Do As I Say
by Ventrego
Pete parked his beat-up Celica in front of the square concrete repair shop. The sides of the building had been washed clean, but the inside of the repair area looked permanently caked in grease and dirt. The slightly-crumpled driver's door creaked as Pete swung himself out and stepped onto the pavement. The want ads section of the paper crumpled slightly in his grip as he walked towards the building.
A toned latino man with a goatee was tightening a bolt on a Yamaha Goldwing. Pete surveyed the man's jeans and greasy white tee-shirt.
"uh...habla englese?"
The man looked over at him disapprovingly. Pete persisted.
"Uh...cuomo...estas...manager?"
The man's lips pursed as he stood up. He was every bit as tall as Pete's 6', and Pete hadn't noticed the lean muscles the man had developed from years of slinging wrenches. "You want to speak to the manager? You're speaking to him."
Pete's mouth dropped open for a moment. "Oh...you...uh...I'm sorry, I..."
The man slapped the wrench into the palm of his other hand. "I don't suppose you're here to get a bike repaired."
"Uh...no, actually..." said Pete. "I am...well, I was here about the job..." The way Pete's voice went up at the end of the sentence almost made it a question.
Pete flinched as the man walked around him, slapping the wrench against his palm every few seconds. "So let me guess. You're on summer break from college. Probably some technical degree - either that or art. So you're hoping to help me out here."
Pete stood up as straight as he could and looked the man in the eye. "Look...I know I started this off wrong, but..."
"Muchacho, don't bother...oh, shit!"
Pete turned around to see what looked like a wall of black tee-shirt coming towards him. A bulging, muscular wall. Pete tipped his head higher to see a thick goatee and a scowl underneath a black baseball cap.
"Where the FUCK's my bike, Miguel?" the wall growled.
Miguel slapped the wrench pointedly against his palm. "I TOLD you, we're waiting for parts, and they'll get here in a few days."
A hand that looked like it could crush walnuts clamped onto the wrench. "You better get my fuckin' bike finished, SOON."
Miguel pulled on the wrench. The wall's arm bulged even bigger but didn't move. The scowl glared down at Miguel.
Pete stepped up next to the wrench, looking up into the wall's rugged face. "Hey...which bike in yours?"
The wall refocused on Pete. The scowl didn't lessen, but the eyes looked around. He nodded over at large Kawasaki. "That one."
Pete whistled appreciatively. "Nice bike. I'd be pissed, too, if I had to wait to ride that thing again."
The wall grunted.
"What's its top speed?"
The wall looked at Pete like he was a fly whose buzzing was getting old. "I've been up to 130 on it."
"Not bad. Now...when you're going 130, you don't want anything to go wrong, do you?"
The scowl deepened. The brow under the cap furrowed. The wall flung the wrench away, sending Miguel several steps back. Pete found himself a half-inch away from a torso that had spend a lot of time in the gym. The wall's breath smelled like stale cigarette smoke. "You better not be threatening me."
Pete took a deep breath but held his ground. "All I'm saying is, you wouldn't want us to have to put used parts on, then have something not work, right? And Miguel's already ordered the parts, right?" Pete looked over at Miguel, who nodded. Pete looked back up into the wall's face. "So we'll get your bike done. Until then, just...chill, all right?"
The wall flexed, making Pete flinch. But a moment later, the 2XL black tee was heading back towards the sidewalk, and a pickup parked behind Pete's Celica.
"Are all your customers that friendly?" said Pete.
Miguel's eyes surveyed Pete. "OK...you could be handy to have around. But you've got to lose that college boy look."
Pete shrugged. "Jeans and a greasy tee it is."
When he saw Miguel's face, Pete shut his mouth. The wall's pickup truck pulled away.
"Look. I ain't stupid just because I work on bikes. It's just what I do, ok? And I'm good at it."
Pete nodded quietly.
"You want to work here, you gotta get a tattoo. I'll give you the address of a good place to go, but tomorrow you show up, in jeans and a clean tee shirt, and I want to see a tattoo."
Pete's face twitched. "Um...I'm not sure you can really..."
Miguel shrugged. "Hey, you're the one who wants a job." He turned back to the garage.
Two minutes later, Pete was back in his car, with a phone number and address clutched in his hand.
