Cuntstruction: Building the Boy

Summary

Mark gambles everything to build his dream house. Little does he know his Builder, Bill, wants to build something else entirely…

Fuck Mark was hot. Not in appearance; god no, it had been years since he’d liked what he saw in the mirror. Too much time bent over his drawing board and running his small architecture firm, too little time in the gym or onsite. Temperature though? Mark had always thought being up in the hills would keep him cool in the summer months, but today not a breath stirred across LA. Not. A goddam. Breath.

Sweat trickled through his dirty blonde hair, meandering down his chest, slicking his white shirt to his growing belly, before vanishing into his sweaty crotch and crack. Mark pawed desperately at his chinos to wipe it away, but just like his shirt, the stain was spreading. More used to air conditioned offices, executive suites and trendy bars with attractive wannabe actresses who didn’t mind spending time with a wealthy architect, Hidden Springs was not Mark’s comfort zone. For the hundredth time that day he cursed his decision to leave the firm and set up his own practice up here in the hills.

No more partners to argue with, no more grumpy employees, that was the idea. No, he would be slick. Take the projects he liked, contract out the small stuff. Dynamic. Adaptable. Cost-efficient. Those were the phrases he’d used when he pitched his idea to his co-founders. Then they’d laughed. Actually laughed. Then they’d outvoted him and instead pushed go on the merger. Idiots. Mark would show them, he decided. He would show them all.

And that’s how he’d ended up here. Hidden springs, just a short drive from LA. Paradise, right? Fuck paradise. Mark was sweating, the drone of insects buzzed just beyond hearing, and he wanted to punch the fuck out of the man in front of him. Bill. Bill was a goddam asshole.

Fucking Bill. Mark could scarcely believe that just a few weeks ago he’d been happy to find Bill. When he’d left those bastards at the firm, he cashed out, and used every penny he had on his new project. His new house. Mark had sold off his flat in downtown to finance it and now he was stuck out in the middle of nowhere with fucking Bill.

“You didn’t tell me you were staying here.” Mark said insistently for what felt like the hundredth time. Bill shrugged and crossed his huge beefy arms across his broad chest. “How d’ya think we keep ’em costs down?” he answered, not for the first time. Mark felt close to tears. He couldn’t bear the thought of crying in front of this neanderthal of a man, and especially not with a small army of construction workers at his back with enough tools and gear to rebuild half of LA by the look of it. “Ya wanted cheap an’ good? Ya got it. This here’s the price. Take it or leave it.” The bear shrugged again. He had Mark over a barrel and he knew it. “I just- er, I just would have preferred to know is all.” he replied meekly, glancing away. He’d lost. Fucking Bill. They’d met weeks ago, when Mark had put out his construction job to tender. It had been too perfect for words. Mark’s masterpiece, a gorgeous modern home and office space he’d been designing for years, land he’d inherited from his parents over a decade ago, and if he pushed every penny to his limit and sold everything he had, just enough cash to make it a reality. Bill had been the cheapest, true. He had his own crew, and by a stroke of luck were just finishing up a job and in the market for another project. Much as he was loathe to admit it, Bill had also been the best. He’d looked at the plans, asked a few questions about the land, the materials, and then made a quote. Mark nearly fainted when it was a third below the closest bidder and had signed Bill and his team on immediately. And yet…

Here he was. Bastarding, beary Bill. On the land his grandparents had bought back when you still could, so far untouched by his family. Secluded, enough land to lose yourself in. Solitude. Except the group of builders and the crappy trailers they had dragged all the way out to Mark’s remote hideaway. It was supposed to have worked out differently. Mark had a trailer of his own parked up; he was going to live on site (it’s not like he had a house to go back to after he sold it to finance this project) whilst Bill’s team drove in each morning and away each night, giving him some peace and quiet. Or so he thought. Now it looked like Bill’s costs were so low because his group of workies would be camping their trailers alongside his. He was now looking at a long, hot summer, surrounded by absolute pigs. And fucking Bill.

“Fine. Park them up.” he said, resigned. “Then we can look at the site.” Without looking back, Mark stormed off with as much of his dignity as he could salvage as he headed towards his trailer. It was his pride and joy. The one luxury he’d afforded himself in all of this. Large, air-conditioned and equipped to the roof rack, it was his hideaway home for the summer. He sighed as he headed into the cool air inside and lovingly spread a hand across the drawings on the table. His masterpiece. And if Bill kept his end up, soon enough his home. Just one summer of suffering… One long, hot goddam summer.


