Tubecock

by BRK   

Morty is amazed and thrilled to discover that his new job at the hardware store turns out to involve some special activities after hours—and it’s not iron they’re pumping.

I was only on my third day as the new assistant manager at Fry’s Hardware when the boss, Declan Fry, took me aside in the stock room after closing. He was a very good-looking guy in a rugged, cowboy sort of way: late thirties, maybe, with slightly thinning sandy hair, not very tall but tightly muscled, with a very hairy chest and a seriously large bulge in his jeans. I watched him nervously, thinking he had caught me staring and was going to ream me out or tell me he didn’t want faggots working for him, but he just stood there looking me up and down, and I swear he was paying special attention to my crotch.

“So, you’ve got some heft there for sure,” he said eventually, nodding at my groin. He was talking about my junk in this very appraising manner, like I’d entered it in the county fair and he was sizing it up for a blue ribbon. “You pump?”

I gaped at him, turning white, then red. I thought I was going to pass out. “Uhh—” I stammered. Suddenly I had no words, like my brain was a hard drive and he’d EMPed it with that question.

But Dec was unfazed. “Don’t have a cow, I know you do,” he said casually. He started moving around the musty stock room looking for something, almost as if there was something he needed to make this conversation more horrifying. Like, say, incriminating pictures, or my mom hiding behind one of the boxes. “I draw ’em to me, not sure how,” he mused. He shifted a large box of steel wool to see what was behind it. “Everyone who comes to work for me is an avid pumper.” He glanced up at me, his grey eyes bright. “You been doing it long?”

I was still staring at him like a mouse cornered by a cat, my heart racing uselessly like a car out of gear. “Um,” I squeaked, “since… high school?”

Dec nodded as if he’d expected this answer. “What kind of equipment you use?” he asked, resuming his search.

My brain wasn’t working right. If we were discussing fishing or wood-working, something like that, this conversation would have felt almost normal. As it was I couldn’t quite line myself up with what we were talking about. “Uhhhh—” I said helplessly.

“Doesn’t really matter,” Dec interrupted dismissively, moving another large box with his work boot. “What you need is—aha, there you are.” From a stash of several like it behind one of the stacked drawers with the PVC pipe overstock he pulled a long, squarish box. It was white and unmarked except for a few printed codes on one end. He pulled a Sharpie from his pocket and wrote MORTY on the same end in large, neat letters. Then he handed it to me.

“This ‘uns yours,” he said. “Keep it here. It’s more… well, let’s say effective than what you’re used to, more than likely, and it’s not safe to use alone. Always make sure me or young Diego is here. Not watching you, obviously,” he added, surprising me with a smile. “That would be weird.”

I blinked at him. Yeah, I thought. That would be weird.

Dec got serious again. “Every day for a half hour,” he insisted, pointing at the box I was holding. “Not healthy to do it fits and starts, needs to be regular. Might as well use your dinner break. I’ll mark it on the time cards as doing inventory. You got any goals?”

I was finally past being shocked, though I still felt like I might be going crazy. “Uh, I just… like it,” I admitted. Had I… had I actually found a place where I could talk about pumping? Where it was normal? Hell, if this wasn’t one big humiliation gotcha and Dec was telling the truth, it was not only normal here but expected!

“Fair enough,” Dec said approvingly. “Specific targets are a bad idea anyway, this stuff is unpredictable.” He rubbed his jaw. “Well, I got some paperwork to do in the office, so you might as well break it in now, if you want.” He paused, eyeing me questioningly, and I realized that that was a question. I nodded jerkily, both scared and insanely curious. “All right, then. Remember to wash it up in the back-room sink after. Yell for me over your walkie if you need anything.” With that he stomped out of the stock room, leaving me alone with the long white box. A premium cock pump, evidently, and with my name on it.

I sat on a nearby crate and unboxed it carefully, laying out all the pieces. The tube was thick and sturdy and a lot bigger than I needed—I’d added a half an inch since I started pumping, pretty cool since most guys only saw temporary gains, but I still wasn’t as big as Dec probably was, going by that big basket I kept trying not to stare at.

I wondered if the other assistant manager, this Diego, was a pumper too, and if he’d been able to add any size like I had. He must be a pumper if he worked here, I realized. Probably somewhere there was one of these pumps in a box with DIEGO written on the end.

The pump itself was motorized—fancy!—with a pressure gauge and a clear, one-cup reservoir to collect jizz. That was optimistic, I thought, remembering the band 10cc and why they’d chosen that name. There was even an extra reservoir, this one two cups. Weird, I thought. There were a couple of different sized gaskets depending on your girth.

I was already mostly hard, just like I always was when I was readying my usual pumping set-up at home. Welp, I thought, if it’s a prank, he’s the one that supplied me with this stuff. I bit the bullet and undid my belt, pulling down my pants and gray boxer-briefs enough to free my decently thick uncut cock. It quickly got all the way hard for me, becoming immovably stiff in mere seconds while I watched. It stood straight up and waited for me, looking nice and handsome and ready to go. Hey, buddy, I thought, smiling to myself.