Pete cautiously stepped into the dingy, smokey tattoo parlor. Looking around, he wasn't sure he really wanted to touch anything, let alone get a tattoo there. Discolored pages displayed faded colorful designs on all the walls.
Then he saw the 6'2", 300-pound shirtless biker behind the counter. "Hey there," the huge biker said. "You don't look like the type Miguel usually sends down here."
Pete grinned. "I don't know if that's a compliment or not."
"Well..." the big biker said, flopping a prominent beer gut on the cheap formica shelf. "Most guys are about my size. Name's Bruce, I do all the tatooing here. Pick out something you like, I'll let you know how much and how many sessions. Most stuff I can do in one, but it can take more if you've got something really extensive in mind."
Pete looked around at the colorful designs. "Uh...doesn't this..uh...hurt?"
The biker laughed a big, booming laugh, and pointed to a sign on the wall. The sign read, in big bold letters, "Before you ask...YES, IT HURTS!"
"Hey, it's piercing your skin skin with a needle. But I promise I'll be gentle." The biker rolled up his sleeve to show off a tribal band. "Did this one myself."
Pete stepped up to the counter, confronted by the biker's broad belly. He leaned forward to look to look at the band. The tatto was intricate and precisely done, if slightly stretched around the biker's beefy arm.
"This is my favorite, although I can do all kinds. Look around, see what you like.You'll have a tattoo before you leave if I have to pin you to put it on you. Ha!"
Pete tried to laugh too, but Bruce's eyes were a little too serious.
Pete looked at the designs, some of which were weirder than he had ever imagined. Bright red dragons, skulls, rats riding motorcycles, snakes with long tongues drooling over naked women. Pete rolled his eyes. The thought of having one of these one him permanently...
On the corner of a sheet almost faded away, he saw a celtic knot patten in green red and yellow, foming in a small circle. The rest of the sheet was so faded as to be imperceptible. He looked around at the sheets of knives and iguanas and decided. His finger centered on the circle. "That's the one."
Bruce's three hundred pounds strolled around the counter over to where Pete was pointing. Bruce's eyebrows went up. "That one? You're sure?"
"Yes," said Pete, eyeing the pattern again. "I like it."
"I pictured you having a Wallaby with pierced nipples. But, you're the boss," said Bruce.
Moments later, a fat fist collided hard with Pete's face. The room spun. Pete was dimly aware of his knees buckling as another blow connected with the side of his head.
Pete fell forward into darkness.
Pete awoke with a groan. As his eyes fluttered open, the world smeared and wobbled this way and that. His right bicep throbbed as he reached up to rub his eyes.
"I was beginning to think I'd have to hit you again to wake you up," said Bruce's voice.
Pete's sat bolt upright, his eyes flashing open. "Yuh...uh...you..."
Bruce stood an arm's length away, wearing a white wife-beater grinning smugly. "You'd have bolted the minute I pricked you with the needle. Told you nobody leaves without a tattoo."
Pete shook his head. His attention was gradually pulled over to where his bicep ached.The outside of his arm held a one-inch circular tattoo, the exact design from the wall. The lines were crusted with blood.
He turned around to see the round Bruce holding out an open beer. Pete leaned away.
Bruce grunted. "C'mon, it'll make you feel better. Believe me, I had to drink thousands of them to get this round."
Pete grudgingly accepted the bottle. After a few swallows, he had to admit the alcohol did help.
Bruce gave Pete a few minutes to finish the bottle. By the time Pete finished the last swallow, his head was clearer and the only real pain left was his arm.
Bruce took the empty beer bottle and helped Pete to his feet.
"Okay, now there's a couple of things you need to know about that tattoo..." said Bruce. "First, no showering for a few days. You need to let that heal before you start scrubbing it."
Pete eyed the man warily. "Whatever. I just want to get out of here."
Pete found himself braced against Butch's round body as he walked towards the door.
"Just two more things. That's not an ordinary tattoo - that's an ancient druidic pattern that is ties the power of your words to nature."
"Uh...yeah...whatever..." said Pete. Bruce didn't press the issue, but went on.
"And somebody's got to pay for it. That's a three hundred dollar tatto."
Pete pushed himself towards the door, away from the big biker. "You've got to be kidding...you're lucky I don't file assault charges!"
Bruce shrugged his big shoulders. "No problem. Miguel will pay for this one."
Pete stepped out the door and muttered, "You bet he will."
Fortunately, the streets were nearly deserted; the Celica took Pete home a little faster than was safe.
