eviction notice from the landlord this mornin’ and I don’t know what to do.” His voice started to break up over the phone. I could tell he was on the verge of crying.
“Man, I am so sorry. I want to help you and your dad. I’m going to give you some very specific instructions that you are to follow to the letter. This is going to seem really strange to you. I want you to do it and not ask any questions. Can you do that?” There were a few seconds of silence before he replied, “Yeah, I can do that. If you don’t mind my askin’, how much are we talkin’?”
“If you do everything exactly as I tell you and don’t question anything I tell you, I will have $5,000 in cash waiting for you when the video is done.” He gasped on the other end. “Holy shit, man.” He was sobbing now in gratitude. “This means so much to us, dude, thank you.” “Hank,” I said into the phone, “calm down. You need to pay close attention to my instructions. There aren’t a lot of them, but you have to do exactly what I tell you and not question anything, okay.”
â€œ“Dude, okay. I can do that. What do you want me to do?” Okay, here goes,” I said, as I began to explain. “Have you taken a dump today?” “What?” was his startled reply. “Hank, I told you not to question anything I say. Have you taken a shit today, yes or no?””No, I ain’t. I been at a job site all day, tarring a roof. There wasn’t no bathroom around, so I been holdin’ it. I’m headin’ to the john after I hang up with you to drop one.” “Okay, Hank, you are not to do that. Remember, no questions. Your first instruction is you are not to take a dump tonight…or tomorrow, or Saturday. I want you to go about your business for the next two days. The only two things I don’t want you to do are shower and shit. For this video, I want you greased up and dirty, just the way I saw you at the store. I don’t want you eating or drinking anything that is going to upset your stomach or give you the trots. When you wake up Sunday morning, you’re going to be pretty full and desperate for a crap. I imagine you’re going to be in quite a bit of discomfort. I want you to be strong, however, because there’s something else you have to do that day. Sunday you are to not piss, either. When you have gone as long as you think you can hold out, I want you call me, then get in your car and come to my house, wearing the exact clothing you had on that day I met you. I’ll give you the address before you hang up. Do you think you can do that”?
“I don’t want to, but I need the money, so yeah, I’ll do it. If I do this, you promise you’ll pay me $5,000?” “I promise, Hank. I’ll have the cash at the house so you can see it. I’m a man of my word. You do what I ask, and you will get it all. I’ll talk to you Sunday.”
The next couple of days seemed to go by slowly, the anticipation of Sunday making it hard to focus on work or much of anything else. I thought often of Hank; what was he feeling right now. My cock pressed against my pants with the thought of what was coming. I couldn’t wait.
Sunday morning I awoke and went to the restroom to relieve myself, thinking of Hank. His turd had to be straining hard against the ole’ back door by now. He probably got out of bed this morning with a piss hard-on, realizing on his way to the john that he couldn’t do that either. The morning passed without a call.
At about 1:30, the phone rang. I picked it up and before I even said anything, the familiar raspy voice on the other end said breathlessly, “Dude, I’m on my way…over.” He gasped audibly. “I hope I make it without somethin’ happening.” Then the line went dead. I readied myself for the afternoon.
Within a few minutes, the broken-down Saturn wagon belched to a stop at my front door. The studly hunk emerged from the driver’s door, grabbing desperately at his crotch as he waddled up the walk to the porch. He beat furiously at the door, ignoring the bell. I was waiting right there, so I let him in immediately. “Oh, man, oh, man. Dude, I don’t know what you’re gonna do, but you ain’t got long,”
he said as he stood there squirming. He was fidgeting around like a water droplet on a hot stove. “Don’t worry, Hank. We’ll get started right now. There’s the money right there,” I said, pointing to a briefcase of $20 bills. “Turn around. I’m going to put this blindfold on you until we get to where I’m going to shoot the video. I’ll take it off when we get there.” He turned around, still grabbing himself, a short, sharp fart escaping from his rounded behind as he stood there grimacing in discomfort. He looked exactly as I remembered him, only dirtier, as he hadn’t showered since Thursday, the acrid smell of his BO hitting my nose and hardening my dick. His belly was, understandably, slightly more distended than it had been at our first meeting. I affixed the leather blindfold over his eyes and began guiding him to the basement stairs, telling him where and when to step.