It actually started off better than Mark had hoped. Sure, his gorgeous trailer had been surrounded by every hick in the company, not to mention Bill’s beat up trailer parked right alongside his, but progress had started well. The team knew their stuff. Mark chatted to them as little as he could get away with, but it was strange. They weren’t just local hicks press-ganged by soaring rents to hold a shovel, or the regular hispanics. They were from all over the US. They weren’t typical dumb jocks either; sure, they acted the part, but Mark stumbled into conversations about technical aspects of the building he’d expect only Bill to even have an inkling of. In fact, on most sites one of his employees would be the one dishing out that information, but here every man worked their ass off managing their own sections, whilst Bill sat in the middle on a beat up chair, beer in one hand, cigar in the other. Every so often he’d bark out orders, or come over to inspect something, but most of the time he’d sit and just watch, busted up MP3 player cranking out some droning electro music beside him. You could hear it everywhere; speakers had been slung up throughout the site on the first day. “Helps ’em work harder. Ya want them to work hard, doncha?” had been Bill’s curt response. Mark had left it there, he did want them to work hard afterall… They played it late into the evening, and Mark could swear that it didn’t turn off at night, they just turned it so low he could barely hear it.

Bill had got the site cleared in record time, and his men soon set to prepping the ground. That’s where they hit the first snag. It was towards the end of the third day and Mark had been quietly tapping his foot along to the incessant beat. It had been driving him both mad and to distraction at once. He’d focus on it, unable to concentrate, and before he knew it he’d snap out of a daze a few minutes later and forget all about it, until the next time it caught his ear. He was on the verge of zoning out again when he heard the unmistakable heavy tread of a digger crunch on the gravel outside. Glancing up from the plans he’d been gazing at idly. he was taken aback by the sheer size of the shadow crossing the windows at the front of the van. He’d been specific in his plans about the depth they’d have to dig to, but this… this was big enough to hollow out a whole basement under his property. That had never been in the plan. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed outside to see Bill calmly waving it in. Fucking Bill.

“Hey! Hey!” he yelled, running over. “What the hell do you think you’r-” whip-fast, Bill spun and put a hand around Mark’s mouth, using his other hand to grab the man and pull him close. Without a word, he pulled Mark into a meaty headlock and turned once more to direct the incoming heavy machinery. Mark could barely speak; he could taste stale sweat, beer and cigars on the man’s sledgehammer hands, could feel fresh sweat dripping from the thick bush under his arm that pressed against his neck. Unable to help himself he breathed deeply, trying to struggle for air. His anger quickly faded into panic as he fought harder and harder to breathe. After a few minutes even panic began to fade as he began to become lethargic, sleepy. Mark knew he was slipping into unconsciousness, but it was so hard to think, so hard to breathe. So much easier to just give in, just let it happen…

He felt a sudden lurch as, right on the edge of slipping under, that firm grip released and air came rushing into his starved lungs. He stumbled and suddenly Bill’s arms were around him, holding him up, holding him steady. “Whoa there buddy” he said jovially, as though he hadn’t spent the last five minutes slowly starving Mark of air. “Steady boy. Steady.” He said gruffly as Mark tried to stand firmly. After a moment or two Mark pushed himself away. There was a crowd of men, looking on, none more intensely than big Bill. Those big brown eyes staring down at him, concern etched on his handsome face. Concern and… hunger? Startled, Mark pushed away and immediately stumbled backwards, sprawling across the muddy ground. He heard a few of the men laugh. Blushing he picked himself up, pushing away Bill’s reaching hand, and vainly tried to brush off some of the mud coating his bright white shirt and chinos, spreading it further. Without a word he stormed off, fuming to himself.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later, showered and changed into fresh clothes, he remembered he needed to speak to Bill about the digger.