The next day, Pete showed up for work in a clean red tee-shirt and jeans. He was waiting at the front door when Miguel arrived at 8:00.
"Good morning!" said Pete.
"You're here early." said Miguel.
"Well, I..."
Pete's sentence was cut short by a police car pulling up to the curb. Two officers got out. One was a little taller than Pete at 6'2", the other a little shorted. The taller one was mid-thirties, and surveyed the situation with the aloof detatchment of a predator intently taking in the scene. The shorter one, in his early twenties, stormed out of the driver's seat and straight towards Miguel.
"So, now you're hiring employees, are you?"
"Oh, shit...I forgot to wait until 8:05...their shift's not over yet!" said Miguel.
"Where's his paperwork? His Green card?"
"Huh?" said Pete. "I don't need a..."
"Shhh..." hissed Miguel. "We don't have a copy of it yet," he said to the officer. "he was bringing it in tomorrow, weren't you, Pete?"
Pete shook his head slightly, then decided to play along. "Uh...yes?"
The shorter cop shook his head. "No way, not good enough. If he's working here when we get back tonight, we're going to shut you down. Got it?"
The taller cop, still standing at the car, rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Matchen, let's call it a day."
Officer Matchen glared at Miguel and Pete before turning and stomping back towards his car.
Pete looked at Miguel. "You mean...I really can't work for you yet? Because of them?"
Miguel shrugged. Pete's hand fumbled the few coins left in his pocket. He turned towards the cops.
"You jerks! You're just bullies, hiding behind thoes badges! You feel more like men because you can pick on us? Go grow your bull balls somewhere else!"
Officer Matchen turned to glare, but the taller cop put a hand on his shoulder and guided him back around the car. As the taller cop returned to his side of the car, he cast a sympathetic look towards Pete and shrugged.
The car pulled away, leaving Pete standing furious next to Miguel.
"Just like that, I lost the job?"
Miguel smiled. "Let me give you a little tip. When they're around, I play along. When they're not, I don't. You gonna help me open up?"
Pete whistled appreciatively. "Man, you've really got some balls!"
Miguel smirked. "Don't you know it. C'mon, let's get your paperwork started."
The two cops leaned back into the seats of their patrol car as they drove towards the station.
The taller one spoke first. "You know, Matchen, you don't have to bust their balls all the time."
Officer Matchen, a 5'10" twenty-year-old, blow out of his lips. "What, you want more of them around? More bikers raising hell and causing crime? You want to have to go deal with bikers twice your size all the time?"
"I could handle them," said the taller Steve Woodward. "Besides, not all bikers are 'twice my size'. Some of them are even YOUR size."
Matchen punched Woodward's arm.
"Ow!" The taller cop grinned as he rubbed his sore arm. As the car turned into the decline leading to the underground parking garage, Woodward spoke up. "We still on for our workout today?"
Matchen pulled into a parking spot and looked over. "Of course. Hey...did the district switch to a new laundry service or something?"
"Uh...not that I know of. Why?"
Matchen's right hand reached down to adjust the tightly-packed bulge in his crotch. "Sure seems like my uniform shrank where it counts."
Woodward shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Now that you mention it..." His puzzled gaze went down to his own crotch, where his balls made two large lumps, one of either side of the pants seam.
Matchen tried to adjusted it to his normal bulge on the right and winced as the seam pinched his left nut. He raised his butt off the seat and grabbed with both hands, but the situation only seemed to get worse as his balls filled the material.
Woodward looked over with a grin, watching for a good twenty seconds as his partner shifted his weight around in the driver's seat, hands clamped on his crotch.
"If you're done playing with yourself, what say we go start that workout."
Matchen's laugh was followed by a grimace, but he opened the door and stood up bow-legged. It took several seconds of arranging before he was able to stand normally. The bulges around Matchen's trouser seam were becoming quite obvious, but Woodward was too busy trying to adjust his own to notice at first.
The day was full of new surprises for Pete. He had had a undiscovered knack for identifying components, and soon Miguel was having him pick up parts from other shops to finish the project at hand.
Miguel swore in Spanish when he saw Officer Steve Woodward standing at the entrance to the shop. The cop stood tall, hands crossed at his waist, hat in front of him.
"I want a word with the kid." said Woodward. "Now."