I fitted the wider gasket to the tube, sealed the pump and reservoir on the other end, and slid it over my erection. The actions were reassuring in their familiarity. Then I started the pump on the setting marked “low”.

Immediately I started feeling something both like and unlike what I was used to. The pull was normal, but it was also more intense, like it was drawing extra reserves of dick out of me somehow. My cock was swelling in the vacuum, but instead of developing the distorted bloat I was used to seeing, it was just thickening, like someone had a 3D real-world version of Photoshop and was steadily warp-scaling my hard, excited prick, developing its girth and a bit of length while I watched for several long, exciting minutes, totally entranced. Nothing had every worked this well, or felt this good. What was the word Dec had used? “Effective.” Yeah, nothing was ever this effective.

My heart thumping hard in my chest, I reached for the pump and switched it to “medium”.

I felt the effects immediately. The suction increased, but it was more than that. My arousal and the pleasure the pumping gave me ramped up exponentially. This felt better than any pumping, any jerking off, even any sex I’d ever had. Holy shit, I could see why these this had a cum reservoir—there was no way I wasn’t going to blow my load if this kept up. Especially as I was watching my dick get bigger and bigger at an even more accelerated rate than before. I must have already gained two inches in length and girthwise I was close to filling the tube. And it felt so amazingly good——

“Wow,” said a voice close by. I looked up with a start and saw that the all-consuming pleasure of my pumping had caused me not to notice a model-cute, nicely muscled, amber-skinned guy walk right up next to me. He was staring at my cock in the pump, clearly impressed.

I met his eyes, shocked and scared again. “Don’t worry, I’m Diego,” he said. To my surprise he wrapped his arm around my shoulder; even more surprisingly this worked, calming and relaxing me even though I didn’t know him. In my present hyper-aroused state the warm weight of his arm felt almost intoxicatingly good. “You must be Morty,” he said, only we were both back to looking at my swelling cock, so it was almost like he was saying that to my dick. I snorted.

“Yours is almost as responsive as mine,” he said admiringly. Almost automatically I glanced over at his crotch, and what I saw made me mutter, “Holy shit”. There was a thick, visible tube running down the leg of his baggy work pants that, if I wasn’t mistaken, reached almost to his knee. As I looked it twitched, like it was interested in what was going on and would be getting big and hard very soon.

I looked up at him, shocked. He smiled, slightly chagrinned. “I’ve been working here five years,” he explained. “Don’t worry, you’ll get there, if you want.”

We both looked back at my dick. Its size was steadily accreting, and so was the intensity of the waves of sensation I was feeling. I was definitely going to climax soon, especially if my hunky coworker kept hugging me and watching me grow like this.

“You ready to take this to the max?” he said after a while, leaning close. We were both fixated on my raging, growing cock in the tube. I nodded. With my permission given, Diego reached over and switch the pump to high.

Almost instantly, my cock swelled the rest of the way, filling the tube almost to the point of being compressed by the heavy plastic while the motor hummed at high speed. The pleasure was so intense that I couldn’t hold back for longer than ten, fifteen seconds top before I started shooting, my huge, tube-capacity-sized, iron-hard erection violently spewing vast amounts of spunk as my body shuddered under a deluge of pleasure. As Diego gripped my shoulders, rubbing my chest and murmuring encouragements, I came and came and came, the cum reservoir slowly filling with warm, white, gloppy seed.

Finally I stopped climaxing, and Diego, with practiced motions, switched off the pump and freed me from the tube, exposing my red, super-sensitive, still-rock-hard prick to the cool air of the stockroom. I shivered from the pleasant sensation, still awash with a euphoria beyond any orgasm I’d experienced so far.

I sat there, chest heaving, as Diego held me gently. When I’d started to regain my breath I looked over at his crotch. That ridge in his pants leg was past his knee now and very stiff. I met his gaze in time for him to bend down and kiss me. When he broke the kiss I smiled, and he smiled too. Then we both looked at my cock.

Diego whistled appreciatively. “You are responsive,” he said. I looked at my wang a little dazedly. It was twice as thick and twice as long as I was used to. “Almost all of that is temporary, of course, though some retain more than others,” he went on. Then he added, a little too casually, “I, uh, find that I need to cum a second time before it’ll really go down.”

I glanced up at him. “Sounds like you’re offering to help me with that.”

“I am, but I have an ulterior motive,” he conceded with a crooked smile. “Because I will definitely need some help with mine.”

I grinned, sealing the mutually advantageous partnership by pulling him down for another kiss. So if you’re ever passing by Fry’s Hardware one night and see a pair of laughing, slightly flushed-looking young guys leaving the darkened store a full hour or more after closing, don’t worry—it’s just a couple of employees wrapping up a little after-hours inventory.

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