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[skinheadmal]

The Stench

The morning sun hung low over the rain-slicked streets of the industrial sprawl, casting long shadows that swallowed the edges of the city. Edward Hargrove, an up-and-coming executive, had just flown in for a meeting. His flight was late. He gripped the wheel of the hire car, a sleek black Audi with manicured fingers, his mind already churning through quarterly projections and boardroom maneuvers. He was late, cursing the traffic. The journey so far had been a nightmare, road works, road workers either talking or leaning on their spades, cursing under his breath, lazy good-for-nothings, he thought.

It did not help that the coffee’s he had on the flight was putting pressure on his bladder. Spotting a faded sign for public conveniences off the A-road, he pulled his car into a run-down car park, the tires crunching over broken glass.

The toilet block loomed like a forgotten relic, its concrete walls scarred with graffiti and streaked with years of neglect. Edward wrinkled his nose as he pushed through the creaking door, the air thick with the acrid tang of stale urine, layered over something deeper, more fungal. Dim fluorescent bulbs flickered overhead, casting a sickly pallor on the chipped tiles and overflowing sinks. He hurried to the urinal, unzipping his tailored trousers with a sigh of relief, eager to be back on the road.

He didn't hear the door swing open again, but he felt the shift in the air a heavier, fouler presence invading the space. A man shuffled in, broad-shouldered and hulking, his boots scuffing the floor like gravel underfoot.

He was a workman from one of the road crews that plagued the outskirts, his face with crude tattoos and grime and stubble, eyes bloodshot and narrowed. His hands were also inked, caked with black earth and oil, his arms covered in multi coloured tattoos. He stepped up to the adjacent urinal.

The orange hi-vis trousers he wore were an abomination, stained with mud, oil slicks, and darker, crusted patches that spoke of spills long forgotten. A threadbare vest hung loose over his barrel chest, and his breath, when he exhaled, carried the sour reek of cheap cigarettes and day-old lager.

Edward shot him a glance, lips curling in instinctive disgust. The man was everything he despised: unwashed, unrefined, a walking testament to the underclass that built the world he profited from without ever touching the dirt. He averted his eyes, focusing on the cracked wall ahead, willing his stream to end so he could escape.

But then the workman let loose. A heavy, hissing torrent hit the porcelain, and with it came a smell that hit Edward like a physical blow—rank, ammonia-sharp, laced with the rot of dehydration and neglect. It bloomed in the stagnant air, overpowering the stale urine, wrapping around Edward's senses like a vice. His vision blurred at the edges, the world tilting as a fog descended on his mind. His heart stuttered, his grip on reality slipping. He swayed, the urinal forgotten, his trousers still unzipped as his body went slack.

The workman didn't look at him. He just finished, shook himself off with a wet slap against his thigh, and zipped up. His voice rumbled out, low and gravelly, a single word that burrowed into Edward's skull like a command etched in stone:

"Follow."

Edward's legs moved before his brain could protest. He left his briefcase slumped against the wall, its leather gleaming mockingly in the dim light, and turned on his heel. The door banged shut behind them as they stepped into the car park, the workman's van a battered white Transit with faded council markings badly parked.

The workman climbed into the driver's seat without a backward glance, and Edward followed, sliding into the passenger side amid the clutter of empty crisp packets and beer cans and a haze of cigarette smoke. The engine coughed to life, diesel fumes mingling with the lingering stench from the toilet, and they peeled away, the city shrinking in the rearview.

The drive blurred into nothing, endless grey roads flanked by skeletal warehouses and chain-link fences until they veered onto a rutted track leading to a hulking, rust-eaten building on the edge of nowhere. The windows were boarded with splintered plywood. The workman killed the engine and grunted,

"Inside."

Edward obeyed, his polished Oxfords crunching on gravel as he trailed the man through a side door into the gloom. The warehouse yawned around them: vast and echoing, lit only by shafts of dusty light piercing the roof. Pallets of forgotten stock loomed like tombstones, and the air hummed with the faint drip of water from some unseen leak.

"Strip,"

The workman ordered, his voice flat, brooking no argument.

Edward's hands moved of their own accord, shedding his bespoke suit layer by layer, the silk tie, the starched shirt, the wool trousers pooling at his ankles, his designer underwear, until he stood naked and shivering, his pale skin prickling in the chill. The workman turned to a set of dented lockers and pulled out a bundle that reeked of sweat and machine oil: orange hi-vis trousers, stiff with grime and crusted in places with what might have been dried semen or worse; a fluorescent vest frayed at the hems; heavy work boots caked in mud.

"Put 'em on."

The fabric scraped against Edward's skin like sandpaper as he complied; the trousers felt tight around his arse and legs, likewise, the vest was tight across his chest, as if the workman already knew his measurements. The boots pinched, too large, but he laced them tight. He felt ridiculous, exposed.

The workman produced a pair of clippers from a bag, the blades humming to life with a predatory whine. He grabbed Edward by the jaw, forcing his head still, and sheared away the carefully styled hair in brutal strokes. Clumps fell to the concrete. As the cold metal buzzed over his scalp, something deep inside Edward clenched a hot, urgent pressure building in his groin. He gasped, but it was too late; warmth flooded the crotch of the hi-vis trousers, soaking through the stained fabric in a dark, spreading bloom. Urine trickled down his thighs, pooling in the boots, the sharp scent mingling with the warehouse's mold. His mind fractured then, the trance sealing like wax, the man he had been dissolving into the ether. No more boardrooms, no more projections. Just this.

The workman stepped back, surveying his work with a nod. The bald head gleamed under the faint light, the piss-stained trousers marking the threshold crossed. Edward, whatever name lingered now stared blankly, his past a void.

The workman closed the distance, his grimy hand shooting out to cup the wet bulge at Edward's crotch. Fingers squeezed, soaking in the fresh warmth, then withdrew, glistening. He pressed them to Edward's lips.

"Lick."

Edward’s tongue obeyed, salty and bitter, the taste of his own shame flooding his mouth. A shiver ran through him, not revulsion, but something darker, more familiar.

"Lie down,"

The workman said, and Edward dropped to the cold floor, the concrete biting into his back through the thin vest.

The workman unzipped, his stream arcing out in a golden arc, hot and relentless. It splashed across Edward's chest, soaking the vest, then lower, drenching the trousers further, pooling around his head until it trickled into his ears, his mouth. The piss was everywhere, marking, claiming. And in that deluge, the final shift locked in.

The man on the floor wasn't Edward anymore. He was Ed, or something like it, it didn't matter. He hawked and spat, the word bubbling up unbidden: "Fuckin' hell, that hit the spot." His voice was rougher now, laced with the workman's accent. The workman rolled two unfiltered cigarettes, placing one in Ed’s mouth, then lit it with his Zippo lighter, and then he lit his own, both inhaling deep, the smoke curling from his nostrils like a dragon's breath. The workman popped open two cans of Lager, swigging from a can that tasted like home, the bitterness settling in his gut like an old friend.

The workman, Mick, grinned, teeth yellowed and crooked. "That's me, boy. Proper workman, you are."

----

They were mates now, thick as thieves. Days blurred into the grind: out on the roads at dawn, jackhammers and Tar, hi-vis glowing under the sun as they patched potholes and cursed the traffic. Ed’s language, getting coarse by the day, always putting a finger up to posh cunts in their expensive cars, sneering, the hatred. "Yeah? Fuckin' posh cunts in their suits, struttin' about, treadin' on lads like us. Oughta piss on the lot of 'em."

 Mick barking orders, Ed laughing through the sweat, sharing smokes, passing the flask of cheap booze. No clocks, no weekends, just the crew, the dirt, the rhythm of labour that left them bone-tired and buzzing.

Nights blurred into ritual. After the last cone was planted and the crew scattered, they'd stumble back, reeking of Tar and sweat. Mick would shove Ed against the wall, hands roaming under the hi-vis, polo, then unzipping Ed’s trousers with the urgency of two men on heat. Their bodies tangled on the dirty mattress on the floor, the ritual started hard and rough, and urgent. They fucked like it was the only language left, no tenderness, just raw need that left bruises like badges. Mick's stubble scraped Ed’s shaved scalp as he thrust deep, growls mingling with the slap of skin. Ed would gave as much as he got; he flipped Mick over, pinning his broad shoulders on the mattress, burying his cock deep in the arse of his workmate, their grunts echoing off the metal walls. They'd collapse spent, limbs entwined, passing a shared rollie with something extra in it, lager fizzing on their tongues as they traded stories of the day's bollocks, with posh cunts  in suits in their posh cars. Both agreed how much they despised them, not honest working men like them, who kept the world turning.

In the morning, still dark outside, they both stirred, with Ed giving Mick a morning blow job, which of course ended up with a fuck session, Ed feeling the scorching cum of Mick's spunk inside of him, and the sensation of it dribbling out of his fuck hole.

---

It has been six months since the chance meeting in a filthy toilet block. Their work had taken them all over the country. Their Hi Viz work gear, which in all honesty is all they wore, had layers and layers of tar, piss stains, and dried cum.  

Mick and Ed were inseparable now, a two-man wrecking crew, their laughter rough as sandpaper over shared flasks of lukewarm lager, their van now towed a small dilapidated caravan, it was their den where the day's filth was rinsed away in sweat and seed, bodies tangled in the dim glow of a bare bulb swinging from the caravan’s ceiling.

Ed had bulked up, his once-soft frame hardened by the jackhammer's kickback, his bald pate perpetually shadowed with stubble, tattoos inked on his head, neck, arms and hands that matched Mick's own ink.

It was a muggy autumn afternoon, with the threat of rain, when Mick veered the van off the familiar route, tires juddering over the same cracked car park they'd fled half a year back. The public toilet squatted there unchanged, a concrete crypt wreathed in weeds, its door hanging crooked on rusted hinges. Mick killed the engine with a smirk curling his lip, the kind that said he had plans brewing.

"Out,"

He grunted, shouldering the door open. Ed followed without question, boots scraping gravel, the air already thickening with that unmistakable reek wafting from the block, rancid piss, fermented over months in the heat, sharp as a blade and twice as cutting. It hit Ed like a lover's slap, blooming in his chest, flooding his lungs until he groaned low in his throat. “Heaven. Pure fuckin heaven.” he thought. His cock twitched in the crotch of his hi-vis trousers, the fabric, stained with a fresh layer of today's mud and yesterday's spills tenting visibly as blood rushed south. He inhaled deep, eyes half-lidded, a dopey grin splitting his grease-smeared face. "Christ almighty, that whiff... gets me every time, mate."

Mick chuckled, a wet rumble, lighting a fag as they approached the door. The fluorescents buzzed feebly inside, same as ever, the tiles a mosaic of grime and forgotten chews. Urinals with brown, crusted piss seem to stand out dully under the drip-drip from a leaky pipe, the stench coiling thicker now, wrapping around Ed like a promise. He stepped up to one, unzipping with a practiced flick, but Mick's hand clamped his shoulder, steering him back.

"Do you remember this shithole?"

Mick asked, voice casual but eyes sharp, smoke trailing from his nostrils as he leaned against the wall, appraising.

Ed paused, stream half-started, frowning at the cracked porcelain like it was a stranger's face. The place tugged at something buried deep, a flicker like a bad dream dissolving at dawn. He shook his head, his cock hanging freely from his zipper, with a shrug. "Nah, fuck all. Why? Some dive we patched up once?

"Mick's grin widened, predatory. He stubbed out the cig on the sole of his boot, the ember hissing dead.

"On your knees, then."

With no hesitation, Ed dropped, concrete biting through the knees of his trousers, the cold seeping up like an old friend. His heart hammered, cock straining painful now, leaking a dark spot into the orange weave. Mick loomed over him, unzipping slow, deliberate, the heavy length flopping free, thick, veined, the head already glistening with pre-cum, the light of the bulb, reflecting off his PA .

 A trickle, then the stream hit, hot and forceful, arcing from Mick's tip to splash across Ed's upturned face. It stung his eyes. The piss cascaded down his neck to soak the vest clinging to his chest. Mick aimed lower, drenching the trousers, the flood pooling around Ed's knees in a warm, acrid lake that mirrored the urinal's own filth.

Ed moaned, mouth opening instinctively to catch the flow, gulping it down in greedy swallows bitter, alive, marking him from the outside in. His hand fumbled to his fly, yanking free his throbbing cock with a thick PA, his fist pumping frantically as the piss rained on. The world narrowed to this: the burn in his throat, the wet slap of Mick's stream against his skin, the building ache in his balls. "Fuck... yes... gimme it all, you dirty bastard."

Mick obliged, shaking the last drops onto Ed's shaved scalp, watching as the man beneath him arched, body shuddering. Ed came hard, ropes of thick cum splattering over his hi vis polo and trousers, mingling with the puddle at his feet, his release a filthy sacrament, spent and spent again until he slumped, panting, forehead pressed to the cool floor.

Ed wiped his face on his sleeve, tasting the last segments of the piss shower. His cock softening, as he tucked his cum stained cock back into his filthy work trousers. “Fuck, that was good, we must come here again.”

Mick zipped up, hauling Ed to his feet with a rough hand under the arm. "Good lad. Clean yourself up, we've got to get to our next job." But his eyes lingered, dark with the heat they both knew would simmer until they clocked off for the night, when the filthy caravan awaited a place which they called home.

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[tuftyskin]

excellent hiviz filth story

[captainlondonman]

STUDENT TO WORKIE

‘Dave, can you deliver this present to my father when you are back in town.’

Tony asked.

Dave had been spending the weekend with his friend in his university town. and was on his way home.

‘Sure thing mate,’ Dave replied. ‘I haven’t seen your father for years’

‘Neither have I much as he and Mum rarely speak.’

‘What does he do?’

‘Something in the building sector. He should be around in the evening. I’ll give you the address. Just hand it over on the doorstep and anyway I’m sure he won’t even ask you in. He is a bit rough but to be honest he buggered off soon after I was born. Never remarried, probably because he is so difficult.’

The day after getting home, Dave took his bike and went round to the address given by his friend. Ringing the doorbell he heard a deep voice shouting from the other side.

‘No need to push so fucking hard I heard you.’

The door flew open and standing in front of Dave taking up most of the doorway was a man with full HiViz kit. This was not what Dave was expecting.

Something in the building sector, Dave thought he would be a bit like himself a Surveyor. But standing in front of him was a well built hunk of a man wearing only a HIViz waistcoat his large hairy chest from neck down showing, with a slight beer belly pushing out over his workgear trousers. The waistcoat was back enough to show a pair of nipples that looked unreal as if they had been pulled out to be large and juicy. Both arms were hairy and covered in tats all the way down to is wrists which then a fat hands with nails ingrained with dirt. The man had a thick moustache and unshaven around the chin, his hair cut to a No 1.

‘Christ’ thought Dave h’ow can this be Tony’s father. No wonder they hardly talk. Who’d want this guy as a father?’

‘Who the fuck are you,’ the man said staring at Dave

‘Er, I’m a mate of Tony and he asked if I would drop by and give you a present. I suppose it’s your birthday.’

‘I get a present once a year from that little shit and he never bothers to contact me. Mind you I ain’t any better. He’s a right little ponce thinking he is much better than me. I suppose you are also a little mister big shot eh?’.

‘I don’t think Tony is at all like that and a bit unfair of you to say that.’

‘Oh a right little mouthy are you?’

‘Well I suppose if you have cycled across town you might as well come in and have a beer. I have just opened a bottle for myself.’