"Shit," said Pete, handing the wrench to Miguel. Pete wiped the grease off his face with the backs of his hands as he walked towards the cop. The cop turned and strode around to the side of the building.
"I think I know what this is about..." said Pete.
"I bet you do," said the cop. He moved the hat away from his crotch.
Pete gasped.
The cop's pants were unzipped. A jock strap stretched out, trying to contain two balls the size of large oranges. It wasn't completely successful; hairy scrotal skin bulged out on either side of it.
The cop's voice was even but grated slightly. "Bull balls, I belive you said."
Pete gaped. There was nothing else to do, when looking at a man whose balls were twice as large as any man...ANY man...should have had.
"Wha...how..." said Pete.
"You mean you don't know?"
Pete shook his head.
"Well neither do I. All I know is, you told my partner and I to go grow some bull balls and ...well...here they are."
Pete looked again. The cop had to stand with his legs partly spread to make room for the jock strap straining under the weight of his nuts. The cop reached down with his free hand to cup them. One was more than enough to fill his grip; the other bulged out of the side of the fabric and lowered several inches towards the ground.
"Okay, you made your point..." said officer Woodward. "Matchen and I will keep our distance from now on. Unless somebody complains, of course."
"That's great, but what do you want me to do?"
"Make them normal size again. I can hardly drive with them like this, let alone get out and talk to people."
"How exactly am I supposed to do that?"
The cop shrugged. Looking at Woodward's shoulders, Pete was keenly aware of the two inches of height the officer had over him. "You told me to grow them, and...well, why not tell them to shrink? Like, now."
Pete shrugged and looked down at the oversized nutsac. "Shrink back to normal size. Now."
Officer Woodward sucked in his breath sharply and pulled himself up to his full height.The nut dangling below his overstrained jock began pulling back up towards his body, getting smaller as it went. The cop's teeth were gritted as he continued to suck air, his chest inflating as his scrotum shrank. Oranges became the size of peaches, tennis balls, then lemons, and smaller yet. Soon the overstretched jock hung limp in front of the cop, with a more-normal palmful of meat making a little bulge in it.
He exhaled with a sigh.
Pete's eyes opened slightly. "Did that hurt?"
The cop shook his head. "No. Felt...weird...but it didnt hurt." He began stuffing his package back in his pants, limp stretched-out supporter and all. As the zipper pulled up, a thought occurred to Pete.
"Do you want me to fix your partner too?"
Officer Woodward looked at Pete with a level gaze. "Do you see him here?"
Pete shook his head.
"I figure, a few days of hanging out in the car and not harassing people will be good for him. Besides..." Officer Woodward smirked. "He never wears a jock strap when he works out. When he's sitting, those huge balls hang all the way down onto the weight bench. Seeing him bench press is VERY motivational."
Pete grinned. "I'm sure it is."
The cop put his hat on his head and stuck his hand in his pocket. "I've always got to back up my partner, but sometimes he's a little enthusiastic. If he gets out of line again, let me know." Officer Woodward extended a hand to Pete.
Pete shook the hand and found himself holding a business card. The cop turned and walked back to his patrol car, which was now officially off-duty.
Pete turned over the events of the day in his mind all afternoon and all night, but it wasn't until the next morning that he had a chance to test things out.
Pete was out back looking for a particular size of tire when he heard the bellow from the repair shop. "DAMN IT, MIGUEL, WHY ISN'T MY BIKE DONE?"
Pete dropped the tire and ran around the shop to see all 6'4" of Mack holding Miguel up by the shirt collar. Miguel held a screwdriver tight in his hand, ready to plunge it into Mack.
"Guys, guys!" yelled Pete. The two looked at him like they'd forgotten he was there. Mack's biceps were bulging with the effort of holding Miguel off the ground.
"Mack, c'mon around the side by your bike," said Pete. "Let's talk."
The wall of biker glared at Miguel, then at Pete.
"Cmon," said Pete. "This isn't helping anything."
The huge Mack lowered Miguel to the ground with deliberate slowness. When he let go, Miguel tumbled backwards, knocking against a toolbox and sending wrenches flying. The screwdriver he'd been holding dropped harmlessly to the floor.
Pete tried not to cringe as Mack's bulk swiveled towards him. The college student sucked in a deep breath before he said, "Let's go."
Pete put an arm on Mack's muscular shoulder, feeling the strength underneath. He had to resist the urge to feel further, but instead lead the 6'4" biker out of the workshop and away from Miguel.
