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Sucking Dick At My First Job

Chapter 6: Three Man Close

"Sure," he said. "Fuck him with your big dick."

Tyler just smiled sweetly.

My cheek was on the cold metal of the shelf and I had to crane my neck around to get even half of Tyler in my vision, so what I got was the shape of him in the doorway with the hallway light coming in around his shoulders and the spray bottle hanging off his fingers. My forearms were still up on the lip of the dough tray. My jeans and my underwear were still bunched at my knees. My apron was still tied and hanging heavy off my hips, soaked through the front from what I had already squirted into it, cooling against my thigh.

"Yeah," I said, not even sure if it mattered.

Dom's hands stayed on my hipbones and his pace did not change. I felt every inch of that continue while I was talking. He was upright behind me with a clear line over my back to the doorway, and the two of them were looking at each other above me, the whole conversation passing over the top of my spine while I was bent under it with my mouth open against the shelf.

I should have been panicking. The front of the store was unlocked. There was nobody in the lobby and nothing in the oven and the phone could have rung, and that walk-in door was standing wide open with the hallway lit up behind it, and Tyler wasn't shutting it.

What I had instead was the two of them discussing me. Not asking me, really, even though I had answered. And my dick was still hard under the wet apron from an orgasm I'd already had, and it jumped against the fabric when Tyler said it a second way.

"Like, after you," Tyler said. "Or whenever's good."

Dom's hips kept coming. 

"Get over here."

The rack ticked against the wall. I was getting pushed a half inch up the tray lip with every stroke and sliding back down, and my forearms were numbing out on the cold metal, and I stayed exactly where I was.

Dom's thumbs pressed into the hollows above my ass and he kept his stroke the same length and the same speed, and he tipped his chin up at the doorway, and when he talked it was flat, the same as telling somebody a case had two weeks on it.

"He'll suck your dick while I finish back here."

I had my face against a shelf in a cold room getting split open, and above me my shift leader was assigning my mouth out like he was giving him work tasks. 

A natural leader, I thought to myself as my hole clenched on him. He grunted once at that and did not otherwise acknowledge it.

"Oh, sick," Tyler said.

He took it completely at face value, like he did with everything. I heard the spray bottle go down on a shelf, plastic on steel, and then his shoes on the tile coming in, and then the door, which he pushed most of the way shut behind him out of pure habit, the same as he did with the reach-in and the office and every other door in that building. It didn't latch. It never latched. The strip of hallway light narrowed down to a line at the frame and stayed there.

Then I couldn't see anything he was doing, because I was folded over facing the shelving with my back to all of it, so I got it by ear.

His belt first, the little metal slap of the buckle. Then his hand working the button on those work pants, and then the polyester going down his legs with that dry whisper fabric makes, and the elastic of his briefs after it, and his sigh when the cold hit him. He didn't take his apron off. None of us did. I would find out in about a minute that he had his apron and his shirt hem gathered up in his forearm against his stomach, same as he'd held it out front by the drink machine, because that was apparently how he understood the mechanics of this.

"It's freezing in here," he said.

"Your dick hasn't noticed yet... damn," Dom said.

Tyler's shoes came around the end of the rack, and then he was in front of me on the other side of the dough shelf, close enough that when I got my head up off my forearms his dick was right there at mouth height.

I looked at it hanging in front of my face. It was already halfway filled, heavy, the head pushing out fat past that fold of skin, his little patch of light hair above it and his balls hanging low underneath. I could smell the day on him, and it made all his annoying traits disappear in the moment.

I got one forearm flat on the tray lip to hold my weight and put my hand up on him, and then the other hand followed, and I stacked them both around the shaft with the top of my fist right under the ridge. That still left me a third of it, which was more than enough to fill my mouth. I got my lips over the soda-can-thick head and pushed down until my jaw maxed out.

Dom gave a stroke, and it shoved me forward onto Tyler an inch further than I'd gone myself.

He drove into me again, and the push carried up through my body and out the front of me and put my mouth even farther down Tyler's cock, and when Dom pulled back my head came off it, and when he came forward again I went back down. Both ends of me moved on Dom's rhythm, and Tyler exhaled above my head, his breath quivering. My arms were doing nothing but keeping me off the tray. My hands were just a collar around Tyler so I didn't take more than I could take. I drooled down my own knuckles and let it run.

"Oh, wow," Tyler said above me. "Okay, that's, wow."