As Dave walked into the kitchen he could smell the man, unwashed and a smell of stale ciggies. The guy handed Dave a bottle and said

‘Want a ciggie?’

‘No I don’t smoke.

‘Well all workies like a good smoke so if you don’t mind I will.’ he said lighting up.

‘So tell me a bit about yourself.’

Dave explained how he knew Tony and how he was studying surveying.

‘So you are the posh guys that come on site and tell me what to do eh.’ The man said laughing. ‘Anyway I am Pete which you probably know from my son. Not like me is he. Probably like his ma all slim and pretty, a bit like you eh?’

‘I wouldn’t describe myself as pretty.’

‘Well you’re hardly man mountain are you?’

The two guys continued to talk and had another beer and then another till Dave said ‘I think I need to get back but after all these beers can I go for a pee please.’

‘Just before you do let me get you a HiViz waistcoat as its now dark and you are on a bicycle. Hold on.’

A minute later Pete returned with a dirty Hi Viz waistcoat.

‘There you are, the bathroom is just next door.’

Dave went in and could smell pee and saw piss marks around the rim of WC. It all looked pretty untidy and then his eye caught sight of a jockstrap hanging out of a dirty laundry basket.

Normally Dave would have turned his nose up in disgust but there was something so manly and uncouth about Pete that he could not resist touching the jockstrap. It was covered in piss marks and as he handled it he could almost feel it slightly crusty as though it was died cum.

Before he knew what he was doing he stuffed the jockstrap into his pocket feeling his cock start to stir in his chinos. 

‘Shit I’d better get out before my cock is stiff.’

With the jockstrap in his pocket he walked back into the kitchen and thanked Pete for the HIViz.

‘Not a prob mate, bring it back any time I’m sure I’ll see you again’. he smirked.

Once home Dave for some reason kept his HiViz on, he wanted to keep it on but most of all when he took the stained jockstrap out of his pocket he wanted so much to smell it. He instinctively put it over his head and brought the deep yellow stained pouch down over his face rubbing it all over  as he took deep breaths. The odour of dried piss was overwhelming as he pressed the material tight against his nose. He could feel the dried cum brush against his face. The smell was intoxicating, it was almost making him dizzy but it so excited him knowing that this jockstrap belonged to his friend’s father, the uncouth workie, the beer swilling cigarette smoker with the hairy body and his HiViz gear. As he breathed deeper and deeper so the blood rush moved down to his cock. It was ramrod hard and he had got so excited the precum was oozing out of the tip. He smothered his face with the jockstrap feeling the stench become part of his face. He wanted to smell, he wanted to be dirty like Tony’s father. Shit the man was so fucking sexy even with his large belly but all that hair and unsahevn look was such a turn on. Knowing it was his best friends’ father made it even better. As he sucked the jockstrap so he could feel the piss and dried cum soften he let the taste run down his throat..His hand was now wrapped around his dick. The more he sucked at the jockstrap the more his hand slid up and down the shaft.

‘Shit I want Tony’s dad .I want to suck and fuck with the bloody workie.’

As the throbbing came to a climax he shouted

‘I only want fucking workies.’ And with that he shot his load over the floor whilst almost gagging with the jockstrap down his throat taking in every bit of piss and cum.

Without cleaning his dick he put on the jockstrap so the last few drops of his cum mixed with Tony’s father’s piss and cum. His cock immediately got hard again but Dave wanted his cock encased in the dirty jockstrap and he could feel his shaft rubbing against hardened piss and cum. It felt good to be wearing it and he put the Hiviz waistcoat back on and went to bed feeling almost as if he was part of Tony’ father workie body. He woke up the next day and stretched but as he did so he thought his body felt slightly different. Looking at himself there was a change but he could not quite understand what the difference was. He looked as if he had been working out a bit, there was more definition to his muscle arms and even the beginning of a 6 pack. His shoulders had widened a bit and the bulge within his jockstrap seemed a bit larger. He decided not to shower but kept the jockstrap on. He liked feeling dirty and having the older man’s piss make its smell . When he put his T shirt on he put the waistcoat back on.

There was something about Tony’s father that was drawing him to go back. The main was uncouth, a dirty workie with a high body smell.. Someone that Dave would quickly walk by, but it seemed odd but he found the man had a sexual power and thinking of him standing there with his bare hairy chest had his cock rigid. It was like a magnet but how could he go back. He decided he could make the excuse of returning the HiViz waistcoat and by going back a few hours later he reckoned he was being polite. Shit what would Tony think if he knew that Dave was getting off thinking about his father and wearing the filthy jockstrap.

He knocked on the door at the same time as the previous day and when the door opened Pete just smiled. He was wearing the same HiViz jacket with his hairy chest protruding but this time he was wearing a dirty very stained pair of joggers  which his belly fell over as well as a mud stained pair of rubber boots up to his knees. When the door opened Dave almost had to step back with the smell.

‘I thought you might be back sometime. Sorry about the turn out mate but it’ been a busy day down in sewers. Stinks a bit eh, but you quickly get used to it. Better than any aftershave’ he smirked. He waved Dave it and Dave could see that Pete’s hands were still filthy and probably covered in sewer shit.

‘I just wanted to return your HIViz.’

‘You can keep it. You can always try to wash it and get rid of all the stains. Anyway come in and have a beer.  The kitchen stunk of sewage But to Dave’s surprise the more he smelt it and was repulsed the more he started to take deeper breaths and found his crotch was responding and stiffening under his chinos. ‘Christ how could I like this bloody awful smell ‘he thought ‘but its turning me on.’

‘You told me you don’t smoke but if you have a beer with me you really should have a puff. It helps the stink in here. What say you eh?’

Dave didn’t even consider saying no, he almost instinctively took a ciggie out of Pete’s pack.

‘That’s better, let me light it for you.’

Having never smoked before Dave found he knew exactly what to do and he held the ciggie just like Pete drawing deeply and exhaling a large cloud of smoke.

‘See I told you . All real men smoke mate. Talking about real men, you seemed to have bulked up a bit. I thought you and Tony looked a pair of wimps but today you look better. Perhaps it’s the HiViz waistcoat, ha ha.’

Pete came forward to give Dave a can of beer and standing in front of him at eye level Dave could make out a long line of cock stretching down one side of the joggers. He was clearly commando.

As Dave took his first gulp, with Pete still standing in front of him staring down.

‘So you stole my jockstrap did you?’

Dave almost spat out his mouthful of beer

‘Don’t give me a fucking excuse boy. I left it out knowing full well what you would do. You couldn’t resist it could you, all nice a crusty and yellow stained with my piss. Bet when you got home the first thing you did was have a massive wank eh. Thinking of me wearing it no doubt. You liked the idea of Tony’s dirty workie of a dad wearing it The problem is mate that I ain’t got anything under me joggers so me cock has been bouncing around all day and the more it moves around inside the more horny I become.

As he said this he put one hand down inside his joggers and stroked the full length of his cock moving forward to stand right in front of Dave. As he took his hand out the cock was like a rigid pole tenting outwards and a small stain of precum showed itself through the cotton.

‘Bet you got my jockstrap on now. Admit it.’

‘Er yes.’

‘And bet you love it and don’t want to take it off.’

Dave was silent.

‘Well if you steal something then you have to pay back.’

Dave’s eyes were glued to the crotch with Pete’s erection forming a good 8inch tent. Pete put down his beer and with one hand slipped his hand down his belly and into the joggers, pulling out a massive erect prick. Dave could not believe it, the guy was wearing a thick steel cock ring, making every vein of his shaft stand out almost pulsating. As the cock sprang out so the foreskin was pushed back revealing a large glistening head. The slit of the cock was straight in front of Dave’s face and he could smell the unwashed cock.

‘So you take from me and now you pay back. You love the smell of my piss stained jockstrap so now you can suck the real thing, unwashed and smelling of several days of piss. Don’t think you are just going to lick my tool, you are taking the full length down that throat of yours.’

Dave could smell the rank cock in front of his face but the smell was like an aphrodisiac. It made him so horny and he knew the only thing he now wanted was to have the massive cock all the way down his throat

‘What are you fucking looking at. You don’t give blowjob just looking boy.’

Pete grabbed hold of Dave’s hair and pulled him in. For a moment Dave almost gagged at the smell but at the same time he wanted to savour the stench of the cock before swallowing it down his throat.

‘I want you to take the whole throbbing fucking length of my dick so your mouth is pressed up against my cock ring and you can taste the metal.’ With his free hand Pete wrapped his dirty hand around his shaft and pushed it to force Dave’s mouth open.

‘That’s it boy take my fucking stinking cock. Open yer mouth nice and wide.

As Dave opened his lips he felt the precum tip of cock force its way into his mouth and the smell of piss rode up through his nostrils. The more he smelt the piss the wider his mouth opened. 

Pete still held tight Dave’s hair pushing his head further and further up to take more and more of the throbbing shaft.

‘You love my cock don’t you. Wonder what Tony would think of you gagging to give his father a blow job. Not such a prissy boy now are you taking a workie’s dirty cock all the way down yer throat.’

Dave let his saliva work overtime to allow the cock to sink further and further into his throat.

The idea of sucking off Tony’s father was even more of a turn on. By now Dave’s cock was sore it was so hard in the jockstrap but he was so engaged in sucking he could not unzip himself.

‘Don’t even think of wanking yerself. I want all your concentration on my big cock.

‘That’s good boy I can feel my prick sliding down the back of your throat.. Nice and big for you. Not really a pay back though as you are loving it. Now I can see your lips touching my cockring. Feel the metal pushing against you and now you have the full length and can feel my precum slipping down inside you. It’s time to thrust this dick up and down inside that throat of yours.’

Dave did not need to be told what to do. With his mouth fully into Pete’s thick hairy bush, the piss smell ran through his body down to his own cock and the jockstrap was nearly ready to burst inside him. Pete took hold of Dave’s head with both hands and gripping him he started to move his prick back and forth at first slowly so he could savour Dave’s spit around his shaft.

‘You fucking know how to suck. Bet you have only ever sucked a boy off before but now you are giving a good workie blowjob. Keep your spit going boy as I love pumping you.’

Pete pushed in and out with greater speed taking his head almost to the edge of Dave’s lips so he could feel his helmet ridge on the point of coming out and then he rammed back in right up to his pubes. Faster and faster he pumped and the more he pumped the more Dave wanted.. 

‘Shit boy you are fucking great I am ready to fucking explode.’

With that Pete withdrew his cock grabbing his spit covered shaft and shed his thick white creamy cum over Dave’s face and down the front of his T shirt.

‘That’s it boy lick it all up around your face.’ 

Dave could feel the cum dripping down his chin onto his shirt. 

Having all the cum over him was too much for Dave’s cock and he exploded his load into Pete’s jockstrap the cum oozing out through the cotton and through his chinos forming a large stain in his groin.

‘Fucking great. That’s what I call a blowjob.’ Pete said and looking down at Dave and saw the large cum stain on his chinos.

‘Looks as if you enjoyed it too mate. You can’t go home looking like that all my cum on your shirt and now that nice big stain on your trousers.’

Strip off and I’ll get you something to go home in. But keep my jockstrap on as a minder as you obviously love it.’

Pete came back in with a Hi Viz short sleeved shirt and a pair of De Walt  grey workgear trousers , both covered in mud and grease marks.

They ain’t clean but at least better that all that cum. Go on and the get the fuck out of here and you can take a can of beer and this pack of ciggies with you.’

As Dave put on the gear thrown at him he could smell how much they had been used and it was as if they had been down the sewers with Pete. For a second Dave thought it would be better to wear his own gear but the smell of what he had been given was good and made him feel more like a man.

Pete looked at him. ‘They look for now as if they are a bit big but don’t worry about that. Keep the Hi viz waistcoat, tell you what, you are looking a bit more like a workie. So why don’t you come a see me at work and see that you think. It’s in Bank Street and you will see the portacabin. Come later tomorrow afternoon. OK?’

It seemed more of a command to Dave rather than something to consider. Besides, that had been the best blowjob ever and even now Dave could still smell the man’s cum as well as his piss and now the sewage smell of the borrowed clothes

‘I’ll bring this gear back to you.’

‘That’s up to you. So now get off I need a few beers after this.’

When Dave got home  the first thing he did was open the beer and slurp it down. There were 5 ciggies left in the packet Pete had given him. He was desperate to smoke them all just the way Pete had done. He hoped by smoking them all his hands would look covered in nicotine, just like Pete. He now loved puffing. Why the fuck had he never smoked before. In all the workie gear it seemed only natural to smoke, right down to the tip. He had decided to keep the clothes on when he went to bed. He wanted to feel  the Hiviz against his skin and he liked the smell of the gear he had been given. The clothes did seem a bit large but so what? The next morning he work up and the smell hit him. It felt great and when he got out of bed to look at himself he could not believe it, the clothes were no longer big but a snug fit, the yellow HiViz shirt was tight against his chest showing off a true 6 pack, the arms were bulging with muscles. He looked at the De Walt trousers. They were no longer too long but he seemed to have grown 4 inches and were now nice a tight around his crotch showing a decent bulge. He was almost looking like a workie but his hair was still that floppy fringe though he thought he seemed to have a darker heavier growth around his face. When he went to piss and opened up his flies to take his cock out from the jockstrap it seemed so tight in the jockstrap. The first thing to hit him was the rancid smell of piss and cum and then as he flipped his cock out to pee his cock was now thicker, really thick where it jutted out of his now dark really hairy pubes with a long foreskin sliding over his helmet.

‘Fuck’ he said ‘this looks a whopper. A real workie cock’

After breakfast we knew there was a place he needed to go to. The barbers. He chose a place he knew was frequented by the local workies having seen then sitting waiting for a cut with all their Hiviz gear on. There were a couple of guys being cut when he went in all in their HiViz They looked round and one said.

‘You’ve been down a fucking sewer mate. Doing a real dirty job eh.?’

Dave just smiled and sat down. One guy was then finished and left so Dave sat in the chair. The barber said

‘So what do you want?’

The other workie said “Get rid of that stupid long hair for a start’

Dave knew what to say. ‘I want you to take a razor to the sides and then cut the top to give me a full chav cut with a really short straight cut across the forehead.’

‘That’s it mate give him a real chav cut . Then he will start to look like a workie.’

The barber took the razor and gave a number one cut going on to give a real pudding bowl cut to his top.

Even the barber said, ‘That’s better mate I think we all agree this suits your clothing and as you are a workie then you need to look like one.’

The other workie got out the chair and leant over to whisper into Dave’s ear.

‘Great bod you go there mate Would like to see a bit more of that sometime. You could do with a few tats. I go to a place just right for a new boy. Gimme yer phone and I’ll give you my number. Us workies need to stick together.’

Dave handed his phone over as the guy typed in his number. As he did Dave looked at the guys crotch which had a good bulge showing in his Hi Viz.

As the guy handed back the phone he again whispered

‘I see what yer looking at. You won’t be disappointed. By the way I like yer smell a real turn on for us workies.’ And with that he paid and left the shop.

The barber smiled as he finished Dave off .’Think you have made a conquest there. That’s what a good chav haircut has done for you.’

Dave looked in the mirror, with his chav haircut and those muscles he really did look like a workie. Gone was the prissy student. He now wanted to go and show his friend’s father his new look so walked down to Bank Street and saw the portacabin door open.