"Look," said Pete. "I know you're frustrated, and I can understand that."
Mack grunted.
"We can't make the parts get here any faster," said Pete. "But I could make the wait more enjoyable."
"You hitting on me, shrimp?"
"Uh...well, what I'm suggesting is...what if I knew a way to increase your sex drive? Wouldn't spending a few days shooting wads be more fun than storming down here only to be disappointed?"
Mack's eyes shifted around. "Uh...well, I can do that now, anyway...I mean, it's not like you're offering me anything." The edge in his voice had dropped dramatically.
"I'm telling you...we'll have your bike fixed friday. In the meantime, you could have the sex drive of five men."
Mack looked around at the stacks of tires and the traffic going by on the street. His voice sounded almost lost. "I don't know why I'm listening to you anyway. I should just go back in there and pound Miguel's ass for not finishing my bike."
But Mack wasn't moving.
Pete watched, puzzled.
"Aw, fuck it," said Mack. He turned and stormed back towards his pickup.
Pete watched in shock. "Uh...uh..."
Mack yanked open the door to his pickup and dropped his bulk inside.
Pete went running out to the truck as the driver's door slammed. The starter turned over with a harsh ratcheting sound. Pete stuck his head in the open passenger window.
"Mack...what..uh..."
The huge, goateed biker glared at Pete. "Get outta my truck, faggot."
Pete flushed. "Until we fix your bike, you've got the sex drive of ten men. Deal?"
"Whatever, get the fuck outta my truck!" The same hand that had clamped onto Miguel's wrench palmed Pete's entire face and launched him back out of the window. He landed hard, ass-first on the concrete. The truck tires squealed as it pulled away.
Pete stood up slowly, rubbing his sore posterior. "Jerk," he muttered. He turned back to the garage, to see Miguel put down the biggest wrench in the shop.
Mack grumbled under his breath as he drove, his big arms making the steering wheel of the truck look somehow undersized. One hand smoothed his shirt over his bulging pecs, then lingered. He'd always like having a big build. And he'd really told that squirt back at the repair place who was the bess. He chuckled darkly as his free hand flicked a nipple. Moments later his dick was a seven-inch rod bulging down the leg of his pants. He wrenched the truck over to the side of the road and growled, "Fuck work." He leaned back against the truck seat. One hand freed his cock from its denim prison while the other began exploring his body, squeezing bulging muscles earned by determination and sweat.
As Pete walked into the garage, he shook his head. Maybe what happened to the cop had been a coincidence. A reaction to polyester or something. Neither he nor Miguel felt like talking while they picked up the wrenches.
They only finished three repairs that day. Pete was helping Miguel file paperwork when the phone rang.
Miguel answered the phone. "Miguel's Bike Repair. Yes, he's here...Mack, is this you? I'm hanging up..."
Mack's voice was so loud Pete could hear it clearly from the handset, "PUT PETE ON!"
Miguel looked at Pete quizically. Pete shrugged. Miguel pushed the speakerphone button and hung up the headset.
Mack's voice sounded edgier than usual. "PETE...." Miguel hastily adjusted the volume. "WHAT The Fuck Did you do to me?"
"Mack...what's wrong?"
"I'm so FUCKING horny! And big. I mean, I'm...I jacked off on the way to work. Then again at lunch. Then I could barely keep my hands off myself all afternoon. I went home early, but I had to stop at a rest stop on the way home and blow some truckers. And get sucked off a couple times. And fuck a guy. I felt pretty good after that, and thought it'd be good to get in a workout at the gym, but I just walked in the door and saw myself in the mirror...at full mast AGAIN...goatee, muscles..."
Mack barely took a breath before he continued. "...oozing precum...and oh FUCK I gotta...unh...get to the locker room...maybe I can find somebody to..."
A phone clunked loudly, then a quiet grunting disappeared off into the distance.
Pete sat silent, pondering the magnitude of what had just happened.
Miguel hung up the phone and stared at Pete, wide-eyed. "Pete, muchacho, what...what the hell..."
Pete turned to look at Miguel. "Please, don't ask questions right now. Let's just finish closing up."
Pete ignored Miguel's looks as they completed they paperwork and locked the building up for the night.
As they approached their cars, Pete said, "Hey...Miguel...what would it take for you to go commando tomorrow?"
