Mr. Cook was always of the belief that neighbors should help each other out. So when he was working on his house that afternoon and Manuel Ramirez came out to complain about the noise, the older man was stunned. Apparently, the young man was doing something called ‘streaming’ and the machines were too loud. Now the older man had no idea how all that streaming nonsense worked, but Ramirez had a point: the noise had been happening for a while. Mr. Cook had to face facts, he wasn’t the young buck he used to be. A simple job was harder to accomplish with one man. But Manuel on the other hand? There was potential there.
“I agree with ya, neighbor. Can’t move like I used to. Why don’t you help me out?” Mr. Cook stated, rubbing the back of his neck, defeated.
“Wha?” Manuel barely got out as a nailing gun was shoved into his hands. He stumbled back, almost falling over before slamming a solid foot down. The teen’s body rumbled. Then the growth started. He was taller in minutes and his body came in perfect; two heavy pecs with six abs situated under it. Luckily the clothes on his lower body stayed. Mr. Cook wasn’t sure what he’d have done if his neighbor ended up naked.
Manuel matured into the exact type of man Mr. Cook needed for this project. The man got straight to work without even being asked. Mr. Cook laughed as the new man was about to make some real money in the home improvement department around the block…and possibly ruin some marriages. It made Mr. Cook think back to his younger days, wooing the rich married couples was half the fun.
–
#2 Don’t Trespass
Mr. Cook hadn’t even gotten his pool together. His fence was up. But there was still so much more work to be done on his house. Sadly, Manuel had too many other projects around town to do. Never even talked about that ‘streaming’ stuff anymore. Mr. Cook felt good he had helped clear the young man of that stress. But now Mr. Cook had a stressor. He’d seen it on the Neighborhood app: boys around town were stealing rocks from his backyard to place in other people’s lawn. Some real suburban entertainment foolishness right there.
These weren’t regular rocks, they were decorative pieces for his pool, but did the boys care? No. Which Mr. Cook was flabbergasted by. They were neighbors. Okay, maybe not direct neighbors, but it was all one neighborhood. One division of town that separated them from the rest. If they didn't have each other's backs, who would? Then the solution came to him. A way for the young men bored out of their minds to find meaning.
The next time someone tried to steal his rocks, Mr. Cook was in the kitchen making a sandwich. He heard the grunting first, then clothes tearing. He cleaned his hands, stepping outside. A smile was on his face. Not just one neighborhood hooligan, but two, attempting to steal his rocks. Unlike Manuel, their clothes came straight off. Their bodies bulked rapidly as if they had been starving for it . Mr. Cook shook his head as two men rolled on the ground stroking their dicks. Thankfully, his fence was up. When they were done covering each other in white glaze, he handed them tool belts, two new employees.
“Where would you like these to go Mr. Cook?” Rick would ask, while John held a wheelbarrow full of rocks that had to be moved.
Mr. Cook gave a silent approval to the toned bodies under his command. He appreciated their subconscious-fueled growth that made their natural outfits be their birthday suits. What was better than watching the male form in its most purest state at work? Very nice of his neighbors to take on his house as a project. At night, fully-clothed they made for pretty good watch dogs to deter future rocks from being stolen.
–
# 3 Do Favors
When a neighbor asks for help, it's only right to help. Mr. Cook believed it deeply and boy, did he need help. His last two workers were killing it outside, but they were very unskilled at indoor labor (i.e. panting a house.) He couldn’t quite reach up without his back killing him. He had ordered a pizza and wouldn’t you know it, Francisco from down the street was the pizza boy. He was trying to make some money before college. Well, Mr. Cook had a better offer. He took the pizza and gave his neighbor a paint brush. The young man looked confused expecting a tip. Mr. Cook smiled, knowing Francisco was about to get something much better than a tip. Francsico’s body exploded with muscle on Mr. Cook’s porch.
The older Francisco stepped inside. He lost his shirt but had on a nice pair of sweatpants. He walked up the steps already knowing where to go. Mr. Cook followed behind, ignoring the ass practically clapping in his face. Two pillows forced inside a thin layer. Francisco got to work on the walls as his pants repeatedly fell down throughout the process, too small for his bubble butt.
Mr. Cooks rubbed his neck, “You know we’re inside, if it’s uncomfortable to keep those on. You should work with them off. Consider it a favor from me to you, just being neighborly by offering.”
–
# 4 Improve the View
It's all the neighbors responsibility to ensure their neighborhood stays beautified. Mr. Cook certainly took his part seriously. When he caught Paul McGill littering, he put a stop to it right there. The young man barely knew what hit him as the tool belt cinched around his waist. Muscles piled in, happily filling in his form. He rose inches up into the air as body broke free of his constraints. His balls sagged lower as his ass pushed out. His face re-adjust, hairline slightly receding, jaw squaring, as a mustache grew over his lip zipping right past the peach fuzz phase.