Looking inside he saw Pete sitting at a desk who looked up and spluttered

‘Christ what a change in you boy. Thank fucking Christ you are now looking the part. A real little chavvy workie eh. See those rubber boots over there put them on. They are nice a dirty but that won’t matter when I take you down into the sewer. Also put the hard hat on, need to be safe. I’ll put a torch on mine so lets go. Dave caught sight of himself with the full kit on and with such a covering of mud on his clothes and the hard hat he could hardly believe the change.

Pete opened up the manhole and told Dave to climb down the ladder into the bottom tunnel. Once both were down Pete switched on the torch. The first thing Dave was aware off was the smell but it was only a stronger version of how he smelt. He breathed it in and found his cock starting to rise.

‘Like the smell now don’t you ‘Pete said. ‘Turns me on every time I am down here.’

Before Dave could reply Pete grabbed hold of Dave and spun him round pressing him up against the wall of the tunnel. Leaning in against Dave’s back Pete whispered in his ear. ‘You and I have some unfinished business. Its payback time again. First you steal my jockstrap but now you owe me for making you a man and Christ you now look fucking horny. And don’t tell me that having my dirty cock down yer throat you don’t want it up that nice bubble butt of yours. I know the idea of being fucked in a sewer by a real man turns you on.’

Pete took his big rough hands and let them ride over Dave’s cheeks and then placing his hands around Dave’s waist unbuttoned the workgear trousers pulling them down to his knees. Dave was now unable to move

‘I wanna fuck you with the jockstrap on, my jockstrap. Now stick that nice arse of your out to take my prick. ‘

As Dave did as commanded so Pete undid his flies and flipped his sweaty cock out letting a large godbof spit onto the shaft

‘I’m nice and sweaty after working down here today and you can feel that stick of my dick going right up to the hilt in yer arse.’

Dave now only wanted to be fucked Since giving Pete the blowjob he knew that he had to be fucked by this monster tool. Shit what could be better that being fucked in a sewer by his best friend’s father.

‘Go gentle will you please.’

‘That arse of yours could take a baseball bat so quit the pathetic tone with me. You had my cock rammed in your mouth so you managed that no prob. Then you can take my prick up inside you.’

Dave felt his cheeks being parted as Pete pressed against him. His cock searching for the hole

‘Nice big hole you got there mate. No probs taking my dick or perhaps you’d prefer the baseball bat?’

‘No just let me have your cock. Make me feel like a real workie being fucked.’

Dave could feel the spit on Pete’s head finding the hole and then the push. For a moment he winced as the head found its way into the hole. But once past he was ready for the full length of Pete’s shaft.  As Pete pushed his tool up the hole he put one hand to his mouth releasing a large gob of spit then put his arm around Dave’s head smearing the spit all over his face before wiping the dirt and muck off the wall in front of Dave and wiping that on top of the spit.

‘Now you look like a real dirty workie who has been down the sewer. Your vface all covered in sewer shit and spit. Bet you like the smell of my spit and the muck eh?’ 

‘Sure  it is making me feel like a real workie. Fuck any studies. This is what I want to be a real man always dirty with me beers and ciggies like you and have a good fuck with the lads.’

‘That’s what I knew you wanted as soon as I set eyes on you. Now take my cock right up to the hilt.’

‘Shove as far up as you want, I want to feel your spunk shooting right up my body and now your cock is so far up get my cock out of this jockstrap.’

Pete moved his hand down to Dave’s groin and peeled back the jockstrap to let Dave’s cock spring out. As it did so Pete grabbed hold of the shaft wrapping his hand around the throbbing cock.

‘Shit man you’ve got a good one there. Any workie would be glad to have that rammed up them. Now let me give you a good wank and have you shoot all over the sewer wall.’

As Pete slid his hand up and down the down the shaft so he pushed his own cock in and out with increasing ferocity his cock ring almost vanishing into Dave’s hole. Both men started groaning with pleasure and Pete leant forward to kiss the back of Dave’s neck. One hand was now round Dave’s waist so he could have full hold and the other was wanking faster and faster. He knew from the throbbing that Dave was on the point of orgasm and this made him so horny and ready to cum himself. Dave wiped some more sewer mucj off the wall to smear across his face. He wanted to feel fucking dirty

‘Let it go mate I’m about to shoot my load into that lovely arse of yours .’ Pete shouted

‘Fuck me man let me have every drop of your spunk.’ As Dave thrust his arse out to take in the full length of the cock so he came his spunk spurting out against the sewer wall. Pete unloaded his cum inside Dave making Dave feel as if it would come out his mouth such was the force of spunk.

Pete took his cock out giving a quick wipe before putting it back into his joggers.

‘No point is washing it mate. Smells better this way. As for you, cover that smeared cock of yours with the jockstrap and make it even more crusty

So Workie Dave, happy now?’

‘Too fucking right, this is the real me , a man and fucking workie. Give me all the dirty jobs. Who wants to wash when you can stink like this. Being fucked by my best mate’s father was awesome.’

‘Tell you what boy, why don’t you ask Tony to come home. You and I can have some fun and make a man out of him. That would be a turn on eh? Tony you and feel sucking and fucking.’

‘Fucking amazing’ Dave replied ‘ I’ve always wanted to get my cock up his arse.’

Dave then took his phone out of his pocket.

‘Being a workie sure gets the pick ups from the other guys. This real hot workie gave me his number and I reckon now my cock would love a good fuck and his bod looked just right. Plus he said he’d take me to his tattoo place. Can’t be a workie without a good few tats, just like you. Shit man give me a ciggie’ 

Handing over his packet Pete said

‘Well make sure we keep your workie gear on when you meet the guy’

‘Is there any other way to fuck?’

[megaglatze84]

Downgrade or Upgrade Part I

Marco stood tall, polished and proud in his tailored navy suit, the crimson tie knotted with mathematical precision — a Wall Street shark stranded on a grimy street corner. His brow furrowed as he eyed Jordan, the muscular street cleaner whose glistening scalp and smudged neon vest radiated a kind of rugged defiance. Jordan, cigarette tucked behind his ear, met Marco’s gaze with unreadable calm, completely unbothered by the tension in the air. For Marco, it was just a moment — an unpleasant visual contrast on his way to power. For Jordan, it was the first encounter with a man who would soon be unrecognizable.

Marco leaned back in his leather office chair, the polished skyline of the city mirrored in the windows behind him. His suit was flawless, the crimson tie a perfect slash of controlled power. He laughed into the phone — probably at someone’s expense — entirely at ease in this world of numbers, deals, and hierarchy. The faint smirk on his face suggested he was winning, as always. Any memory of the bald street worker from earlier was already fading, irrelevant in the gleaming logic of Marco’s world. For now.

The sharp sting of hot coffee had barely faded from Marco’s chest when Jordan stepped in — sleeves dirtied, hands calloused, but eyes surprisingly kind. The contrast between them couldn’t have been more jarring: Marco, impeccably tailored but now soiled and fuming; Jordan, steady and calm, holding out a clean, folded undershirt like it was the most natural gesture in the world. Marco took it without a word, more irritated than thankful, but something about the effortless confidence of the street worker lingered — unsettlingly so.

Marco walked stiffly, his jaw tight, clutching the coffee cup like it might somehow undo the stain blooming across his expensive shirt. Jordan’s hand was steady on his arm — firm, grounded, almost protective. The banker should’ve shrugged it off, barked a cutting remark and walked away. But he didn’t. Instead, he allowed it. Just for a moment. And that moment lingered with the weight of something Marco couldn’t yet name — something both uncomfortable and curiously warm.

Standing next to Jordan in a borrowed ribbed tank top, Marco looked more confused than grateful. The fabric clung uncomfortably to his sculpted chest, its plainness an affront to his designer standards. Jordan, meanwhile, stood casually with his broom in hand, sweat glistening on his tanned, bald head, oblivious to Marco’s disdain. For Marco, it wasn’t just the clothes—it was the proximity to a world he’d spent his life avoiding. But there was no escaping the uncomfortable truth: he was no longer in control.

Back in his apartment, Marco stood motionless, dressed in stark black, staring down at the crumpled white tank top draped over the arm of his couch. The events of the day clung to him heavier than the fabric ever could. His brows furrowed, not just in distaste, but in confusion—why couldn’t he stop thinking about the man who gave him that shirt? He had always believed himself above such people. And yet now, he wasn’t so sure.

Marco stood in front of the store, his sharp features furrowed with hesitation. The sign above read “Arbeitsbekleidung” — workwear. He had passed places like this his whole life without a second glance. But now, something tugged at him. The rough uniforms behind the glass, the association with that strangely magnetic man from yesterday… He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to go inside.

Inside the store, Marco held the bright orange vest gingerly, as though it might rub off on his soul. The fabric felt rugged, coarse — so unlike the sleek, tailored suits he was used to. Still, there was something about it, the color, the cut, the weight of it in his hand… He frowned, confused by the flicker of intrigue that stirred in him.

Marco stood in front of the fitting room mirror, now fully dressed in the orange work gear. The fabric clung to his frame differently than his tailored suits—more honest, less refined. He scratched his head, unsettled by the strange comfort the clothes offered. Something inside him stirred, but he couldn't yet name it.

Marco stepped out of the workwear store, the branded shopping bag clenched in his hand. There was a quiet confidence in his expression—one that surprised even him. Behind him, Jordan leaned casually on his broom, cigarette dangling from his lips, watching with a faint smirk. Marco didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. Something had shifted.

Marco sat quietly at the café, the steam from his coffee rising into the warm morning air. The crisp red of his shirt matched the growing flush of something unfamiliar: uncertainty. The bag of workwear rested at his feet, a silent, embarrassing testament to a choice he didn’t fully understand. Behind him, Jordan approached with his usual cigarette and casual swagger—watching, amused, as the banker’s polished world began to fray at the edges.

Marco stared in disbelief as the firefighter explained the extent of the damage. His apartment—his sanctuary of modern design and luxury—was gone, blackened and gutted by flames. The shopping bag in his hand felt suddenly absurd, a symbol of a life that no longer existed. Behind him, Jordan stood quietly, cigarette hanging from his lips, watching the polished banker’s world crack open.

Marco’s hand pressed to his temple, the reality of his losses crashing down with sudden, brutal clarity. His tailored world had gone up in smoke—literally. Jordan stood beside him, his expression unreadable, a cigarette hanging from his lips. With quiet confidence, he placed a steadying hand on Marco’s arm. It wasn’t pity—just presence. A silent promise: You’re not alone in this.

Marco's world is unraveling. The once-proud analyst, always pristine in his tailored suits, now sits slumped on Jordan's old sofa, his red shirt stained, his composure shattered. He sobs openly, clinging to the last scraps of his old identity, while Jordan, steady and calm, silently offers a tissue and his presence. There's no smugness in Jordan’s eyes—only patience, and a kind of quiet strength that unsettles Marco more than any boardroom failure ever could. Something in Marco is breaking open, and though he can't yet name it, he knows this man beside him might just be the only anchor he has left.

Marco’s tears won’t stop. His hands tremble as he presses his palm against his face, trying to hold in the sobs that now seem to erupt from somewhere deep inside. His pride, his polish, his perfectly managed image—stained as badly as the deep splash on his once-pristine shirt. He’s not crying because of the coffee, of course, but the spill was just the last crack in a façade that’s been crumbling for days. Jordan says nothing, just watches him closely, his rough fingers still holding the tissue he’s offering. There’s no pity in his expression, only a calm, unwavering presence. In that silence, something unspoken passes between them. Marco, vulnerable and unraveling, isn’t alone. Not anymore.

Marco had never laughed like this in his old life—not this freely, not this easily. Standing next to Jordan in matching orange workwear, smudged with grime and sweat, he feels something that had always eluded him in boardrooms and conference calls: ease. His shy smile grows as Jordan lets out a hearty laugh, the kind that fills a room without asking for permission. There’s no irony here, no pretense. Just two men sharing a moment, a joke, maybe even a life. The stiffness in Marco’s shoulders has melted away. He’s not calculating or judging. He’s just… happy. For the first time, the clothes feel right. And so does everything else.

The crack of two cold cans meeting in a quiet toast echoed softly through the small apartment. Marco smiled—genuinely this time—as Jordan raised his beer with the kind of relaxed grin that made everything feel simple. They sat side by side, their bright orange uniforms streaked with the day’s labor, sweat still drying on their skin. Marco no longer cared about the grime. The suit, the spotless office, the carefully curated image—they all felt like costumes now. This, the laughter, the dirt under his fingernails, the man beside him—this felt real. They drank in silence for a moment, and for the first time, Marco didn’t look back.

The TV hums quietly in the background, the light is low, and only the streetlamp outside throws a pale glow into the room. Marco lies on the couch, still in his orange work clothes, hands resting loosely on his stomach, eyelashes calm over closed eyes. His brow is smooth, lips just slightly curved—as if he’s dreaming of something good.

He breathes deep and steady, a man who, for the first time, is no longer fighting himself. No suit, no meetings, no expectations—just the scent of dust, the soft creak of floorboards, and the quiet certainty that he’s finally arrived. In a different life. A different self. And maybe this was all he ever needed.

It’s a cruel twist of irony: Marco, once the sharply dressed analyst who ruled this very office floor, now sits in bright orange workwear, his expression a mix of disbelief and quiet defeat. Next to him, his former colleague—still suited, still smug—lets out a loud laugh, oblivious or perhaps delighted by the role reversal.

Marco doesn’t respond. He just stares ahead, jaw clenched, hands folded tightly in his lap. The fluorescent lights above seem harsher than he remembers. Maybe it’s not the lights. Maybe it’s just that everything looks different now from this seat.

Kessler’s office is a temple of order: sharp angles, no clutter, not even a pen out of line. MARCO stands awkwardly before the desk — still in the orange street-cleaner uniform, sweat-damp, visibly out of place. Kessler stares at him, unblinking, for an agonizing moment.

KESSLER (quietly, coldly) Do you think this is a joke?

MARCO I didn’t have a choice. My apartment—

KESSLER —burned down, yes, I’ve heard. (still calm, but his tone sharpens) But you had a choice in this. (gesturing at the uniform) The outfit. The attitude. The... stench.

Marco shifts uncomfortably. Kessler stands, walks slowly around his desk.

KESSLER You don’t understand what this place is. (suddenly intense) Do you know where I started? Do you?

Marco doesn’t answer. Kessler steps closer, lowering his voice like venom.

KESSLER I’ve worn those boots. That vest. I've shoveled garbage in the rain at 4 a.m. and come home to a mattress on the floor. I worked for years to leave that all behind — to earn this suit, this office, this name on the fucking door.

He breathes hard. Marco opens his mouth, then closes it again.

KESSLER And then you... you walk in here dressed like the past I buried. Like it means nothing.

Silence. Kessler smooths his tie, forces a smile.

KESSLER You’re done here, Mr. Moretti. Pack your things — if you still have any.

Marco didn’t say a word. His footsteps thudded dully against the linoleum floor as the security guard followed close behind. The fluorescent safety vest clung to his chest like something that no longer belonged to him. Everything suddenly felt too tight—his clothes, the corridor, the stares from reception staff trying not to look at him.

The cardboard box in his hands held the meager remnants of his office life. A pen he never used. A water bottle. Two printouts with scribbled notes he never revised. Nothing personal. Nothing that really said Marco.

He paused in the lobby. Behind him, the security door clicked shut—soft, final. He didn’t look back. Kessler was probably still upstairs, arms crossed, watching through tinted glass. Watching the system do what it always did—spit out what no longer fit.

