Yard Work

It seemed like such an easy job: swing by Mr. Masterson’s yard every Sunday afternoon to trim his bushes, mow his lawn, etc. You could tell by the way he looked at you that he had a huge crush, the way his eyes glided across your body, no matter how unimpressive it might have been. But you didn’t care. To you, it was free money.

That was, until you found yourself out there working in the sweltering heat. Sweating, panting.

“Care for some water?” you hear him say. He’s sitting on the porch, tall glass of iced tea in hand, a sick smile on his face. The last thing you want is to stoke his crush any further. But the sun is so hot, the heat so relentless.

You walk up the steps, feeling the sweaty shirt drag across your back, your underwear scrunched up beneath your trembling legs. You take the glass, savor the icy coolness in your hand, and take a sip.

“Better?” Mr. Masterson asks. You don’t want to admit it, but it is. Suddenly, you feel stronger, cooler, even… larger.

You get back to work, snipping the branches with a newfound vigor. You feel your biceps flaring and flexing, the shirt pulling tighter and tighter around your back, around your arms. By the time you put down the sheers, your whole body is aching, and your shirt feels like it’s going to burst.

“Comfortable in that shirt?” your neighbor asks. You catch a glimpse of him rubbing his dick through he jeans. You blush. There’s no way you’re going to fancy his coded request. But the heat only grows stronger, and if don’t loose the shirt soon, you might loose it.

So you pull it up over your head. You struggle with the threadbare fabric, tight and wet around your swelling body. You have to yank it to pull it over your bulbous pecs, and you hear a tiny *rip as it crosses the vast expanse of your broad shoulders.

A cool breeze brushes your skin. It sends an erotic shock through your body, making your dick jump in your ever shrinking pants.

With large, rough hands, you grip the handle of the lawnmower and yank the starter handle back. The machine roars to life, sending vibrations up your arms and through your chest, making your sweaty muscle jiggle. You smile. It doesn’t matter if Mr. Masterson is watching. You’re so enamored with your new body, who wouldn’t want to just sit and stare while you mow their lawn?

But by the time you reach the other side, your pants have grown unbearable. You have to stop every ten seconds to adjust your dick in your briefs, something your boss probably loves to watch.

“Those pants feel okay?” you hear him ask, and this time, you don’t even need to argue with yourself. In one swift motion, you unblock your belt and everything drops. Pants, underwear. By now, you’re sporting a killer erection, and feel as a little bit of cum leaks out of your dick and onto the freshly mowed grass.

Mr. Masterson smiles, walking down the steps and holding a soaking wet rag. He hands it over to you with s wink. “Here,” he says, “wash yourself off. You’ve earned it.”

You take the rag, lift your huge arms above your head, and squeeze with all your might. A torrent of water covers every inch of your radiating, naked skin. It runs like rivers through the canyon between your pecs, the chasms of your abs, and the gutter leading down to your…

“FUUUUUCK,” you bellow. Your dick spews like a broken water main, your body trembling with an orgasm so colossal, you think you might pass out. Fortunately for you, Mr. Masterson’s got a nice cool bed waiting inside. The perfect reward for a hard day of work.

Happy Sunday, you sexy beast. You’ve earned it.