"Go...uh...commando?"
"Yeah, commando."
Miguel's face showed no comprehension.
Pete gestured with his hands. "No underwear. Wear a jumpsuit, no underwear....show off your bulge...maybe pop a boner a few times tomorrow. Keep the day moving, you know?"
Miguel gave Pete a look that was hard to read. "Let's take one day at a time, Amigo."
The next morning, Pete's Cellica pulled up to the curb at 8:02. He threw the parking brake on and jumped out of the car, eager to see Miguel.
He was greeted by a white tee shirt and blue jeans.
"Morning, Pete. We need to finish Mack's bike today."
Pete tried to hide his disappointment. By noon, Mack's bike was complete except for one missing part.
"Pete, would you go pick this up for me?" said Miguel. "I have some things to take care of around the shop."
Picking up the part kept Pete away from the shop for nearly an hour.
When he returned, Miguel was working on another bike. "Thanks, Amigo," he said. By late afternoon, both Mack's bike and the other had fired up and been test-driven around the block a few times.
As they closed up early, Miguel surprised Pete by bringing up the subject from last night. "So you want me to show off for you some tomorrow?"
"Heck yeah!" said Pete.
"And you'd owe me pretty big, right? You'd probably do just about anything I asked."
"Well...yeah, I suppose..."
Miguel swung himself into the car. "OK, then."
Come Friday morning, Miguel was wearing a green jumpsuit, but didn't give Pete much time to enjoy the view. Miguel announced again that Mack's bike was done, and asked Pete to make the call.
When Mack didn't answer at home, Pete called the cel number.
"Hu...uh...uh...hello...uh....UH..uh......" said Mack.
Pete grinned. "Are you fucking, or being fucked?"
A grunt of pain escaped Mack. "Both..."
Pete whistled. "Well, your bike's done."
The grunts tapered off. A moment of stunned silence came over the line.
"Fuck! My dick just went soft!"
Pete grinned. "Sounds like you're back to the sex drive of one. Thanks for waiting patiently for your bike."
As a torrent of curses came over the line, Pete hung up the phone.
As Pete signed off the paperwork, he found a page of glossy paper underneath. On it was a page from "Supersize Latins" magazine. One of the models was holding his dick next to a ruler. The head pushed past two fists to just belown the ten-inch mark.
Pete grinned and carried the picture out into the repair area. He didn't anticipate that Miguel would be right there and the picture crumpled as the two bumped together.
Pete looked at Miguel. "I..uh...found this..."
Miguel gestured at the paper. "Yeah, can you believe those pussies are proud of ten inches?
Pete looked at the massive pole in the photo. "Uh...ten inches is pretty big!"
"And you owe me big. You like the jumpsuit?"
Pete eyed Miguels' form, which filled out the jumpsuit nicely, including an obvious lump in the crotch. "Yeah!"
"You're gonna like a lot more when you see the size of my boner. Those guys got nothin' on me."
Pete paused, looking at Miguel as the realization dawned. "Uh...oh!" His gaze dropped down again, eying the stiff bulge already growing in Miguel's crotch. "Feel your cock growing, Miguel? Your boner's bigger than this guy's, by two and a half inches...a whole foot of wood....don't be afraid to show it off!"
Miguel looked deep into Pete's eyes as the jumpsuit zipped lowered. "You wanted me to pop some boners during the day...you got it. On your knees."
Pete looked down at the huge thick tube that bulged straight up Miguel's stomach past his navel. The foreskin had partially retracted, exposing a red head the size of a plum. He carefully knelt down in front of his boss. "But..."
The rock-hard boner swung down and forward, every bit as big as a paper towel tube. "Get sucking." said Miguel "I want to see you choke on my huge cock."
Pete didn't have to lean forward; he just put out his tongue and licked the head. It was warm and had a slight give to it. The dick bobbed upwards, smacking Pete in the nose. Pete's lips took in the first inch of tool, and Miguel groaned. "Man, that feels good..." he said.
Pete looked up to see Miguel's hands coming towards him. He was aware of a sudden pressure on the sides of his head. With Miguel's guidance, Pete bobbed back and forth on the first few inches of the huge fucktool. It seemed even bigger when he tried to take it all in; the head was buried in the back of his throat, but another five inches of hot tube steak throbbed between his lips and Miguel's body.