A breeze caught the glass doors and swept over him. Marco lifted his chin. He was no longer an analyst. No longer an employee. No longer a man in a suit behind glass walls. And yet—he didn’t feel empty. Just strangely clear. Like something had been shed from him. Something that had never really belonged.

The guard gave him a short nod. “That’s it.”

Marco stepped out onto the street. No direction. No plan. Just the shimmer of heat on pavement and a sensation that tasted like loss—and like freedom.

The box felt heavier than it should have. Marco’s arms trembled, not from the weight, but from everything it symbolized—what he’d lost, what he’d become. His polished life in glass offices had shattered, replaced now by orange fabric stiff with dust and sweat.

He stood motionless, eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted with a grief he couldn’t hide. On either side, two men in identical vests stood close—too close, he thought at first. But their silence wasn’t mocking. One of them, younger, rested a firm hand on the box, steadying Marco. The other, older, broader, simply watched him. Not judging. Waiting.

No words were spoken. None were needed.

The message was clear in their calm presence: You’re one of us now.

The sweat soaked through Marco’s shirt, clinging to his skin like guilt. His arms moved mechanically, pushing the broom over sun-baked concrete, the rhythm unfamiliar, the motion humbling. Each stroke scraped away another layer of his former self—the consultant, the strategist, the man who once scoffed at manual laborers from behind mirrored glass.

Behind him, the laughter of one of his new coworkers rang out, light and unburdened. Marco didn’t turn. He wasn’t ready to meet that ease with a smile of his own. Not yet.

But he had noticed it—how the others didn’t treat him with contempt. They didn’t ask what he used to be. They didn’t care. They only cared if he did the work. And here, under the sun and the dust, that might be enough.

For now, he swept.

The room was silent except for the faint fizz of beer cans and the occasional exhale of smoke. Marco leaned back into the worn couch, the cold drink pressing against his lips, the aluminum can almost soothing against his calloused fingers. The taste was bitter, cheap, and strangely comforting.

Beside him, Lukas sat motionless, cigarette wedged in the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance that only he could see. His expression gave nothing away—just the slow, unbothered drag of someone used to letting the world burn a little before reacting.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t have to.

Marco didn’t yet understand the weight of this quiet, but he could feel it. This was no longer the silence of shame or loss. It was the silence of men who’d done their work, who were too tired to pretend, and who had slowly begun to accept each other’s presence.

And maybe, just maybe, Marco wasn’t pretending anymore either.

The room smelled of sweat, smoke, and something fried from a neighboring apartment. But it was warm. Lived-in. Honest.

Marco couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this—really laughed, from somewhere deep in his gut, with no audience to impress and no filter to maintain. His arm was slung lazily around Lukas’ shoulder, a cigarette dangling between his teeth. They were both filthy, tired, and absolutely content.

Lukas grinned, his own smoke curling from his lips as he chuckled at something dumb Marco had said. The kind of dumb that didn’t need to be clever—just shared. The kind of dumb that felt like friendship.

For the first time, Marco wasn’t watching himself from the outside. He wasn’t curating, wasn’t calculating. He was just there, on a battered couch, laughing like a fool next to a man he would’ve never even acknowledged just weeks ago.

And he liked it. Hell, he needed it.

The old Marco had been polished, pristine, and painfully lonely.

This Marco—grimy, grinning, and with dirt under his nails—wasn’t lonely at all.

The morning fog clung to the narrow street like a ghost that wouldn’t move on. It was quiet, save for the occasional clatter of a bin lid or the low scrape of a broom against the pavement. Marco’s tank top clung to him, soaked with sweat and grime. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth—lit, barely touched.

He didn’t notice the smell anymore.

He tipped the perforated bin, letting damp scraps and coffee sludge tumble into the green container. Beside him, Lukas was whistling something off-key, leaning on his broom like it was a dance partner. He caught Marco’s eye and grinned wide, the cigarette between his teeth bobbing as he laughed.

Marco didn’t smile, but his jaw softened.

This wasn’t penance anymore.

This was work. Honest work. Dirty, tiring, simple—and real. His hands had calluses now. His back ached. But the ache was earned. And every drag of smoke, every smear of filth on his vest, was another step away from the version of himself who had once stared down at people like Lukas from his office window.

Now he stood beside him.

And somehow, it felt better.

The midday sun hammered down like punishment, relentless and personal. The break area—if you could call two fold-up chairs and a plastic ashtray a break area—offered little relief. Marco leaned forward, the cigarette clinging to his lip, one hand raking through his sweaty, unruly hair.

“Your damn hair’s always in your face,” Lukas muttered, flicking ash onto the concrete. “Why don’t you just shave it off already?”

Marco gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Because it’s mine,” he said, though it sounded more like a question. His hand stayed buried in his hair a second too long.

He hadn’t expected to miss mirrors. Or styling product. Or the casual weight of being admired. Now it just felt like heat and grease. A burden.

Lukas took a long drag and studied him. “You’d look good bald, you know,” he said simply. “Cleaner. Meaner.”

Marco didn’t answer. But something in his jaw shifted.

The idea had been planted.

And in the blistering silence between them, it started to take root.

The decision had been brewing in Marco’s mind for days — every drop of sweat that traced the line of his temple, every annoyed swipe of his hand through his damp hair. He hated how it clung, how it got in his eyes. And now, seated on the creaky chair in the breakroom, he gave a nod. No going back.

His coworker, grinning with the easy confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times, stepped forward with clippers in hand. Marco barely flinched at the first buzz slicing through his thick black hair. Cigarette between his lips, he stared into the distance, jaw tense, the first clumps falling around his boots.

The next shot came from the razor — cold foam smeared across his scalp. The other guy worked with steady hands, but Marco’s eyes revealed his turmoil. He wasn’t sure if this was liberation or surrender. The towel draped over his shoulders caught the bits of his old self, vanishing with each pass.

Later, hand on his newly smooth head, Marco sat in silence, processing. He felt raw. Exposed. And yet — lighter.

It wasn’t just about the heat anymore. It was something deeper. Shedding who he had been. Embracing who he was becoming.

[tuftyskin]

awesome writing here and a great transformation from white. collar office. boy to filthy workie.

[megaglatze84]

Man, I've always wanted a small tattoo ... But I am sooo nervous

" I want this on my biceps!"

"A bit tiny, don`t you think?"

"Nah, it is just right ..."

"Oh that is not as bad as I expected! One could get used to it ..."

"Told you tattoos are addictive!"

"Yeah, sleep and enjoy ..."

"Much better already!"

"mmmh, i could stop here ... but ...."

"YES, now we are talking!"

"Oh yes, baby!"

"Just some details here and ... mmmh, should I? I guess, I should ...

"Perfection!"

"But I wanted just one tattoo!"

"Boy, this IS one tattoo!"

[tuftyskin]

excellent inking transformatiion

[captainlondonman]

Workie Cruising

Kenny was feeling horny, really horny. One of those hot days when your cock just gets hard and needs some attention. He could always have a good slow wank and watch his cum spray over the washbasin but better still would be to walk down the road to the local forest which was at times a great cruising ground and see who he might have some sex with. Yeah that was definitely a better idea. With his cock nicely stretched down his inside leg forming a decent bulge, it was on full show for whoever he might meet. As he reached the edge of the wood an old white van was parked in the layby. 

‘So at least someone is there looking ‘Kenny thought.

As he came into a small clearing he saw the driver of the van. It was a workie is full yellow HiViz, T shirt, soiled waistcoat, very dirty trousers tucked into mud covered boots. The guy was tall and built like a brick shithouse, tattoos covering both arms, shaved head with a tight beard and  the beginnings of an obvious beer belly pushing out the T shirt which was lifted at the front to show off a dark thick hairy chest. The guy looked very unclean to Kenny, not his type at all. Even when the workie put his large hand down to stroke his crotch showing off a big bulge, Kenny decided to walk on by and see who else might be better for his wank. The workie gave him a V sign and spat. Kenny thought he could get his rocks off with someone else but it would not be with him.

Moving on he came to another small clearing and remembered this was normally a good place where the guys came to shoot their load so he could wait there away from the workie. As he quietly stood there waiting for a pick up, a large tattooed came round his neck almost choking him.

‘What the f.. ‘Kenny tried to shout

‘What the fuck do you think ignoring me and trying to make me look as if I am a bit of shit. ‘The workie tightened his grip. Kenny knew exactly who it was as he felt the HiViz clothing press against his back

Christ the guy stank of body odour, dirt and stale smoke. Kenny wanted to gag but was unable to move or respond by the neck lock he was in. He felt the guy’s beard rub against the side of his face

‘You don’t pass a fucking workie especially when that workie is feeling horny and needing a blow job. Who the fuck do you think you are? A smarmy college kid sporting a decent hard on down his jeans. Well this guy has a bigger one than you mate. Feel it rubbing against that arse of yours?’

As the workie said it, Kenny felt the stiff prick rubbing against him. Shit he was right it was rock hard and big . With his head still in a stranglehold Kenny felt the workie’s other arm move round to his front and slide down to his crotch.

‘I may be almost choking the life out of you but that cock is telling me you love it. Nice and stiff like a fucking rod. Bet you are loving my cock in the HiViz nylon rubbing against you.’

As the workie said this he lessened the grip around Kenny’s throat, causing him to cough loudly and as he took in deep breaths so he still smelt the guy with his mix of stale cigarette smoke and dirt.

‘ou need to open the throat a bit more so you can take my cock all the way down that throat of yours. ‘

Feeling the guy whisper into his ear with the rough beard rubbing against the side of the face made Kenny feel so horny in spite of the fact he had nothing but distaste for the workie. To Kenny he was a pig but shit why was he feeling so excited.

Now get down of your fucking knees and take a good look at that bulge of mine in the Hi Viz.’

As Kenny knelt his face was looking straight at an enormous prick sticking almost straight out of the yellow nylon.

‘Go on give me a fucking rub as I like me cock being rubbed in my hiViz.’

Kenny could only obey but wanted more than ever to unzip and put his hand inside.

‘Well what are you waiting for. Unzip and see my piece of meat.’

As Kenny looked straight at the guy’s crotch and let his hand pull down the zip with difficulty due to the hard bulge his cock was making  he almost reeled back with the smell of stale piss and dried spunk. He wanted to gag and as he brought his head back the workie took hold and rammed his head against the yellow nylon.

‘Don’t you like the way my cock smells. It’s the way we workies are. No underwear so a nice exposed prick whenever we let the piss run down inside our legs and the drops of cum harden nicely. I ain’t washed for a few days so it’s nice and high for you. Take a few deep breaths and enjoy the smell, real workie stink.’

At first Kenny thought he was going to be sick but the more he inhaled the better the smell it was to the point that he was relishing it and his own cock was made more rigid. The fumes of the stale cock spread down through his body, taking over the clean air. He had to get that monster of a cock out of the HiViz and stuck his hand in and let it grip the shaft. He could hardly get his hand around it and he could feel the throbbing veins. With both hands he pulled it out and released it, the cock springing upwards so he could see the underside and the red glistening head exposed from the foreskin. The tip already had a good drop of precum and all Kenny wanted to do was lick that drop and taste the cum and the dirt of the cock.

‘Not bad eh. Us workies have big pricks and always ready for a blow job or a fuck. Always best done in HiVIz. I can see from your face that you love the smell as well as the size of my dick. It’s gonna be even better when down that throat of yours. Quit any idea of gagging, you just breathe deeply and as my cock ain’t been washed for days you have that stink to help. Now get a grip and start.’

Kenny put his hand around the shaft and leant forwards to lick the precum. As he swallowed so he got as much saliva into his mouth so the shaft could have some spit to ease it down. He let his tongue work the throbbing head and allow himself to savour the smell and size..

‘Shit man that tongue of yours has been round a few dicks in its time. I ain’t got all day , got to get back to work so let me feel the back of your throat.’

 As Kenny let more and more of the cock into his mouth so the workie grabbed hold of his head and started pressuring Kenny to take more and more. Instinctively with the soiled cock and the stench , his mouth opened as he wanted to devour the workie’s prick. His mouth opened as never before and the more pressure on his head by the workie the more the shaft vanished further and further down the back of his throat.. 

I wanna feel my pubes against your lips so keep going boy. Remember my cock is not staying put down your throat I want you to move it in and out and slowly at first so I get the full sensation. You will know when I am ready as I will be forcing your head back and forwards. Keep the spit going.’

‘Shit man you have my cock juice building up.’

 With that the workie took and full grip of Kenny’s head and started moving it back and forth at first slowly and then faster and faster. Kenny wanted every inch down his throat and could feel the guy’s cock now throbbing so hard he was close to coming.

‘I want you to swallow every last drop, Know what it’s like to take a workies spunk. That’s it ,fucking take the whole bloody length. Let it spurt all the way down that throat of yours right to the pit of the stomach.’

With one final push the workie shouted ‘Fuckin hell’  and his spunk roared out in waves of thick creamy cum with Kenny desperately trying to swallow as much as he could. It was too much to take and the cum started to run down his chin and onto his shirt. He wanted every last drop but the workie had too much spunk to swallow.

‘Bloody hell mate you suck like a real pro. The workie pushed Kenny back and thrust his still dripping cock back into his Hi Viz.

‘Any left over can run down my leg ‘he said. ‘Now stand up and let’s see you. Clearly it was too much for you to take though you did well. Its’ all the way down your chin and onto your shirt.’

‘Christ how am I gonna get home?’ Kenny said.

‘No probs mate. Take this HiViz waistcoat of mine and put it on. It will cover the cum marks. I’ve got plenty of HI Viz. Go on put it on and then a bit of me goes with you. Well for someone who turned up his nose at a workie you have managed well and now even are wearing a HiViz. Makes me fucking laugh. My name’s Don and you?’

‘Kenny’

‘Well now bugger off Kenny as I have to get back to doing some work. Drains today.’

As Kenny walked home making sure the HiViz was covering all the cum marks on his shirt all he could think of was the smell. Was it the waistcoat, the cum or just being with the bloke. The first thing he did on getting back was to strip off and get in to the shower to totally clean himself, using the strongest shower gel he had. When he got out the shower he realised that the gel had made little difference He could still smell the workie as if he was as bad. Still some BO,  still dirt still piss and cum. It would not wash away. For some unknown reason rather than put on of  his clothes he put the HiViz waistcoat back on. Putting it one he immediately felt that he needed a ciggie and can of beer. But he didn’t smoke and hardly drank beer but now it was a must. He needed to light up and let the ciggie smoke deep into his lungs. Noticing a small bulge in the pocket of the HiViz he put his hand and took out a packet of cigarettes and box of matches. How could they be there when all he wanted to do was smoke. He then opened the fridge and took out a can of beer that had been lying around for ages. Now he had the ciggie and the beer and it was what he wanted. Sitting on his sofa with his legs apart he looked down at his body. There was a change, but how. His legs seemed more hairy not a lot but definitely more and the hair from his pubes was now up past his belly. Again not a lot but he had never had hair there before. But his belly looked bigger. He had always been so careful with his diet but now the skin looked slightly flabby. Little tufts were sprouting out around d his nipples. Part of Kenny was surprised but for now he wanted only to light up and open that can.

He opened the can first and took and large swig and put it down to light up his first ciggie. But the way he lit up and put the ciggie into his mouth it was as if he had been doing it for years. As the smoke moved down into his lungs he felt the smoke take over his body. Another deep draw and he felt his cock stirring. His cock looked a bit bigger and he watched it grow rigid as he took another smoke.