The huge man could barely fit through the narrow trailer door. His warm smile sent the bottom of Mark’s stomach falling, whilst his anger simmered beneath the surface. Fucking Bill. As the foreman sidled into a seat at the table, Mark appraised the beast of a man he had trusted to build his dream home. Tall, easily 6,4 if he was an inch, and wide enough for two. Huge. His shoulders ripples with powerful muscle, two huge arms with biceps Mark wouldn’t be able to fit his hands around bulging out of his plaid shirt. At some point it must have had sleeves Mark figured, but they had long been ripped off exposing the permatanned, tribal tattoo’d skin beneath. Bill had a bit of a belly, true, but underneath a layer of fat Mark could tell there was thick muscle, framing two slabs of beef for pecs. The shirt was unbuttoned, almost down to the man’s belly, letting a thick Matt of hair show. Mark could have sworn he even got a small glimpse of dark nipple as he looked down into the dark damp space the open shirt revealed. The shirt was filthy. Not just mud and grease like most construction workers, but Mark could see pit stains darkening the plaid, ripening the air with his stench. Just a few seconds in the enclosed space of the trailer and Bill’s scent was pervading the air, assaulting his nostrils, seeping into the pores of the place. His hi-viz vest was just as dirty, hanging loose above a thick, heavy belt buckle that had the words BOSS stamped on it. The belt held up a pair of ripped low-rise jeans, Bill’s ass squeezing out the back of them, no underwear holding them back. Mark realised with a gulp that the crotch was also pressing for release, pushing the heavy fabric out to suggest at the length and girth beneath. Mark swallowed, mouth turning dry. Why was Bill here again? “Up here boy.” Bill said with a laugh. Blushing, Mark tore his gaze away and looked up. Bill’s smile was wide, flashing a bright grin, his thick shaggy beard creasing from it. Bill could be 35 or he could be 55; Mark had no way of telling. A shaved head, bushy brown beard and dark, hungry eyes. Eyes that looked on knowingly as Mark drank in the sight of Bill.

“You some kinda faggot boy?” Bill asked, looking at him intently. “No Sir I- I mean Bill, I- I-“ Mark stammered, suddenly unsure of how to answer. He was straight; he had a chain of short, shitty relationships with gorgeous failing actresses across LA to prove it. But Bill has just caught him checking him out. “I’m not gay.” Mark said, taking a seat quickly to hide the erection growing in his slacks. “Me and the boys don’t mind.” Bill said with a laugh. “In fact, I bet after a few weeks here with no skirt to chase, you’ll look like a juicy piece of meat to them.” Bill smiled suggestively. “I’m not fucking gay!” Mark yelled, confusion transforming into anger as he lashed out. “I’m just fucking angry! Why the fuck do you have a digger out there? What the fuck are you doing?” Bill held his hands up, smiling all the while. “Don’t worry, no offence meant… just joking.” He nodded outside. “You’re happy with my boys right?” Mark thought about it for the briefest second. He was happy with their progress. “You trust me, don’t you Mark?” Well of COURSE he trusted him. How could he not? “You told me to get the bigger digger, didn’t you?” Fuck. Did he? Mark couldn’t remember. He kept getting distracted by that fucking music. Could he have said to get a bigger digger? “Remember? We spoke about it this morning Mark. I explained that the soil was too soft, that we’d have to dig into the bedrock below to get a strong foundation. Remember?” It did sound familiar. “You said you’d change the plans. Put in a basement to make use of the space. Come on Mark, remember what you said.” Bill put a heavy hand on Mark’s shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. “Remember you really wanted a basement. It’s important.”

Mark zoned out, just for a second. Like a record skipping a beat. Bill’s face swam back into vision. His deep, dark eyes. How could he have forgotten the basement? It had been the core of his plans for years now. What was wrong with him? Here he was upbraiding Bill and Bill was just making sure he was following Mark’s plan. “Fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-“ “Don’t worry boy.” Bill said cutting him off with a gentle smile. “We’ll get you there. Just listen to old Bill and you’ll be just fine.” Mark smiled. Bill was always right. Fucking Bill. ————-

The next day Mark’s aircon broke down. Bill sent one of his boys over to have a look, but proclaimed it beyond help. Mark could try and call in someone to come fix it, but the signal was terrible in his secluded valley, and for some reason he didn’t want to drive off and leave everyone. Not that he could; Bill’s boys’ trailers pinned his in, it would take hours to manoeuvre his way onto the tiny road leading back up to the highway. It was hot, but Mark could stick it out, right?

Within an hour his shirt was already stuck to his back. His ass crack and crotch were sweating heavily, and under the sweet smell of his ripening pits Mark could smell just the faintest taste of Bill. Big Bill’s pits, stinking up the place. Marking it, owning it… Mark shook his head. Zoning out again. It was happening so often, he had to concentrate! He looked down at the plans in front of him. His masterpiece; a beautiful house and office with a vast basement beneath. Just like he’d always wanted. Fuck it was hot. Mark struggled through the day; he changed shirts three times before he gave it up as pointless. He’d sweat through it anyway, and it’s not like washing was going to be easy here. He’d already resigned to only washing his clothes once a week. Instead he showered as often as he could, trying to keep cool. Bill spotted him once as he came out, towel wrapped tightly around his waste. Bill nodded to Mark’s belly. “Should join us out on the ground some time, work that off.” He said jovially. “Sure.” Mark said, trying not to blush. The rest of the day, despite trying to stick to the cooler shade of his trailer, Mark found excuses to head out to inspect the work. He found himself chatting to one of the men finishing the surface, the guys mixing the concrete. He found himself trying to catch a glimpse of Bill as much as possible. Bill bending over to inspect a piece of work, flashing his hairy ass as he looked closer. Bill rubbing at his sweaty crotch, or pausing to sniff his ripe pits. Bill swigging his lukewarm beer as he cast his dark eyes over his domain.