Now Mr. Cook could lay in his backyard on a lawn chair and see the view of the newest Mr. McGill’s ass when working. The best view, as the man had four kids and anyone could tell his body put in the work making them.
–
# 5 Just Because
Mr. Cook always needed help around the house. Sometimes he didn’t even know what he needed help for. Honestly, he could admit it was his own damn fault for moving into a DIY suburban home. Huge property, so many projects. So, there were times the specific reason eluded even him. Then again, he liked being surrounded by barely clothed and nude men who reminded him of himself: hard workers.
The two new men he’d recently “hired” to work on his roof?
He couldn't even remember their names, maybe they had bumped into him, or said something weird. Regardless, the result was great, wasn’t it? Muscle tits out in the summer sun, buns being cooked by sunset. Mr. Cook was sure the two were making out whenever he wasn’t checking up on them. It was hard to be overly competent and attractive without getting another man turned on. Mr. Cook could relate. Even harder to spend days bending over, and squatting down, when neither men wore underwear.
Then when a baseball came through his window and landed surrounded by glass. Mr. Cook sighed after nearly having a heart attack. Lee Sung was at his door minutes later. Mr. Cook rolled his eyes, walking the boy in. The kid apologized but had no plans for how to fix the window. There were tons of men working on the house who could have fixed it easily, but to Mr. It was about the principle of the thing. Whoever breaks it should fix it. However, with the team he had at that point, that was flimsy reasoning even for him. His hand fell on Lee’s shoulder from behind as Mr. Cook reached into his pocket and placed a tape measure at the center of Lee’s chest. On impact a shock wave traveled through Lee as his body changed. A man had replaced the boy in seconds, his overall’s had ripped and not repaired itself, becoming the new style, while his shirt had been obliterated by his pecs and shoulders, making it obsolete. Mr. Cook looked over him, satisfied, before letting his newest employee get to work.
–
When Mr. Cook, with Manuel’s help, published his Five Neighborly Tips on his fence, people laughed thinking it was a joke, especially #5. What was ‘Just Because’? At the neighborhood watch meeting he’d shared it was very serious. There were steps he believed they could all take to be a bit more thoughtful of each other. It was only fair to provide people with his expectations. After all, most would come to find he’d be the only one winning in the end when he practically had an entire worker’s commune walking into his house, disappearing until the night.
People started to whisper about what really went on at Mr. Cook’s house. Yet when they heard a saw, drill, or leaf blower for hours it was hard to argue otherwise. However, despite how many men he added on, none of the projects ever seemed to get fixed. There were always more men, always more work to do. Eventually people get bored of trying to guess. The litany of workers would never stop, and it was just a fact of life.
Mr. Cook reached a point where he barely had to lift a finger or voice his opinion on a project. His men knew what he liked. Them shirtless, ass and cocks out if possible, and the job completed immaculately. The man sat lounging in a hammock underneath shade, as the men worked dutifully. His neighbor had understood the tips; he knew they would and if they ever didn’t there was always another spot waiting to be filled.
Every time the boss’s son, Evan, comes to the office, he takes one of the interns into the lunchroom for “networking and professional development purposes.” It’s a rare opportunity, and highly coveted among the interns. Though Evan might not look like much—clad in tattered blue jeans and dingy sneakers—he’s a genius. The inters who have had the opportunity to network with him swear by it. They practically worship him. I personally don’t see the hype, but the results don’t lie. Everyone he mentors inevitably lands lucrative opportunities at the company, and beyond.
One time, I accidentally interrupted one of his networking meetings. Now, I’m a firm believer in Evan’s genius. He was coaching my buddy Tyler how to fuck him like an animal. I’d known Tyler to be quiet and reserved. But under Evan’s leadership, Tyler was a fucking stud.
His instructions were brilliant:
“Grind your big dick into me while kissing my neck.”
“Beg for a taste of my pussy.”
“Kiss my feet while you pound into me.”
The scene was perfect. I didn’t even realize I was jerking off until I came all over my khakis.
To my mortification, Evan directed his gaze at me and told me to clean up my mess. I moved to grab a towel until he fixed me with a stern look.
My cheeks must’ve bloomed bright red I was so embarrassed. Like the cumslut I was, I licked away the mess from my hands, my pants, and the little bit that fell onto the ground.
Then I took the initiative to clean off Tyler’s dick as well, earning an impressed look from Evan.
Graciously, Evan let me stick and around and massage his feet while he continued chatting with Tyler about his future at the company. Every once in a while, he’d tell me I was I a good boy or rub my hair like a dog. Tyler didn’t acknowledge me once.
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