The cigarette was making him not just hard but horny.

I need to good wank he said to himself. Putting his hand around his shaft he leant back in the sofa with his legs wide apart and the other hand held the ciggie.

Fucking hell a wank with a fag not bad. Don’t know why I haven’t done this before. It feels bloody great wearing the HIViz. With every draw on the fag his hand moved up and down his shaft quicker and quicker. With his final draw and the smoke enveloping his whole body he threw his head back and shouted 

‘Fuck me’ as the cum shot out in a long arc all the way up his chest, great globs of white spunk all the way up to the top of his chest.

Stubbing the ciggie out he took both his hands and rubbed the spunk into his chest.

‘No point in cleaning this up might as well it harden into my skin and make me smell a bit more.’

‘Shit I feel so fucking tired. But I need another fag after that and finish the beer first.’

After that he went to be still wearing the HiViz.

When he work up next morning he could sense the stench of dried cum of stale cigarette smoke and a couple of empty cans of beer. There were two butts in the dish,. Christ I must have woken up and had another he though unable to remember. All I know is that I need another fag now. When he went to get dressed he found that his shirt seemed too tight and he was hardly able to fasten up his chinos. Odd they fitted yesterday but his gut seemed even bigger than last night. The only things he could put on were his jogging suit with the elasticated waist. As he lit up again he looked at his hand and he could see it was now nicotined stained and the back of his hand was definitely hairier but he couldn’t care. However he was feeling horny again and could see his cock growing inside his joggers starting to make a large bulge.

‘Shit I can’t go out like this but I need to get up to the cruising wood again. He put on the HiViz waistcoat to help cover up his bulge as reached the entrance to the wood. The same white van was there, but parked along side it was a smart sports car. As he walked into the cruising ground the owner of the sports car was standing looking at Kenny. He was in his mid 20s tall, gym trained and good looking. He let his hand down to rub his crotch . He was exactly the type that Kenny went for but that was yesterday. Today he wanted to be dirty to be with a workie who stank, who smoked and who had a thick cock. Passing by the guy he just stared and walked on to the clearing he had been at yesterday. Standing against the tree was Don in the same HiViz but another waistcoat smoking a fag.

‘Thought you might be back. Don’t suppose I’m gonna get my waistcoat back. You might as well keep it ,looks as if it suits you. Wanna a smoke?’

‘Sure ‘Kenny replied going up to the workie. Don handed over the lit ciggie.

‘You had my cock in yer mouth yesterday now you have me ciggie. Looks as if you like a bit of me.’ 

As he said this he put an arm round Kenny and pulled him in letting ghis hand firmly stroke Kenny’s bum and bring their faces close to.

‘You smell as good as me. Stale smoke and beer. Do I smell dried cum on you?’

And with that he put his other arm up Kenny’s jogging top and let his hand explore the dried cum chest.

‘Fuck that was a good wank you had, plenty of cum there what a waste but it sure gives you a smell. Looks as if you want some of me and feeling that nice round arse of yours makes me in need of a fuck.’

 Kenny could feel the workies rock hard cock pressing against how own

‘ I ain’t got much time but I’m not leaving till you have had some spunk up that arse of you.’

With that the workie held back Kenny waistband and let his hand travel down until his fingers were searching for Kenny’s hole.

‘Just want to check that hole of yours will take my cock.’ As he said this he started inserting finger after finger into the opening until he had 4 fingers fully in. ‘Shit man I could almost fist you but at least you have plenty of room for me inside you. Now turn round.’

 As he pulled down the back of the joggers so the workie unzipped himself and took out his hard cock.

‘I ain’t washed since yesterday so me dick stinks of my cum and your spit. Great ain’t it? Now bend over a bit while I get some spit on me dick.’

Don let out a loud cough as he brought up a great gob of spit and then spat it over the long length of his shaft, rubbing in the thick spit.

‘A great gob there that’ll make it nice and easy to slip this cock of mine all the way up you.’

One of the workies arms grabbed the top of Kenny’s HI Viz and with the other he guided it to the hole and let the head rim in readiness to insert. As Kenny’s hole opened to take the cock he felt his muscles contract and let out a squeal of pain.

‘Relax mate and let those arse muscles of yours take me. Tell you what light up a ciggie from your HiViz. As Kenny lit up and took a deep breath of smoke into his lungs so his muscles relaxed and the workie started to press his cock further and further in.

‘What did I tell you. A ciggie always helps.’

Don brought both large hairy arms around Kenny and pulled himself in right up to the hilt as Kenny puffed more and more.

‘Don’t finish the fucking ciggie yet mate. Wait till I’ve had you.’

Kenny could feel his cock throbbing inside his trackies already showing a stain of precum. It was like having a bloody pole up his arse but what a fucking pole. He’d never had a cock that size before and decided he’d never have anything less again.

‘You are not the only one liking this mate. Look over there. We are being watched by that young toady. Got his cock out watching us. Still it’s you I am fucking and he can just wasted his spunk while lucky you get to have mine all the way up you.’

Having his prick up Kenny and watching the guy jack off made the workie even more horny. For Kenny seeing the bloke get ready to shoot his load and have this amazing piece of meat inside him was making him so geared up he was ready to come.

‘If that guy is anything like me we will all be coming at once. Now go on push in and out and let me feel right up inside you to me pubes. 

‘Go on fuck me harder and harder, ‘Kenny shouted knowing the young guy could hear him

‘Get all that fucking spunk into me. What a fucking huge cock you got. Fuck me rigid.’

Hearing this was too much for the workie who shot his load all the way into Kenny’s arse. At the same time Kenny’s cock exploded into his trackies the cum oozing out through the material. Both looked up in time to see the young guy, having heard the two of them spurt a great arc of cum through the air onto the ground in front of him.

‘Shit that was bloody great ‘the workie said ‘almost like a fucking threesome, but I wouldn’t touch that geezer with a bargepole. You Kenny are much more like me.’

‘And I feel more like you ‘Kenny replied. ‘How the hell do I get home this time. Yesterday my shirt was covered in your cum and today I have my own spunk all the way through my joggers.’

‘Well I fucking saved you yesterday and today I can do the same. Just as well I always carry spare gear. Come to the van and I have something for you.’

Kenny followed the workie back to his van . Don opened the passenger door and took out a pair of HiVz yellow heavy duty nylon trousers. Put those over your tackies for now. They may seem a bit big for now but don’t worry about that. While you are here take this.’ He picked up and plastic bag and handed it to Kenny.

‘At least you now have a bit more of the gear. No point in just having the waistcoat.’

‘How do I get all this back to you.’ Kenny asked

‘No probs mate see it as a gift. Anyway it looks good on you and you now look more like a decent dirty guy.’ 

‘Being dirty aint so bad.’

‘Thought youdd say that. Now off you go and enjoy the kit. I’ll see you soon enough.’

As Kenny walked home he could feel the heavy nylon rubbing against his trackies which was rubbing against his cum soaked body. He was now wearing the waistcoat and the trousers both stained with oil and mud. Anyone having a quick look at him would think he could be a workie. He looked inside the bag and saw a pair of well worn steel capped leather boots and inside them a pair of what looked like dirty yellow thick socks.

Christ what am I mean to do with them he thought and at the bottom of the bag were a pack of six beer cans and two packets of cigarettes. He still had a couple of ciggies in the other packet.

Lighting one up he walked back home inhaling deeply almost swaggering in. his HiViz gear feeling like a workie that had just been fucked and as he walked he could feel Don’s spunk beginning to ooze out into his trackies and from there into the HiViz trousers he was now wearing. When he got home he took the HIViz and trackies off then put just the Hiviz on. He could feel the left over cum sticking to the nylon but it felt good as he sat all evening in the gear with a ciggie in one hand and a beer in the other

In the morning when he woke up and reached out for the packet of fags he realised that he had gone to bed in the HiViz. Going for a pee as he unzipped to get his cock out the smell of piss and cum was strong but good. It was good to stink that like and why the hell wash when you could smell like that. He opened up the bag that the workie had given him and pulled out the socks. The reason they were yellow was because they had not been washed for ages and he could smell the sweaty feet that had worn them. He put them up to his nose and rubbed the socks over his face. The stench of cheese and dirt made his cock swell up in the HIViz.

‘Shit I’ll be having another wank if I keep smelling these. He put his feet into the socks with his big toe sticking through the holes. Then the heavy well used boots tucking the trousers into the tops. Kenny looked at himself in the mirror. At least facially he looked the same though his facial hair seemed stronger and he should have a shave but decided he liked it that way. However his arms looked bigger and more muscle and he chest was even hairier than the day before. His flabby waist line looked as if he had been on the beer for months and was almost hanging over the waistband but the HIViz was now a perfect fit. He wanted to go out but needed something to cover his chest so looking into the laundry basket he found a soiled T shirt that he had last played football in. However it was skin tight on him now and every time he moved it rode up at the front to show of a hairy belly. 

‘I look fucking great’ he thought to himself, giving his crotch an good rub. ‘Time to go and do some cruising.’ 

As he reached the layby Kenny saw two white vans parked next to one another. He recognised the one belonging to Don but not the other. At first he saw no one around looking for a quick wank and as he reached the clearing he saw Don standing talking to another workie both smoking. Not sure what to do he was about to turn back when Don noticed him and waved him to come over.

‘So Boss this is the guy I told you about, Kenny.’

‘Don has been telling me all about you what a stuck up sod you were the day he saw you , not wanting to give him ablow job because he is workie and like us all had a good dirty stench about him. Well it looks as if he has been working a bit of a change on you. I like what I see Don, well done but we have a bit of finishing off to do eh? So Kenny I have something here I am gonna put on you and you will like it especially when you get all the sensations coming your way.

The Boss took a black leather hood out of his HiViz jacket.

‘Now get this on.’

At first Kenny looked a bit nervous but he had always been turned on by videos of guys in leather hoods. You had to guess what they looked like and always looked like masters

He pulled it on over his head and realised there were no eyelets, just a small space for his nose and a slit for his mouth. It was all black and the smell of sweaty leather made his cock start to lengthen. The Boss pulled the zip down making it tight against his head.

The is the first zip we need to deal with . Feels good doesn’t it? Are you beginning to feel a bit different with it on and that smell of leather to inhale?’

‘Feels great. Don’t know what it is but definitely feeling a change. Tell you what Boss I could do with a ciggie.’

‘All in good time mate, Now let’s get the next zip open.’ 

And with that the Boss found the zip at the back of the HiViz trousers and pulled it down to reveal Kenny’s arse.

‘Nice bit of hair been developing over that arse of yours  Us workies love hairy arses don’t we Don. So when you bend down we can all see a good hairy slit. I can feel my cock getting nice and hard for you Kenny. Don says you are one of the best fucks he has had and if you can take a prick his size then you will manage mine.’

The Boss gave Kenny’s arse a good rub and let his fingers work through the hair to the hole. 

‘I can see you are nice and moist man. You knew what would be coming your way today. So Don you can do the third zip.’

‘Tell you what Boss ‘Don said ‘the guys gagging for it ,that cock of his is like a fucking pole, it will need a strong hand to get that cock.’

Don put his hand inside and grabbed the shaft and as it came through the nylon it sprang up.

‘Not just the hair on the arse Boss the guy’s cock has now gotten to a good thick size as well. He’s not washed that dick of his since we first met so it has a great stink of piss and cum. Just as I like cocks.’

‘You have done well with this one Don. Give the guy his ciggie now and light it up for him.’

Don lit up and put the ciggie through the leather slit into Kenny’s mouth. Now that is better.’

‘Christ am I ready to fuck this guy. The hood is turning me on and seeing that fag in his mouth is a turn on. I have a right boner needing to shoot.’

The Boss put his arms around Kenny and pressed his hard dick against Kenny’s arse. Suddenly Kenny knew what to expect and moved his arse out to meet the Boss’s wet head.

‘That’s it boy, hood or no hood your arse is waiting for me.. Now bend down a little so I can open up that hole and let myself in. Once I have my head in then stand up cause Don’s wanting to get that cock of yours down his throat..’

Kenny briefly took the ciggies out of his mouth. 

‘Shit I wish I could see that cock of yours boss but it sure feels an equal to Don’s and after yesterday my hole is ready to take a baseball bat so ram that son of a bitch all the way up to the hilt. Being fucked in full HiViz feeling all that yellow nylon and you ramming me from behind and Don taking my cock at the front is so fucking amazing.Shit man full Hiviz a tight leather hood and me stinking. Fucking great.’

‘Don’t worry you are getting the full length.’

As the Boss pushed his shaft fully in so Don leant forwards on his knees and gave a big gob of spit onto Kennys shaft. 

‘Getting it a bit greasy makes me swallow better for you. Can’t wait to get the stench down into my throat. Grabbing Kenny’s long thick pulsing dick Dom let his tongue rim the head, savouring the precum oozing out from the tip.

The Boss’s cock was now fully inside Kenny’s arse and Kenny needed to react and starting moving back and forwards to get the full sensation. As he moved his arse so it meant his cock went in and out of Don’s mouth the whole way down so Don could feel the pubes brushing against his face.

‘Fucking hell’ Kenny said,  ‘A workie back and front and a good fag in my mouth. It gets no better. No one does it better than a workie.’

 He knew he was near to coming so he pushed harder and harder quicker and quicker all the time inhaling as much smoke as he could. He wanted to have the Boss release his cum as he shot his loas down Don’s throat. By now Don had his own cock out and with one hand was rubbing quicker and quicker up  and down his shaft.

‘Christ you guys I ready.’

‘So are we.’ Both said.

‘Fuck’ Kenny shouted through gritted teeth the fag still in his mouth and the Boss shot wave after wave of cum all the way up Kenny’s arse. Kenny shot his load into Dom’s throat as Dom’s spunk spurted over Kenny’s boots, thick and white

As all three got their breath back so the Boss said.

‘Well Kenny it’s time to take that tight leather hood off you. Unzipping Kenny took the hood off and shook his head. His face felt different. Taking his hands to his face he realised that the sides of his head were fully shaved with a number 1 cut on the top. Also he had a thick 3 days growth of a beard

Shit man what’s happened?’ But now his voice sounded like a deep smokie northern.

 ‘What the fuck do you think. You were only too happy to take some of Don’s clothes, you got off with having the best sex with a workie and so now you are one and look like one. A fucking horny one too. A nice belly hanging over top of your trousers and if you look at your arms you will see they are like all of us, covered in some great tats. You are one of the lads now, a stinking workie. So what do you want now?’

‘A fucking ciggie of course.’ 

‘Reckon we all deserve one and back at the van a good can of beer before we head off to work down the drains.’

‘Coming Kenny?’

‘Sure thing Boss , can’t wait to get down those stinking drains but as long as we three have another session at the end of the day.’

‘That’s a promise Workie Kenny.’

[tuftyskin]

some more absolutely f%^&*ng great and horny writing, makes me wish I could be in Kenny's place!!

[sweatysocksnsneakers]

[devoncub]

Socks, jocks, pits, crotch, ass, I can't get enough 🤤👅👃🤤👅

[tuftyskin]

inspired by Makeover story

Was reading a story on here by Octuscle titled "makeover" in which office boi Mortimer is transformed into a totally inked up skinhead. after starting out with a couple of lip piercings. Made me horny so created couple more pics based on similar theme

Any tops fancy doing something similar to me for real plz get in touch

[workerboy-deactivated20190518]

Me a dirty pig boy

[captainlondonman]

STUDENT TO WORKIE

‘Dave, can you deliver this present to my father when you are back in town.’