"Get ready, man..." said Miguel..."You're about to learn how to deep throat."
The cock was already stretching Pete's mouth open wide as Miguel piveted Pete's face upwards slightly. Pete frantically inhaled through his nose.
"Just relax..." said Miguel. Suddenly the tool wasn't bumping the back of Pete's throat; it was sliding down!
Pete spluttered and tried to pull off, but Miguel's hips just moved smoothly towards him, thrusting inch after inch after inch of cock deep into his stretched throat until he felt it bump his vocal chords. Pete needed to exhale and wrenched himself away from Miguel's grip.The huge pole slid rapidly back out of his mouth, but the extraction still took a good second as Miguel had to take a step back to get all the inches out of Pete.
Miguel's grin widened as Pete coughed and spluttered. Pete held up a hand in a gesture of surrender.
"OK, no more deep throat for now..." said Miguel. "Lay down on the floor."
Pete did as he was told. Miguel stood over him, his twelve inches straight as a ruler and much more imposing. Miguels' hand swung out to the head of his penis, and he began to stroke it with both hands. There was still plenty to spare.
"I'm sorry, Pete...I should have warned you..." said Miguel.
Pete lifted his head from the floor to look past the huge cock. "What?"
Miguel rested his weight on Pete's chest. The colossal penis throbbed from the bottom of Pete's ribcage to just above his nose. Miguel waggled it playfully with his hand, smacking Pete in the face repeatedly.
"About all the precum. When I pop a boner, I precum a lot."
"What are you talking about? You're not...glmph!" Miguel thrust his pelvis and bounced a few inches of cock in and out of Pete's mouth while his hips were still far away from Pete's face.
"That's right, man," said Pete, resting several inches of dick in Pete's stretched-open mouth. Miguel took a good look at the nine inches of dick between his waist and Pete's lips. The mechanic grinned evilly. "This monster cock drools precum. You getting that?"
Pete nodded, pushing against Miguel to free his mouth. Miguel repositioned himself so his huge cockhead was hovering over Pete's face, nearly filling his field of vision. Pete eyed the round piss-hole as he said, "Yeah, you're precumming here...you must really be turned on!"
A shudder ran through the oversized cock. As Pete watched, a drop of clear fluid formed at the slit. He tipped his face back and licked it experimentally with his tongue. He grinned up at Miguel as another drop began to form.
"I'm glad you like that Pete, cause there's a lot more where that came from. If that's all I'm precumming, I must not be very turned on."
"Hold, on, man..." said Pete. "It's speeding up. In a few seconds you'll be precumming just as much as you want."
The drop bulged outwards and dripped onto Pete's forehead. Followed by another, and another on his eyelid. Pete blinked and suddeny clear, viscous pre-cum was pooling on his forehead. Miguel shifted, and the stream poured over Pete's nose and onto his cheeks. Pete blinked rapidly and shook his head, sending natural lube flying.
"Sorry man," said Miguel with a chuckle as the drool continued unabated. Pete opened his mouth and allowed the stream to flow into it. Miguel waited patiently while the clear liquid pooled on Pete's tongue. The stream was steady, and when Pete started to swallow he found his cheeks bulging. Pete's eyes opened wide as he struggled to manage the volume of fluid that had accumulated inside his mouth.
Miguel watched with smug satisfaction as Pete swallowed. "If you're that good about the precum, wait till you get the real thing..." he said. Pete greedily eyed the huge dick.
Miguel pressed the boner down towards Pete's lips, leaving a drooling trail running down Pete's neck and collarbone. Pete opened wide, but Miguel smacked his chin with it instead. "You want that? huh?"
Miguel bobbed his dick just out of Pete's reach, bouncing it off Pete's upper lip and cheeks. Pete's face was shiny with slick precum.
An authoritative voice echoed through the repair shop. "For fucks' sake, let him suck you off already!"
The two looked up to see Officer Woodward standing in the entrace to the repair bay. One hand was on a seven-inch bulge down the leg of his trousers.
"Uh...uh.." said Miguel, trying to think of what to say.
Woodward winked at Pete, who promptly lifted his head and sucked Miguel's throbbing pole into his mouth. Miguel groaned. The cop stepped forward and knelt on one knee next to the pair. A leather-gloved hand grabbed Miguel's slick pole near the middle. "You don't mind if I help with this thing, do you?"