Once we reached the basement, I guided him to the center of the room, where a metal support pole stood. I told him to lean against it, slide down and sit on the concrete floor, then reach around behind the pole with both arms. He did as I asked, letting go of his dick to reach back and guide himself blindly down the post, passing gas twice more as the waistband of his jeans cut into his abdomen. Once he was seated, I moved behind the pole. There was a heavy iron â€œDâ€ clip welded to the back of the metal pole, through which were threaded a pair of police-issue handcuffs. I snapped the cuffs around his wrist, taking him completely by surprise. As he began to verbally protest, I said sharply, “Hank! Shut up.” He complied reluctantly to this order. I reached for a roll of duct tape and proceeded to tape his mouth shut, passing the metallic gray tape around his head five times, ensuring a good seal.
Grabbing a nearby bottle of nasal decongestant, I squirted a couple of sprays up each nostril, telling him to inhale them. I didn’t need him suffocating in my basement.
Removing the blindfold, I looked into his stressed and watery red eyes. He squirmed frantically on the floor, his rounded butt pressed to the cement, his legs thrashing about. Squatting down close to his face, I looked into his tortured eyes and gave my last instruction. “Hank, the video is running and has been since we reached the bottom of the stairs. You may groan, scream, moan, or make any other non-verbal noises you need to make. You are not, however, to try to speak at all. I don’t want to hear anything through that tape that I could construe as an actual word. I’m well aware of how bad you need to go to the bathroom, and it’s not necessary for you to try to tell me again. This is your final instruction. Do you understand me?” He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and farting against the floor yet again.
I stood back to watch. His head tossed back and forth looking frantically around the room, moans of extreme desperation coming from under the tape. His powerful thighs were bouncing up and down, the movement an attempt to relieve some of the tremendous pressure inside him. His thickly muscled, grease-streaked forearms were pulling back and forth, causing the chain of the cuffs to scrape along the metal ring through which they were threaded. His puffy eyes were watering, the tears streaking down his beautiful, dirty face. I was more turned on than I had ever been in my life.
I had given him no idea how long I intended to keep him there; therefore he was holding on with furious resolve, not realizing that he was to stay there until the contents of his bladder and his bowels were inside his jeans. Muffled screams echoed through the space as he struggled, the room becoming ripe with the nutty smell of gas. He looked at me, pleading with his eyes to let him go. Squeezing his legs together, he groaned loudly as a small wet spot appeared. He threw them apart as the pee began to soak through the dirty denim, pooling under his ass and running down the back of his left leg.
His face twisted in an expression of relief, desperation, and humiliation as he violently pissed himself.
Suddenly, he grimaced, screaming through the gag in considerable pain. His ass was pressed firmly against the floor, and he was unable to raise it to allow any room. He pulled his right leg into his buttocks, streaks of piss running down his ass-crack. A soft bubbling hiss of flatulence came through the seat of the denim as the material began to stretch. It was so hard and big he had to bear down forcefully to keep it moving, as it had very little place to go. The log continued its exit, filling his underwear to overflowing, some of it squeezing through the leg of his shorts and down onto his thigh.
Finally it was over. Hank’s head dropped to his chest as he sobbed softly. I walked over to him and squatted down, gently grabbing his chin and raising his head to look at me. “You did really well, son,” I told him. “That was worth an extra thousand.” His eyes lit up a little, hearing that. “I’ll put it in the briefcase with the rest. I’m going to undo the cuffs now. There’s a bathroom over in the corner where you can shower and clean up. Everything you need is in there. When you’re cleaned up, there are clothes in the closet just off the bathroom in various sizes. Find something that fits you and put your dirty clothes in a plastic bag you will find under the sink. You may either take them with you or leave them if you prefer.” I unlocked the cuffs and helped him to his feet, leaving him to clean himself up.
About a half-hour later, he appeared at the top of the stairs, freshly showered and dressed in a polo shirt and Levi 501’s, new work boots on his feet. He looked so handsome, I thought to myself. I walked over to him with the briefcase, reaching out my hand to shake his. To my great surprise, he pushed my hand aside and threw his paws around me, squeezing me in a huge bear hug. “Thank you so much, dude. This money means so much to my dad and me.” I led him to the foyer and handed him the briefcase. “You can count it right now if you want. Trust me, it’s all there, all $6,000.” I grabbed his hand and shook it. “One more thing, Hank. We have an opening at our company for a maintenance man. It’s full time and pays really well. I think you’d be a perfect fit. If you’re interested, I’ll pull some strings and get you in.” He began to tear up again. “It also comes with full health benefits for you and you can put your dad on it, too.” He began to sob, throwing his arms around me again. “Dude, thank you, thank you so much. I can’t tell you what this means to me.” He walked down the sidewalk to his car, a spring in his step. I watched those beautiful buns until he got to the curb, then closed the door, knowing in a few weeks I would get to see him every Monday through Friday.