Tony asked.

Dave had been spending the weekend with his friend in his university town. and was on his way home.

‘Sure thing mate,’ Dave replied. ‘I haven’t seen your father for years’

‘Neither have I much as he and Mum rarely speak.’

‘What does he do?’

‘Something in the building sector. He should be around in the evening. I’ll give you the address. Just hand it over on the doorstep and anyway I’m sure he won’t even ask you in. He is a bit rough but to be honest he buggered off soon after I was born. Never remarried, probably because he is so difficult.’

The day after getting home, Dave took his bike and went round to the address given by his friend. Ringing the doorbell he heard a deep voice shouting from the other side.

‘No need to push so fucking hard I heard you.’

The door flew open and standing in front of Dave taking up most of the doorway was a man with full HiViz kit. This was not what Dave was expecting.

Something in the building sector, Dave thought he would be a bit like himself a Surveyor. But standing in front of him was a well built hunk of a man wearing only a HIViz waistcoat his large hairy chest from neck down showing, with a slight beer belly pushing out over his workgear trousers. The waistcoat was back enough to show a pair of nipples that looked unreal as if they had been pulled out to be large and juicy. Both arms were hairy and covered in tats all the way down to is wrists which then a fat hands with nails ingrained with dirt. The man had a thick moustache and unshaven around the chin, his hair cut to a No 1.

‘Christ’ thought Dave h’ow can this be Tony’s father. No wonder they hardly talk. Who’d want this guy as a father?’

‘Who the fuck are you,’ the man said staring at Dave

‘Er, I’m a mate of Tony and he asked if I would drop by and give you a present. I suppose it’s your birthday.’

‘I get a present once a year from that little shit and he never bothers to contact me. Mind you I ain’t any better. He’s a right little ponce thinking he is much better than me. I suppose you are also a little mister big shot eh?’.

‘I don’t think Tony is at all like that and a bit unfair of you to say that.’

‘Oh a right little mouthy are you?’

‘Well I suppose if you have cycled across town you might as well come in and have a beer. I have just opened a bottle for myself.’

As Dave walked into the kitchen he could smell the man, unwashed and a smell of stale ciggies. The guy handed Dave a bottle and said

‘Want a ciggie?’

‘No I don’t smoke.

‘Well all workies like a good smoke so if you don’t mind I will.’ he said lighting up.

‘So tell me a bit about yourself.’

Dave explained how he knew Tony and how he was studying surveying.

‘So you are the posh guys that come on site and tell me what to do eh.’ The man said laughing. ‘Anyway I am Pete which you probably know from my son. Not like me is he. Probably like his ma all slim and pretty, a bit like you eh?’

‘I wouldn’t describe myself as pretty.’

‘Well you’re hardly man mountain are you?’

The two guys continued to talk and had another beer and then another till Dave said ‘I think I need to get back but after all these beers can I go for a pee please.’

‘Just before you do let me get you a HiViz waistcoat as its now dark and you are on a bicycle. Hold on.’

A minute later Pete returned with a dirty Hi Viz waistcoat.

‘There you are, the bathroom is just next door.’

Dave went in and could smell pee and saw piss marks around the rim of WC. It all looked pretty untidy and then his eye caught sight of a jockstrap hanging out of a dirty laundry basket.

Normally Dave would have turned his nose up in disgust but there was something so manly and uncouth about Pete that he could not resist touching the jockstrap. It was covered in piss marks and as he handled it he could almost feel it slightly crusty as though it was died cum.

Before he knew what he was doing he stuffed the jockstrap into his pocket feeling his cock start to stir in his chinos. 

‘Shit I’d better get out before my cock is stiff.’

With the jockstrap in his pocket he walked back into the kitchen and thanked Pete for the HIViz.

‘Not a prob mate, bring it back any time I’m sure I’ll see you again’. he smirked.

Once home Dave for some reason kept his HiViz on, he wanted to keep it on but most of all when he took the stained jockstrap out of his pocket he wanted so much to smell it. He instinctively put it over his head and brought the deep yellow stained pouch down over his face rubbing it all over  as he took deep breaths. The odour of dried piss was overwhelming as he pressed the material tight against his nose. He could feel the dried cum brush against his face. The smell was intoxicating, it was almost making him dizzy but it so excited him knowing that this jockstrap belonged to his friend’s father, the uncouth workie, the beer swilling cigarette smoker with the hairy body and his HiViz gear. As he breathed deeper and deeper so the blood rush moved down to his cock. It was ramrod hard and he had got so excited the precum was oozing out of the tip. He smothered his face with the jockstrap feeling the stench become part of his face. He wanted to smell, he wanted to be dirty like Tony’s father. Shit the man was so fucking sexy even with his large belly but all that hair and unsahevn look was such a turn on. Knowing it was his best friends’ father made it even better. As he sucked the jockstrap so he could feel the piss and dried cum soften he let the taste run down his throat..His hand was now wrapped around his dick. The more he sucked at the jockstrap the more his hand slid up and down the shaft.

‘Shit I want Tony’s dad .I want to suck and fuck with the bloody workie.’

As the throbbing came to a climax he shouted

‘I only want fucking workies.’ And with that he shot his load over the floor whilst almost gagging with the jockstrap down his throat taking in every bit of piss and cum.

Without cleaning his dick he put on the jockstrap so the last few drops of his cum mixed with Tony’s father’s piss and cum. His cock immediately got hard again but Dave wanted his cock encased in the dirty jockstrap and he could feel his shaft rubbing against hardened piss and cum. It felt good to be wearing it and he put the Hiviz waistcoat back on and went to bed feeling almost as if he was part of Tony’ father workie body. He woke up the next day and stretched but as he did so he thought his body felt slightly different. Looking at himself there was a change but he could not quite understand what the difference was. He looked as if he had been working out a bit, there was more definition to his muscle arms and even the beginning of a 6 pack. His shoulders had widened a bit and the bulge within his jockstrap seemed a bit larger. He decided not to shower but kept the jockstrap on. He liked feeling dirty and having the older man’s piss make its smell . When he put his T shirt on he put the waistcoat back on.

There was something about Tony’s father that was drawing him to go back. The main was uncouth, a dirty workie with a high body smell.. Someone that Dave would quickly walk by, but it seemed odd but he found the man had a sexual power and thinking of him standing there with his bare hairy chest had his cock rigid. It was like a magnet but how could he go back. He decided he could make the excuse of returning the HiViz waistcoat and by going back a few hours later he reckoned he was being polite. Shit what would Tony think if he knew that Dave was getting off thinking about his father and wearing the filthy jockstrap.

He knocked on the door at the same time as the previous day and when the door opened Pete just smiled. He was wearing the same HiViz jacket with his hairy chest protruding but this time he was wearing a dirty very stained pair of joggers  which his belly fell over as well as a mud stained pair of rubber boots up to his knees. When the door opened Dave almost had to step back with the smell.

‘I thought you might be back sometime. Sorry about the turn out mate but it’ been a busy day down in sewers. Stinks a bit eh, but you quickly get used to it. Better than any aftershave’ he smirked. He waved Dave it and Dave could see that Pete’s hands were still filthy and probably covered in sewer shit.

‘I just wanted to return your HIViz.’

‘You can keep it. You can always try to wash it and get rid of all the stains. Anyway come in and have a beer.  The kitchen stunk of sewage But to Dave’s surprise the more he smelt it and was repulsed the more he started to take deeper breaths and found his crotch was responding and stiffening under his chinos. ‘Christ how could I like this bloody awful smell ‘he thought ‘but its turning me on.’

‘You told me you don’t smoke but if you have a beer with me you really should have a puff. It helps the stink in here. What say you eh?’

Dave didn’t even consider saying no, he almost instinctively took a ciggie out of Pete’s pack.

‘That’s better, let me light it for you.’

Having never smoked before Dave found he knew exactly what to do and he held the ciggie just like Pete drawing deeply and exhaling a large cloud of smoke.

‘See I told you . All real men smoke mate. Talking about real men, you seemed to have bulked up a bit. I thought you and Tony looked a pair of wimps but today you look better. Perhaps it’s the HiViz waistcoat, ha ha.’

Pete came forward to give Dave a can of beer and standing in front of him at eye level Dave could make out a long line of cock stretching down one side of the joggers. He was clearly commando.

As Dave took his first gulp, with Pete still standing in front of him staring down.

‘So you stole my jockstrap did you?’

Dave almost spat out his mouthful of beer

‘Don’t give me a fucking excuse boy. I left it out knowing full well what you would do. You couldn’t resist it could you, all nice a crusty and yellow stained with my piss. Bet when you got home the first thing you did was have a massive wank eh. Thinking of me wearing it no doubt. You liked the idea of Tony’s dirty workie of a dad wearing it The problem is mate that I ain’t got anything under me joggers so me cock has been bouncing around all day and the more it moves around inside the more horny I become.

As he said this he put one hand down inside his joggers and stroked the full length of his cock moving forward to stand right in front of Dave. As he took his hand out the cock was like a rigid pole tenting outwards and a small stain of precum showed itself through the cotton.

‘Bet you got my jockstrap on now. Admit it.’

‘Er yes.’

‘And bet you love it and don’t want to take it off.’

Dave was silent.

‘Well if you steal something then you have to pay back.’

Dave’s eyes were glued to the crotch with Pete’s erection forming a good 8inch tent. Pete put down his beer and with one hand slipped his hand down his belly and into the joggers, pulling out a massive erect prick. Dave could not believe it, the guy was wearing a thick steel cock ring, making every vein of his shaft stand out almost pulsating. As the cock sprang out so the foreskin was pushed back revealing a large glistening head. The slit of the cock was straight in front of Dave’s face and he could smell the unwashed cock.

‘So you take from me and now you pay back. You love the smell of my piss stained jockstrap so now you can suck the real thing, unwashed and smelling of several days of piss. Don’t think you are just going to lick my tool, you are taking the full length down that throat of yours.’

Dave could smell the rank cock in front of his face but the smell was like an aphrodisiac. It made him so horny and he knew the only thing he now wanted was to have the massive cock all the way down his throat

‘What are you fucking looking at. You don’t give blowjob just looking boy.’

Pete grabbed hold of Dave’s hair and pulled him in. For a moment Dave almost gagged at the smell but at the same time he wanted to savour the stench of the cock before swallowing it down his throat.

‘I want you to take the whole throbbing fucking length of my dick so your mouth is pressed up against my cock ring and you can taste the metal.’ With his free hand Pete wrapped his dirty hand around his shaft and pushed it to force Dave’s mouth open.

‘That’s it boy take my fucking stinking cock. Open yer mouth nice and wide.

As Dave opened his lips he felt the precum tip of cock force its way into his mouth and the smell of piss rode up through his nostrils. The more he smelt the piss the wider his mouth opened. 

Pete still held tight Dave’s hair pushing his head further and further up to take more and more of the throbbing shaft.

‘You love my cock don’t you. Wonder what Tony would think of you gagging to give his father a blow job. Not such a prissy boy now are you taking a workie’s dirty cock all the way down yer throat.’

Dave let his saliva work overtime to allow the cock to sink further and further into his throat.

The idea of sucking off Tony’s father was even more of a turn on. By now Dave’s cock was sore it was so hard in the jockstrap but he was so engaged in sucking he could not unzip himself.

‘Don’t even think of wanking yerself. I want all your concentration on my big cock.

‘That’s good boy I can feel my prick sliding down the back of your throat.. Nice and big for you. Not really a pay back though as you are loving it. Now I can see your lips touching my cockring. Feel the metal pushing against you and now you have the full length and can feel my precum slipping down inside you. It’s time to thrust this dick up and down inside that throat of yours.’

Dave did not need to be told what to do. With his mouth fully into Pete’s thick hairy bush, the piss smell ran through his body down to his own cock and the jockstrap was nearly ready to burst inside him. Pete took hold of Dave’s head with both hands and gripping him he started to move his prick back and forth at first slowly so he could savour Dave’s spit around his shaft.

‘You fucking know how to suck. Bet you have only ever sucked a boy off before but now you are giving a good workie blowjob. Keep your spit going boy as I love pumping you.’

Pete pushed in and out with greater speed taking his head almost to the edge of Dave’s lips so he could feel his helmet ridge on the point of coming out and then he rammed back in right up to his pubes. Faster and faster he pumped and the more he pumped the more Dave wanted.. 

‘Shit boy you are fucking great I am ready to fucking explode.’

With that Pete withdrew his cock grabbing his spit covered shaft and shed his thick white creamy cum over Dave’s face and down the front of his T shirt.

‘That’s it boy lick it all up around your face.’ 

Dave could feel the cum dripping down his chin onto his shirt. 

Having all the cum over him was too much for Dave’s cock and he exploded his load into Pete’s jockstrap the cum oozing out through the cotton and through his chinos forming a large stain in his groin.

‘Fucking great. That’s what I call a blowjob.’ Pete said and looking down at Dave and saw the large cum stain on his chinos.

‘Looks as if you enjoyed it too mate. You can’t go home looking like that all my cum on your shirt and now that nice big stain on your trousers.’

Strip off and I’ll get you something to go home in. But keep my jockstrap on as a minder as you obviously love it.’

Pete came back in with a Hi Viz short sleeved shirt and a pair of De Walt  grey workgear trousers , both covered in mud and grease marks.

They ain’t clean but at least better that all that cum. Go on and the get the fuck out of here and you can take a can of beer and this pack of ciggies with you.’

As Dave put on the gear thrown at him he could smell how much they had been used and it was as if they had been down the sewers with Pete. For a second Dave thought it would be better to wear his own gear but the smell of what he had been given was good and made him feel more like a man.

Pete looked at him. ‘They look for now as if they are a bit big but don’t worry about that. Keep the Hi viz waistcoat, tell you what, you are looking a bit more like a workie. So why don’t you come a see me at work and see that you think. It’s in Bank Street and you will see the portacabin. Come later tomorrow afternoon. OK?’

It seemed more of a command to Dave rather than something to consider. Besides, that had been the best blowjob ever and even now Dave could still smell the man’s cum as well as his piss and now the sewage smell of the borrowed clothes

‘I’ll bring this gear back to you.’

‘That’s up to you. So now get off I need a few beers after this.’

When Dave got home  the first thing he did was open the beer and slurp it down. There were 5 ciggies left in the packet Pete had given him. He was desperate to smoke them all just the way Pete had done. He hoped by smoking them all his hands would look covered in nicotine, just like Pete. He now loved puffing. Why the fuck had he never smoked before. In all the workie gear it seemed only natural to smoke, right down to the tip. He had decided to keep the clothes on when he went to bed. He wanted to feel  the Hiviz against his skin and he liked the smell of the gear he had been given. The clothes did seem a bit large but so what? The next morning he work up and the smell hit him. It felt great and when he got out of bed to look at himself he could not believe it, the clothes were no longer big but a snug fit, the yellow HiViz shirt was tight against his chest showing off a true 6 pack, the arms were bulging with muscles. He looked at the De Walt trousers. They were no longer too long but he seemed to have grown 4 inches and were now nice a tight around his crotch showing a decent bulge. He was almost looking like a workie but his hair was still that floppy fringe though he thought he seemed to have a darker heavier growth around his face. When he went to piss and opened up his flies to take his cock out from the jockstrap it seemed so tight in the jockstrap. The first thing to hit him was the rancid smell of piss and cum and then as he flipped his cock out to pee his cock was now thicker, really thick where it jutted out of his now dark really hairy pubes with a long foreskin sliding over his helmet.