Miguel moaned something inarticulate and leaned back to give the cop better access. The cop looked down and realized he had room to grab with his other hand, as well. "Holy shit," he said under his breath. While Pete's tongue worked Miguel's plum-sized dickhead, the cop's hands stroked up and down the slick, double-length shaft.
Miguel's hips thrust forward and back, rocking against Pete's body. His eyes closed as he bucked slowly into the leather cop gloves and his buddies' mouth. "Oh..fuck...oh, yeah...you guys are...unh...so great...I'm...uh...can't hold back..."
Miguel's hands pressed hard against the concrete. A visible bulge ran down the huge vein on the bottom of his dick and right into Pete's mouth.
Pete's cheeks bulged as his eyes opened wide and white. The dick throbbed again, and cum gushed from between Pete's lips and onto his chest and shoulders. A white, sticky blob poured out of his mouth as he exhaled, even as more came in. Pete's head jerked back and left Miguel's throbbing cockhead free. Miguel blasted long strings of jizz along Pete's face and onto the concrete above his head. Sticky white steamers gushed over Pete's cheeks and forehad and hair. The cop determinedly worked the huge tool with both hands until the last drop had dribbled onto the bridge of Pete's nose.
Miguel slid off Pete, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a softening eight inches flopped down onto his ankles. His breath came in gasps as he said, "Man, I'm so glad I hired you."
Pete reached up and flung handfulls of sticky goo off his face. Both he and officer Woodward were still rock-hard, if a little less impressive than the horse-hung Latino.
The cop gave Pete a hand back to his feet just as Mack stormed into the repair area, ignoring everyone but sticky college student. "God damn it, I want it back!" he yelled.
Pete looked at officer Woodward, sighed, then turned to look up at Mack. "Your bike is done already. Just sign the paperwork in the office..."
"I don't give a fuck about the bike, you know what I'm talking about!"
Pete's face took on a look of affected innocence. "Huh?"
"Man, you've gotta put me back the way I was! I was hooking up left and right!"
"This was only until we fixed the bike, remember? You tried to beat my buddy Miguel here up."
Officer Woodward stood up a little straighter, still two inches shorter than the big biker. "You tried to beat up this fine tax-paying businessman?"
Officer Matchen appeared in the entrance to the bay, looking even more sour than usual. A very awkward bulge filled the crotch of his uniform pants to bursting. He swaggered with a little difficulty up to the group. "Woodward, I saw your car outside. You need me to arrest someone?"
Woodward looked from Matchen to the 6'4" biker. "This guy here tried to beat up a business owner."
Matchen stepped forward to Mack, practically against him, looking up at him from a half-foot height disadvantage. The difference in bulk between them was obvious; Matchen looked like he could lift weights, Mack looked like he could like a truck.
"You're under arrest!" declared Matchen.
Mack grunted. "Huh."
Pete stepped forward. "Mack, meet officer Matchen. Officer Matchen, you will notice, has bull's balls and a bad attitude. Officer Matchen, meet Mack. Mack's a little...testy...because he'd love to suck all the cum out of those nuts of yours, and he's got the sex drive of ten men."
Mack inhaled impressively. His denim jeans groaned as they bulged around his crotch. One button gave way, then another, and another as his rock-hard seven inches thrust forward, yearning to be free of its cotton prison. An irresistable hand clamped on Officer Matchen's shoulder. "Let's get started."
Matchen gasped as he was lifted bodily off the ground.
Pete and Officer Woodward turned and left the repair area. Miguel repackaged himself and zipped up the jumpsuit quietly as one of Mack's hands fumbled with Officer Matchen's uniform. Miguel left the shop lights on but lowered the metal doors covering the shop bays, leaving the shorter cop in Mack's care for the night.
With the front gate locked, the three formed a small group on the sidewalk in front of the building. Five vehicles formed a neat line against the curb.
"So, what now?" asked Pete.
"Well, I don't know about you guys," said Miguel, "but tonight II'm hauling my ass to a leather bar - maybe even The Pit. Won't even have to change out of the jumpsuit."
"Nice," commented Officer Woodward. Miguel gave him an "I'm fabulous and I know it" smile as the jumpsuited, well-hung mechanic got into his car. "See you Monday, amigos!" he called as he drove away.
"So, Pete..." said Officer Woodward. "...want to see what the precinct locker room looks like?"
Pete grinned broadly. "Love to."
END