Mark ran back to his trailer, his dick starting to tent in his slacks, the sweat making it obvious that something was happening. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was the heat. It was driving him stir crazy. Thank God he had his shower to cool him down. With a nice cold shower, Mark managed to get through the day. And the next one. It was the day after that he started to notice something wasn’t quite right. The shower wasn’t quite as ice cold, but still refreshing. Mark could swear it smelled differently? Not bad, just… different. Tentatively, Mark opened his mouth and put his tongue out, tasting the water. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was familiar, a little sweet and bitter maybe? Whatever it was Mark decided he liked it. Maybe it was just the filter or something. Whatever it was that flavour grew stronger by the day. Mark could swear he almost recognised it but… but something. He couldn’t remember. Instead he found himself letting the lukewarm water run over his body, his dick rising. He tasted the water, sending a pulse through his dick. Fuck he was so horny.

Whatever was happening with the water, it didn’t mix well with his shower gel. It had started to smell more chemical than sweet. Within a week Mark chucked the whole lot out. Bill had clapped him heartily on the back as he did.

“Don’t need none of that faggy shit, do you Marky?” “No Bos-Bill.” “Just us men here. You like to relax and be a man, doncha Marky?”

Mark nodded dumbly, dazed as he looked into Bill’s deep eyes. Bill smiled so Mark smiled.

It was good to be one of the men with Bill and his boys. He could do without that faggot shit for a few months. Nah, Mark didn’t mind smelling like a real man for a bit. Fuck he was horny again. Smiling still, he made his way to the shower. Mark didn’t bother wrapping the towel around himself, he just stripped as soon as he entered his trailer and stepped into his shower. The smell of the water overtook him. Stronger than ever. Even after he dried off he fancied he could still get a faint whiff of it.

He pulled on his underwear and pants, damp from the sweat, and the shirt that was beginning to smell ripe after a full day of his pits with no aircon. Mark found he didn’t mind it so much anymore. It’s not like anyone was here to judge him. All the other boys on the site were filthy, who cares if Mark’s pits got a little ripe from time to time too? Bill said it was fine…

Fucking Bill. That fucking bear of a man… Mark’s dick pressed hard against his pants. Fucking Bill…

He crept across the trailer to the window and peeked between the curtains. There he was. Big Bill, being the Big Boss. Standing there ordering all the men about, swigging from his beer can and smoking that huge cigar. Every now and then absently rubbing his nipple. Adjusting his crotch. Sniffing his pits. Mark’s hand drifted slowly down, unbuttoning his pants. His meaty dick fell out, begging to be stroked. Fuck. What was he doing? It was this heat, the lack of skirt. It was making him so goddam horny. He shouldn’t be doing this but… but fuck it. It was just Bill’s boys here, right? They didn’t care… mark started beating off right there, panting hard as he stared at Bill. He could swear Bill was looking back. Fuck, Bill watching him, making him cum. Fuck he was so fucking horny. Thinking of big fucking Bill… fuck. No… thinking of Big Bill fucking him… the thought of those huge hands grabbing him, pinning him down and slowly pressing his huge cock into Mark’s willing hole as Mark licked at those ripe pits…

Mark grunted as cum fountained forth, spilling across the trailer sofa, Mark’s hands, his pants and shirt. His cock pulsed as cum streamed out, the biggest load Mark had ever seen. Fuck!! He was covered in cum. He had no way of washing them. Mark wiped the cum on them, trying to think how he could hide it.

He paused.

Fuck it, it was just Bill’s boys here, wasn’t it? They wouldn’t mind…

Smiling, Mark smartened himself up and made his way back outside to survey the progress on his house.

“It’s coming on well, isn’t it Bill?” He asked, standing next to the Boss. Bill looked at him and sniffed appreciatively.

“Yes.” He said with a guffaw. It wasn’t until Mark walked off to look closer Bill leered openly. “Yes you are, Boy.”

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