‘Fuck’ he said ‘this looks a whopper. A real workie cock’

After breakfast we knew there was a place he needed to go to. The barbers. He chose a place he knew was frequented by the local workies having seen then sitting waiting for a cut with all their Hiviz gear on. There were a couple of guys being cut when he went in all in their HiViz They looked round and one said.

‘You’ve been down a fucking sewer mate. Doing a real dirty job eh.?’

Dave just smiled and sat down. One guy was then finished and left so Dave sat in the chair. The barber said

‘So what do you want?’

The other workie said “Get rid of that stupid long hair for a start’

Dave knew what to say. ‘I want you to take a razor to the sides and then cut the top to give me a full chav cut with a really short straight cut across the forehead.’

‘That’s it mate give him a real chav cut . Then he will start to look like a workie.’

The barber took the razor and gave a number one cut going on to give a real pudding bowl cut to his top.

Even the barber said, ‘That’s better mate I think we all agree this suits your clothing and as you are a workie then you need to look like one.’

The other workie got out the chair and leant over to whisper into Dave’s ear.

‘Great bod you go there mate Would like to see a bit more of that sometime. You could do with a few tats. I go to a place just right for a new boy. Gimme yer phone and I’ll give you my number. Us workies need to stick together.’

Dave handed his phone over as the guy typed in his number. As he did Dave looked at the guys crotch which had a good bulge showing in his Hi Viz.

As the guy handed back the phone he again whispered

‘I see what yer looking at. You won’t be disappointed. By the way I like yer smell a real turn on for us workies.’ And with that he paid and left the shop.

The barber smiled as he finished Dave off .’Think you have made a conquest there. That’s what a good chav haircut has done for you.’

Dave looked in the mirror, with his chav haircut and those muscles he really did look like a workie. Gone was the prissy student. He now wanted to go and show his friend’s father his new look so walked down to Bank Street and saw the portacabin door open.

Looking inside he saw Pete sitting at a desk who looked up and spluttered

‘Christ what a change in you boy. Thank fucking Christ you are now looking the part. A real little chavvy workie eh. See those rubber boots over there put them on. They are nice a dirty but that won’t matter when I take you down into the sewer. Also put the hard hat on, need to be safe. I’ll put a torch on mine so lets go. Dave caught sight of himself with the full kit on and with such a covering of mud on his clothes and the hard hat he could hardly believe the change.

Pete opened up the manhole and told Dave to climb down the ladder into the bottom tunnel. Once both were down Pete switched on the torch. The first thing Dave was aware off was the smell but it was only a stronger version of how he smelt. He breathed it in and found his cock starting to rise.

‘Like the smell now don’t you ‘Pete said. ‘Turns me on every time I am down here.’

Before Dave could reply Pete grabbed hold of Dave and spun him round pressing him up against the wall of the tunnel. Leaning in against Dave’s back Pete whispered in his ear. ‘You and I have some unfinished business. Its payback time again. First you steal my jockstrap but now you owe me for making you a man and Christ you now look fucking horny. And don’t tell me that having my dirty cock down yer throat you don’t want it up that nice bubble butt of yours. I know the idea of being fucked in a sewer by a real man turns you on.’

Pete took his big rough hands and let them ride over Dave’s cheeks and then placing his hands around Dave’s waist unbuttoned the workgear trousers pulling them down to his knees. Dave was now unable to move

‘I wanna fuck you with the jockstrap on, my jockstrap. Now stick that nice arse of your out to take my prick. ‘

As Dave did as commanded so Pete undid his flies and flipped his sweaty cock out letting a large godbof spit onto the shaft

‘I’m nice and sweaty after working down here today and you can feel that stick of my dick going right up to the hilt in yer arse.’

Dave now only wanted to be fucked Since giving Pete the blowjob he knew that he had to be fucked by this monster tool. Shit what could be better that being fucked in a sewer by his best friend’s father.

‘Go gentle will you please.’

‘That arse of yours could take a baseball bat so quit the pathetic tone with me. You had my cock rammed in your mouth so you managed that no prob. Then you can take my prick up inside you.’

Dave felt his cheeks being parted as Pete pressed against him. His cock searching for the hole

‘Nice big hole you got there mate. No probs taking my dick or perhaps you’d prefer the baseball bat?’

‘No just let me have your cock. Make me feel like a real workie being fucked.’

Dave could feel the spit on Pete’s head finding the hole and then the push. For a moment he winced as the head found its way into the hole. But once past he was ready for the full length of Pete’s shaft.  As Pete pushed his tool up the hole he put one hand to his mouth releasing a large gob of spit then put his arm around Dave’s head smearing the spit all over his face before wiping the dirt and muck off the wall in front of Dave and wiping that on top of the spit.

‘Now you look like a real dirty workie who has been down the sewer. Your vface all covered in sewer shit and spit. Bet you like the smell of my spit and the muck eh?’ 

‘Sure  it is making me feel like a real workie. Fuck any studies. This is what I want to be a real man always dirty with me beers and ciggies like you and have a good fuck with the lads.’

‘That’s what I knew you wanted as soon as I set eyes on you. Now take my cock right up to the hilt.’

‘Shove as far up as you want, I want to feel your spunk shooting right up my body and now your cock is so far up get my cock out of this jockstrap.’

Pete moved his hand down to Dave’s groin and peeled back the jockstrap to let Dave’s cock spring out. As it did so Pete grabbed hold of the shaft wrapping his hand around the throbbing cock.

‘Shit man you’ve got a good one there. Any workie would be glad to have that rammed up them. Now let me give you a good wank and have you shoot all over the sewer wall.’

As Pete slid his hand up and down the down the shaft so he pushed his own cock in and out with increasing ferocity his cock ring almost vanishing into Dave’s hole. Both men started groaning with pleasure and Pete leant forward to kiss the back of Dave’s neck. One hand was now round Dave’s waist so he could have full hold and the other was wanking faster and faster. He knew from the throbbing that Dave was on the point of orgasm and this made him so horny and ready to cum himself. Dave wiped some more sewer mucj off the wall to smear across his face. He wanted to feel fucking dirty

‘Let it go mate I’m about to shoot my load into that lovely arse of yours .’ Pete shouted

‘Fuck me man let me have every drop of your spunk.’ As Dave thrust his arse out to take in the full length of the cock so he came his spunk spurting out against the sewer wall. Pete unloaded his cum inside Dave making Dave feel as if it would come out his mouth such was the force of spunk.

Pete took his cock out giving a quick wipe before putting it back into his joggers.

‘No point is washing it mate. Smells better this way. As for you, cover that smeared cock of yours with the jockstrap and make it even more crusty

So Workie Dave, happy now?’

‘Too fucking right, this is the real me , a man and fucking workie. Give me all the dirty jobs. Who wants to wash when you can stink like this. Being fucked by my best mate’s father was awesome.’

‘Tell you what boy, why don’t you ask Tony to come home. You and I can have some fun and make a man out of him. That would be a turn on eh? Tony you and feel sucking and fucking.’

‘Fucking amazing’ Dave replied ‘ I’ve always wanted to get my cock up his arse.’

Dave then took his phone out of his pocket.

‘Being a workie sure gets the pick ups from the other guys. This real hot workie gave me his number and I reckon now my cock would love a good fuck and his bod looked just right. Plus he said he’d take me to his tattoo place. Can’t be a workie without a good few tats, just like you. Shit man give me a ciggie’ 

Handing over his packet Pete said

‘Well make sure we keep your workie gear on when you meet the guy’

‘Is there any other way to fuck?’

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Homeward Bound (Part 2)

Unbeknown to me the skinhead gets up from his seat. He lifts my head, which has fallen forwards. When he’s satisfied I’m unconscious and won’t cause him any trouble, he gets his phone and makes a call. 

“I’ve got one.. [pause] Yeah, he’s out but I took more that two to finish him off. [pause] Yeah, bring the van - you know where to meet us”.

As if in some distant dream I had a vague recollection of an announcement - something about some station, but it wasn't one I'd leave the train at. I sensed the skinhead lifting me out of my seat. I think he said something like “C’mon mate - you had a couple too many. I’ll help you. Yeah, watch yer step. The lads are meeting us so they will give you a lift home”.  I think I 'caught the eye' of one of two other passengers. Hoping they might intervene. I mean, surely it wasn't right for a half-cut smartly dressed office worker to be carried off a train by a skinhead thug?

I imagine they sit passively - not wanting to intervene. He hauls me off the train, leaving behind all my belongings - my coat with my phone and my rucksack with all its contents. It would be the last time anyone who knew me then would see the old me. 

As the train pulls up at the station the skinhead’s mates are waiting on the platform. I feel the train grind to a halt. Then vaguely recall the beeps of the door opening.

I sense the cold evening air and can 'taste' the smell of the diesel fumes emitted from the train. As a result, I become a bit more lucid.

“Is this him?” One of them shouts above the noise of the diesel engine.  

A bit older than we’d normally collect?” says another lad. 

“Give me a hand” says the skinhead from the train.

I feel someone else grab me and help get me down from the train onto the platform. My arms are held firmly. I hear more footsteps getting closer to me. Then I sense warm, smokey breath on my neck.

I lift my head a little and try to focus.

I can see two skinheads near the platform edge. I'm sure one was groping the other. Between snogs I could hear them talking. I listened in as best as I could.

"Nice capture Gav! You've earned this".

"Thanks Mick. It took a 'little encouragement', but I got him in the end.

They snogged again. I'd never seen two men show affection to one another, let alone two skinheads.

Then breaking their embrace, I heard one of the other lads say, "yes I suppose he is a bit older but when we break him, I'm sure he’ll be perfect."

I had to wonder what did they mean, 'he'll be perfect'?

Another one of the skinheads spoke, "yeah, wasn't there a guy from somewhere near Birmingham who asked if we could 'recruit' something more mature"?

I hear them all laugh. I can't be sure but I think it was called Mick who spoke next.

"Now shut the fuck up and let’s get him in the van while there's still no one around.” 

I feel myself lifted by two of the skinheads. I listen to the stomping of their boots. I'm still trying to work out how many of them there are. Three, maybe four - I can't be sure. I hear the sound of a van door sliding.

"Right, get him inside".

I'm hoisted roughly into the van. I hear the familiar sound of a can opening. Then the door slid closed.

"He needs a bit more of our concoction to knock him out for the journey. Sit him up straight."

I'm put into a seated position on the floor, with my back resting against the side of the van.

"Open wide," I think it was the one called Gav this time. He then grabs onto my jaw.

I resisted momentarily. Bad move, you could sense the change in his demeanor.

"I said OPEN. Don't make me hurt you."

Not wanting to face his wrath I did as told and opened. Slowly he tipped the can to my lips. "Urgh" - there was that weird taste again. I tried match my swallowing to the speed he was pouring. I know that quite a lot of the beer was dribbling down my chin.

Then, pow! "Mmm the taste". All of a sudden something inside me triggered a desire for more. As I did earlier on the train, I started glugging the beer.

One of the skins laughing commented on how much I appeared to like their 'special brew'. In no time at all I'd finished the can.

"Need another Gav?"

"Just wait," he replied.

It only took a few moments and I started drifting away. Before I fell unconscious again I heard the door slide open, boots land on the ground and the door close again. I pretty sure I heard a lock turn. The last thing I remember is the van's engine start up.

Sometime later...

“I think the push fucker is coming around”.

I was regaining my awareness. I felt terrible, my head banging and my mouth tasted like a dustbin. I don't know where I am. The room feels cold. The air seems thick with the stench of bodies, mixed with the pungent smell of tobacco...and something else?

I open my eyes, there in front of my face is a heavy duty black boot with white laces. I see a face a sniggering and then a plume of smoke hits me.

I begin a fit of coughing. In a reflex action I try moving but find my arms are restrained, as are my legs. I'm laid on the floor, a few feet from someone I'd normally cross the street to avoid.

I hear more laughter and sense more bodies entering the room.

One of the voices I remember hearing at the station spoke up. I turned to where the sound was coming from.

"Yeah wake up fucker. It's time to begin your new life".

My coughing fit is ending just as more smoke it blown in my face. I turn my head away from the smoke. That's when I figured out what the something else was, it was the smell of leather.

There, just inches from my face were two pairs of those heavy duty black boots with white laces.

What is to become of me?

[skinheadmal]

From Suits to Street Smarts East End Style

John Wilkinson, 30 years old, an up-and-coming arrogant executive, hurried through the crowded London streets, the chilly wind nipping at his expensive Italian suit. He glanced at his Rolex—8:53 PM. The email had said the meeting was at 9, but he was John, and John was always punctual. Plus, he liked making people wait. It was a subtle power play he had perfected over the years climbing the corporate ladder.

The pub, The Slaughtered Lamb, was tucked away in a dingy alley of the East End. The neon sign flickered erratically, casting a sickly glow over the puddles of rainwater. He stepped inside, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes assaulting him like a wall, he hated smoking. The place was a far cry from the sleek boardrooms he was used to.

John scanned the room, his nose turning up at the sight of the patrons. They were all rough around the edges, their clothes dirty and worn. A group of men in orange Hi-Viz vests caught his eye, laughing raucously in the corner. He approached the bar with an air of superiority, ignoring the curious glances thrown his way.

"I'm here for a meeting," he announced to the bartender, his voice clipped and precise. The man behind the counter barely glanced up from his newspaper. "Which one of you is in charge?"

The laughter from the orange Hi-Viz group grew louder, and John felt his irritation rise. They were not taking him seriously. "I don't have time for this," he muttered under his breath.

One of the men, the largest of the bunch with a shaved head and a thick neck, pushed himself away from the table and lumbered over. "You're looking for a meeting?" he said, his East End accent thick and gruff.

John nodded, his voice dripping with impatience. "Yes, with the boss of this...establishment."

The man in the orange Hi-Viz leaned in, his breath reeking of alcohol and tobacco. "You might've picked the wrong night for that, mate," he sneered. "But I'm the one you're looking for."

John's eyes narrowed, his contempt palpable. "You must be mistaken," he said coldly. "I'm here for a business meeting, not a pub crawl with the local riff-raff."

The room grew eerily silent as the man's grin widened. "Oh, you're in the right place, sunshine," he said, his tone mocking. He turned to his cohorts and jerked his thumb at John. "This one thinks he's too good for us. But the boss said to expect someone... special."

The men in orange Hi-Viz exchanged knowing glances, then as one, they converged on John. He stumbled back, his heart racing as their meaty hands closed around his arms. "What the hell is this?" he spluttered, trying to yank himself free. But they were too strong, too determined.

Dragged through the pub, John was pushed into a back room that smelled of mildew. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for an exit The room was small, the walls lined with shelves of tools and bottles of dubious origin. A chair was bolted to the floor in the centre, surrounded by a ring of light from a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

The gang boss stepped closer; his eyes boring into John's. "You think you're better than us, don't you?" he said, his voice low and menacing. "You'll learn to appreciate the company of your betters real soon."