He grabbed the shelf edge. Both hands, up high, fingers hooked over the lip on either side of my head, and he kept them there. He still would not touch me, just like the first time, and I had a whole other guy's fingers dug into my hipbones at the same moment while he actively slammed into my ass, so the difference was not subtle.

Dom's hands stayed locked exactly where they were. He didn't reach up my shirt and he didn't pull my hair, and all he did was keep that steady wet rhythm going, thighs slapping into the backs of mine, the sound of it filling that metal room and carrying out through the gap in the door.

My own dick hung under the apron, still hard, wet through and cold at the tip from the load I'd already put in the fabric, and nobody had a hand on it, including me. Both of mine were busy.

He shoved me forward too far. The head went past the spot my throat allows and my throat shut around it, and I gagged hard, my back seizing up under the shirt and my shoulders bunching, and I had to come off it.

I came off coughing with my eyes streaming, spit hanging off my chin in a long string that broke and went down onto the front of the apron with everything else already on it. My forehead went down onto my own wrist on the tray lip.

Dom still didn't stop moving. He gave me another four or five strokes while I hacked into my arm.

"That's wild," he said over my back.

"What?" Tyler said.

"The size. He wasn't lying."

"Told you," I said, or something like it, into my wrist.

"Yeah, it's a little big," Tyler said, hands still up on the shelf, in the same rambling monotone as usual. 

"That happened with the girl too. But she couldn't even get started." He must have shown him with his fingers, because Dom made a noise. "And then she said her jaw hurt. Which, I don't even know how that works. And then we tried regular sex and it didn't go either, she was just like nope."

"Jesus," Dom said, chuckling as he continued his onslaught of rough thrusts into my ass.

I got my head up. My face was soaked and my jaw was already aching in the way that I liked, and Tyler's cock was right there in front of me wet and shiny from my mouth, darker now, and bigger, hanging heavy between his gripped hands.

I got both fists stacked back around it, preparing to put my mouth over the top again.

"Wait," Dom said, and he pulled out of me. The cold hit me all at once where he'd been, my literal insides exposed to the fridge air, and my hole clenched around nothing, and I whined into the dough trays, high-pitched and boyish.

I stayed folded over the tray lip as the two of them wordlessly went around me. Dom slid along the shelving up toward my head with his dick out shining wet. Tyler came up the other side toward my ass. Neither of them asked me to reposition.

Dom stopped in front of my face and put a hand in my hair.

"Hey," Tyler said from behind me. "Do you have, like... is there something for this?"

"Oil's on the shelf," Dom said.

"Where?"

"By his head."

"I can't reach past him."

I got one arm off the tray lip and reached back blind along the shelving, patting around until my knuckles knocked the jar, and I got my fingers around it and passed it back between my own legs, upside down, holding it out behind me until his hand took it off me. I put my forearm back on the tray. Dom watched me do the whole thing from a few inches away with his hand still in my hair.

"Oh, it's already open," Tyler said. "Okay, that's smart actually."

He poured too much. It hit my lower back first and ran down both sides, and then his hand was on me spreading it around, and he was talking while he did it.

"Sorry, that's cold, I know. Is this how much?" His fingers pushed at me, one of them, then two of them at once, too much, too fast. "You're kind of already... okay."

"Slow," I said into the trays.

"Yeah, no, for sure."

Then he lined up and pushed, and I got about a second of the head before my whole body locked and I got my hand back and shoved his hip away.

"Stop," I said. "Stop, stop."

"Sorry! Sorry."

I turned my head sideways against my own bicep and got my breath. Dom was stroking himself slowly by my ear, looking down over my back at where Tyler was standing.

"You're too high," I said. "You're pushing at the wrong angle, maybe. Point it down."

"Down like..."

"Like down toward the floor, I think."

He lined up lower, and this time I pushed back myself, slowly, an inch at a time with my forehead down on my wrist, and it burned like nothing Dom had done. He was so much thicker, by a real margin, and I felt every inch of girth as it went. My thighs shook. I made a long noise into my arm and kept going as I felt my internal organs realign amid sharp pangs that came and went, until my ass finally hit his hips.

"Oh my God," Tyler said.

"Don't move yet."

"I won't."

I gave it a bit, breathing, feeling the stretch settle into something I could hold. My dick, which had finally gone soft, started filling against the wet apron again.

"Okay," I said. "Go."