New apprentice
I didn’t want to take on Rhys as my apprentice. He was cocky, arrogant and unreliable. He was living home at the age of 19 with no job, sleeping until midday every day and working on his car all night. Since his dad was best mates with my dad, however, it was decided that he’d come work for my tiling business, to teach him some responsibility and get him out of the house. From day one, he was the worst employee I’d ever had. I’d pick him up every morning and without fail, he’d make me wait. He never had any money so I’d have to spot him breakfast at Maccas just to stop his complaining, and he’d spend the work day sending Snaps to half the girls in his phone while I went around and fixed his sloppy work. Somehow, despite his laziness and a diet consisting solely of junk food, he had one of the tightest, most toned bodies I’d ever seen. His chest was perfectly defined, his lips were full and sexy, and the bulge in the front of his footy shorts always drew my eye. After dropping him home (following yet another Maccas run, of course) I’d hurry to the bathroom, kick off my sweaty jocks and jack off to a picture of him in my phone, looking at that perfect, dumb smile and those mischievous eyes and thinking of all the things that toned body could do. Of course, there came a time when I fucked up. My crew was behind on a few jobs, and he and I were alone, trying to finish a client’s kitchen. After a morning of scrolling through Instagram and very little work, he announced that he had to piss, and kicked off his boots outside the bathroom. They were size 11 King Gees, tan, with a zipper up the side, and as soon as the door shut, I was onto them, unable to help myself. I picked up one warm workboot and held it to my nose, moaning softly at the damp, manly smell of Rhys’ feet - it was strong enough to make me lightheaded, and I knew I’d probably have to jack off an extra time tonight after the privilege of sniffing my useless apprentice’s boots. I was so lost in his manly smell that I didn’t hear the bathroom door open, or notice him until he was standing over me, smirking. “I fucken knew it,” he said, and that was that. For a dumb fuck, Rhys was pretty smart when he wanted to be. That afternoon, he sat, laughing and filmed me on his phone as I sucked his long, uncut cock and he gave me the occasional smack across the face. When he got close, he told me to stick out my tongue and jerked himself off onto it. Like a good faggot, I swallowed every drop. “Who’s the man?” he asked me. “You’re the man Rhys,” I said. “Fuckin-a right,” he replied with a smirk. After that, there were some ground rules - I would do my job and his, and pay him my share of any cash job we did. In return, he agreed not to send the video to the other blokes on my crew, and if I’d been good, he’d kick his boots off in my ute after work, and put his smelly socked feet up on the dash. If I’d been very good, or if whatever chick he was banging wasn’t putting out, he’d let me suck him off. Sometimes he’d eat his Maccas while I did it.
“How’s the young fella doin’?” Rhys’ old man asked one night, a few beers deep around the barbeque. “Best he’s ever had, I reckon,” Rhys said with a wink, before I could answer. The little fucker was not wrong.