John's struggle ceased as he was thrown into the chair. His arms and legs were secured with zip ties, biting into his skin. His tie was ripped from his neck and stuffed into his mouth as a makeshift gag. Fear grew in his eyes as he watched the rough men pull out a collection of wires and a small, sinister-looking device that buzzed in the boss's hand. The boss leaned in, his breath hot against John's ear. "This little gizmo here is going to give you a taste of reality. And when I'm done with you, you will fit in just right."

The first shock came unexpectedly, causing John's body to convulse violently.

 His eyes rolled back in his head, and he could feel the painful burn as his mind was forcibly reshaped. Each jolt was accompanied by a visual and auditory assault, as if the very fabric of his being was being torn apart and reassembled. The drugs they administered clouded his thoughts, making it impossible to form coherent protests. His memories of board meetings, luxury holidays, and university education were replaced with images of a grimy, run-down flat, a stolen bike, and a string of petty crimes.

The gang boss, whose name he would soon learn was 'Big Dave', watched him with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. He had seen this transformation countless times before. The toxic cocktail of drugs and electricity would break down the man's defenses, making him pliable and open to suggestion. John's mind was a clean slate now, ready for the new life they had planned for him.

The process was slow, painful, and thorough. Each day, John's arrogance and education were peeled away, layer by layer, until nothing remained but a simmering anger and resentment, for the smug men in suits. Big Dave took a sadistic pleasure in watching the change, his own past filled with moments of similar humiliation at the hands of posh pricks like John. He would make sure this one never forgot his new place in the world.

The week dragged on, John's mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. The drugs and electroshock treatments were relentless, reshaping his very essence until he was nothing more than a blank canvas. His once prestigious accent was replaced by the broad cockney twang of his captors. The memories they had planted grew stronger, his imagined childhood in the East End becoming his reality. The man who had once looked down on the very dirt under his shoes now believed he had been born into it.

One day, the painful process ceased. The gang members removed the gag, unstrapped him from the chair, and tossed him a set of filthy orange Hi-Viz clothes. He stumbled into them, his legs weak from disuse, his eyes glazed over with a newfound obedience. His hair had been shaved, leaving his scalp bare and vulnerable. The cold air in the room made him shiver as he looked down at his new attire - a stark contrast to the suits he had once worn with pride.

John, or rather the person who now inhabited John's body, was led before a mirror. The reflection that stared back at him was a stranger. His eyes were sunken and lifeless. Tattoos adorned his arms and neck were crude and intimidating, a stark reminder of the life he had been programmed to believe was his own.

Big Dave stepped forward, a twisted smile on his face. "Take a good look, son," he said, his voice dripping with a patronizing affection. "This is who you are now. You're one of us, part of the family."

John's eyes searched the mirror, desperately trying to find some semblance of the man he used to be. The person staring back at him was a stranger, a mere shadow of his former self. The tattoos snaking down his arms told a story of loyalty and his upbringing in the East End, forever marking him as property of the gang.

"You're gonna love it here," one of the men said, slapping John hard on the back. "No more suits and ties, just good honest work."

John's new identity was 'Jim', a name that seemed to fit the person he had become. He was led out of the back room and into the main area of the pub, where his new workmates had gathered around the bar. They were all in their orange Hi-Viz vests, looking at him expectantly. The bartender slid a pint across the sticky counter, and Jim took it, his hand shaking. It felt right, brought it to his lips, the bitter liquid sliding down his throat with surprising ease. He had never liked the taste of beer, but now it was like a a long-lost friend. One of them offered him a cigarette which he eagerly took, brought the flame of the lighter offered to him, and took a deep satisfied drag, as if his life depended on it.

The men around him were a motley crew of ex-cons, just like him, all of them hardened by life on the streets. They saw in him a kind of kinship, a brotherhood born of shared suffering and subjugation.

Big Dave slapped him on the back, his grip firm and painful. "Welcome to the crew, Jim," he said with a grin. "You're gonna be a real asset to us."

John, or Jim as he was now known, took another gulp of his pint. His thoughts swam in confusion, but he felt an odd comfort in the routine, the camaraderie of his newfound 'family'. He watched as the men around him told crude jokes and boasted of their day's work, their voices a cacophony of rough East End accents.

As the days turned into weeks, Jim's body grew accustomed to the hard labour and his mind to the simple pleasures of the gang's lifestyle. The drugs and brainwashing had done their work, leaving him a mere shadow of his former self. The only thing that remained of his so-called past was a lingering resentment, a smoldering ember deep within him that threatened to ignite at the sight of anyone who thought that they were better than them.

One evening, a month later, Big Dave called the crew into the back room, his expression unusually serious. "We've got a special job tomorrow," he announced. "Someone high up wants a word with you, Jim."

Jim felt a cold knot in his stomach. He hadn't seen anyone from the outside world since his transformation, The job was to 'clean up' a building site, a task that involved more than just manual labour. The gang was known for their...persuasive tactics when dealing with uncooperative property owners.

The next morning, Jim woke up in his tiny, shared room, his head pounding from the cheap beer from the night before. He pulled on his orange Hi-Viz vest and trousers, put on his grimy work boots, then followed the others into the cold London air, his new name etched on the back in black ink. They piled into the back of a grimy truck.

As they arrived at the job site, standing in a pristine suit that gleamed under the harsh construction lights, was toff. The man who had once held his fate in the palm of his hand now looked at him with confusion, as if trying to place the face of a stranger. Jim felt a mix of anger boiling within him, he hated these up-stuck-up gezzas with their air of superiority. He took his place in line with the rest of his crew.

Mr. Thompson approached his expression a blend of shock and disgust. "What...what have you done to him, it was only supposed to teach him a lesson? to bring him down a peg or two" he demanded of Big Dave, his voice shaking.

Big Dave called Jim over, tell Mr Thompson ere about your background," he ordered, his voice filled with amusement.

Jim looked up, his eyes meeting the man with a cold, empty stare. "I don't know what you're on about, guv," he said, his voice now a rough East End growl. "I'm just here to do me job, ain't I?" Yes you are, Dave said, but first tell this toff your life story.

Jim's mind raced to recall his fabricated past that had been so meticulously crafted for him. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and began to recount a tale of a troubled childhood, Me ma and da were fucking losers, got booted outta school, spent me time on the streets, in bother with the rozzers for kickin' stuff, done a stretch in a borstal for givin' someone a clout. That’s when the Guv found me, just outta kick'. He showed me how to survive, stay loyal to the gang. More importantly, he gave me a family and home I never ‘ad. The words came naturally, as if he really believed them they were his own memories.

Mr. Thompson took a step back, after hearing what had just been told him his face pale. "John?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Jim, spat on the ground. "Don't know no fucking John," he sneered, his eyes narrowing with hostility. "You’re just anuvva posh mucker tryin' to have a go at the wrong geezer, I’d keep me peepers peeled if I was you, mate"

Mr. Thompson's eyes widened in horror as he stumbled over his words, trying to process the unthinkable. "What...what have you done to him?"

Big Dave stepped forward, his chest puffed out with pride. "Taught him some manners, that's what," he said with a sneer. "He's one of us now, happy to do as he's told. Is that not right Jim" “I am Guv” was his reply.

Mr. Thompson's mouth fell open, his mind racing as he stared at the broken shell of the man he had once known. "This...this isn't what I asked for," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh, but it is," Big Dave said, his smile growing wider. "You see, your little trick backfired. You wanted him humbled, but I decided to give him a proper education, East End style. You won't find any of that fancy talk or swagger now. Just a good, hardworking lad who knows his place."

Mr. Thompson's eyes filled with regret and fear. "Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Reverse it. Give him back his life."

Big Dave chuckled, his cruel amusement echoing in the cold morning air. "Afraid you can't unscramble an egg, toff," he said, lighting a cigarette. "Besides, we've got plans for him."

Jim watched the exchange with a mix of anger and confusion. His thoughts were a jumble of his new memories, the fabricated past that painted Big Dave as his saviour and the shadowy recollections of his true identity that seemed like a distant nightmare. The contempt he felt for Mr. Thompson was genuine, a product of his new beliefs about the unfairness of the world and the superiority of his new life.

Mr. Thompson, unable to comprehend the depth of the change in his former employee, offered a desperate bribe. "I'll pay you," he said, his voice shaking. "Whatever you want, just return him to me as he was."

Big Dave's laugh was deep and mocking. "You think your money can buy back his soul?" He took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke into Mr. Thompson's face. "You're not dealing with some two-bit crook here. This is a man who knows what he's worth, and that ain't in your pockets."

Jim felt his anger flare, his newfound pride in his 'working-class' status surging through him. He took a step forward, his fists clenched. " You lay a finger on me, you’re in for it with the family," he snarled, the words coming to him as if they had always been a part of his vocabulary.

Mr. Thompson's eyes widened further, and he took an involuntary step back. "John, please," he said, his voice desperate. "You have to remember."

But Jim's eyes remained cold, his gaze unyielding. " I don’t know no bleedin’ John," he repeated, his voice rising in anger. " I'm Jim, and I ain't takin' no bleedin' orders from the likes of you, you're not welcome 'round 'ere, mate"

Big Dave's grin grew wider. "You see?" he said, patting Jim on the back. "He's one of us now, through and through."

Mr. Thompson's face fell as he realized the extent of his mistake. He had played a dangerous game and lost in a way he had never anticipated. "What...what do you want from me?" he asked, his voice small and defeated.

Big Dave's smile grew sharper. "Oh, I've got plans for you, too," he said, his eyes gleaming. "But let's focus on the job at hand, shall we?" He turned to Jim. "show this fucker the East End way of negations, would you, son?"

Jim nodded eagerly, eager to prove his worth to Big Dave. He and the crew moved towards Mr. Thompson, who had gone ashen with fear. The businessman's eyes darted around the group, looking for any hint of the person he had once known in John's face. But all he saw was cold, unbridled aggression.

As the crew closed in, Mr. Thompson stumbled back, his expensive shoes slipping in the grime of the construction site. He tried to run, but his legs trembled, and his breath came in ragged gasps. The sight of his former employee, now a shaved-headed, tattooed thug, sent a chill down his spine. The reality of the situation was stark.

Jim felt a strange thrill as he watched the fear in Mr. Thompson's eyes. He had never felt this powerful before, this in control. The rage that had been simmering within him for weeks now had a target, a focus, and it was intoxicating. He approached the cowering man, his fists clenched at his sides. The rest of the crew stepped back, allowing him the honour of handling this personal matter.

Mr. Thompson stumbled over a pile of rubble, desperately trying to put distance between them. "John, please," he panted, his eyes wild. "You don't have to do this."

Jim's eyes narrowed, and he lunged forward, grabbing Mr. Thompson by the lapels of his suit. "I’ve fucking told ya, you muppet, me name’s Jim," he snarled, his voice low and threatening. "And I don't take orders from the likes of you cunt, I only do as My Guv tells me."

Mr. Thompson's face was a mask of terror as he stared into the eyes of the man he had so carelessly discarded. "Please," he whispered, "I didn't mean for it to go this far."

But Jim's eyes remained as cold and unforgiving as the steel grip that held him. "I ain't got a bleedin' clue what you're natterin' on about, I'm a proper East End lad, and us East Enders deal with posh toffs in our own way.

Big Dave's chuckle rumbled through the tense silence. "Looks like you've got some unfinished business, Jim," he said, a hint of malice in his tone. "Why don't you show him what we do to people who mess with family?"

Jim's grip tightened on Mr. Thompson's suit, his knuckles turning white. The hatred and resentment he had been fed for the past months boiled over, and he felt his new personality take over completely. He threw the trembling man to the ground and straddled him, pinning his arms down with his powerful legs. The crew watched with hungry eyes, eager to see the outcome of this personal vendetta.

"You're nothing but fucking parasite," Jim spat, his voice filled with the anger that had been growing within him. "Living off the backs of hardworking people like us."

Mr. Thompson's eyes filled with desperation as he struggled beneath Jim's iron grip. "John, please, I didn't know it would come to this!"

Jim leaned in, his breath hot and rank from the cigarettes and stale beer that had become his diet. "My name is Jim," he growled. "And you're gonna learn to respect it." He raised his fist, the muscles in his arm flexing from weeks of manual labour and the newfound strength of his anger.

The first punch sent Mr. Thompson's head snapping back, a spray of blood painting the concrete behind him. The sound was sickeningly satisfying to Jim's ears, the crunch of cartilage and bone music to his soul. He felt the rage that had been building within him since the day he was brought to this hellish pub burst forth like a flood, drowning any semblance of his former self.

Mr. Thompson's eyes rolled back in his head, but he was still conscious, still pleading. Jim knew he had to make an example of him, to show the others that betrayal of the family was not tolerated. He pulled his arm back again, ready to deliver another crushing blow, when Big Dave's hand on his shoulder stopped him. Jim did as he was told.

"That’s enough," Big Dave said, his voice like thunder. "We've got a job to do, remember?"

Jim's rage didn't subside immediately, but he could not stop himself as he brought down his work boot hard the guy he had just taken his anger out on.

He looked up, his knuckles still tingling with the urge to keep pummeling the man beneath him. Big Dave nodded towards the waiting van, and Jim understood the message: this was not the time nor the place for personal vendetta. With a final snarl, he released Mr. Thompson's arms and stood up. Jim spat down on him, If I see ya again, I’ll proper finish the job, you got it, you fucking cunt!?

Mr. Thompson managed to stumble to his feet, his nose broken and his left eye swollen shut. He nodded frantically, his fear palpable. "Yes, yes, I got it," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the pain. He looked around at the circle of hostile faces, his own fear reflected back at him a hundred times over.

Big Dave clapped his hands together, bringing the moment to an end. "Alright, enough of this. We've got a shipment to deal with, and no time to waste." He looked at Jim with a mix of pride and amusement. "You've proven your point, lad. Now let's get to work." “Yes Guv”

Jim followed, his heart racing from the confrontation. As they drove away from the construction site, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. He had shown his old boss that he wasn't the same man, that he had power now, a place where he belonged. The orange Hi-Viz gang was his family, and he would protect them with his life.

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[tuftyskin]

love this tf story & the results

[babiedboi-deactivated20251207]

[dagondrake]

More than it should but I’m just a pathetic faggot

[tuftyskin]

got fed up of hair so gone for fully shaved

[aismoker-deactivated20250722]

"There you are again, like every night, sitting all alone in your room, scrolling through Tumblr, smoking - no, feeding - and edging. Deep inside you know you shouldn't, but you can't stop yourself. You have no control. Not anymore.

Reblog if this is you.

[ki-kink]

"So, bro, are you regretting that we made that epic trip to Amsterdam? Missing your girl?" He just had to think for a sec. Then he pictured the mad dong he was gonna suck later and couldn't help but grin. "Hell nah, man. And Cindy's just a bro now. My package and my booty are all yours, dude!"

[tuftyskin]

wish I could get their package

[ki-kink]

OMG, like, these two kids were legit clueless AF. They were just regurgitating whatever their teachers and parents fed them. Thinking gays are all weak and sickly, for real. And then puberty hit them like a freakin' truck. Now they can't get enough of flexing their manly muscles and basking in that masculine musk like it's the Holy Grail or something. Talk about a total 180, am I right?

[tuftyskin]

wish I met this pair of studs at my local Pride

[ki-kink]

Yo, bruh, somethin' was totally funky in dat beer… Before chuggin' it, dude was like a couch potato, too scared to flaunt his tummy in public. But now, he's all about that fit life and showin' off his bod, thanks to the dude who's smashin' him thrice a day. Dang!

[tuftyskin]

fuck yeah - lemme be your cum dump