Trade: Part 3 (Patreon)

Hi everyone, here's the latest section of my work in progress, which I've been tentatively calling 'Trade' but I think I might actually call 'My Husband's Got Trade Over'. Enjoy!

🔨 👷🏾‍♂️ 🧰 🔧 🪚 🔩 🪛 🔨 👷🏾‍♂️ 🧰 🔧

The builders had taken longer than expected, four days instead of three. I didn’t know how much of that was from the job being bigger or more complex than expected, and how much of it was because of the time they’d spent fucking my husband. I hadn’t got to watch them again after that first time, but I knew from Oscar that they’d fucked him every day they were around. How much time they’d spent fucking rather than working, who knew. 

I wondered if they were billing me by the hour for the time they were spending using my husband as their cumdump. And I have to admit, although I’d be annoyed about it from a practical point of view it would turn me on a little if they did. I have to admit that at one point I got a little hard fantasising about getting an itemised invoice with the number of hours they’d spent fucking and the amount I was getting charged for it.

Once they were done installing all the walls the plasterer was next. I was up and gone for work before he arrived, so I didn’t get to see what the guy looked like. But about ten thirty that morning I got a message from Oscar. The message popped up on my lock screen: Don’t open this at your desk, followed by a notification saying, Image received.

My dick hardened instantly. I rushed to the bathroom, tent already starting to form in my suit trousers, and locked myself in a stall. I unlocked the phone and opened the message. It was a selfie of Oscar, grinning from ear to ear, thick cum spattered across his face. A dollop of running down his cheek just under his eye, a shiny patch smeared across his forehead. And a huge, thick wad of it in his stubble, all over his chin and his lips so he’d almost certainly tasted it.

The message underneath it just said, Got plastered.

I’m not usually one to do inapprorpiate things during the work day. But seeing that photo, imagining Oscar on his knees worshipping tradie dick, some stranger emptying itself, plastering cum all over his face, it made me uncontrollably horny. I grabbed my dick out of my pants and furiously tugged at it while I looked at the pic of Oscar’s cum-rag face. I lasted all of about thirty seconds, it was so fast I barely had time to prepare. I quickly grabbed a handful of toilet paper just in time to empty my load into it, chest heaving so hard from the intensity of my wank that if anyone was to walk in right then I’d be done for.

I went back to my desk, still in disbelief that I’d actually done something like that in the office. I berated myself, told myself I’d gone too far. But by about three thirty, once the post-nut clarity had worn off and I’d found myself thinking about that pic over and over again, I could see exactly how I could do it all over again. I didn’t though — I snuck into a deserted meeting room long enough to have another look at the photo, but I didn’t touch my dick again. I was saving that for Oscar.

As soon as I came in the front door I dropped my bag and coat on the ground and swept him up in my arms, planting a kiss on his lips, right where the plasterer’s cum had been a few hours earlier. “Tell me everything,” I demanded.

So he did. “I could tell when he arrived that something was going to happen,” he said. “He eyed me up straight away. So then like an hour or so later I went in to see how he was going, offer him a coffee or something, and he just grabbed his dick, like right in front of me.”

“And then?” I said, dick straining, dying to know more.

He grinned, shrugged. “I got on my knees. And he pulled out this whopper and just started jacking off in front of my face, like teasing me with it. Then he let me suck it, just shoved it in and fucked my face till he was close, then pulled it out so he could cum all over my face.”

My dick was aching at this point. I fumbled with my belt buckle and my fly till I managed to free it. Oscar seemed pleased to see me get it out, too. “So you liked it then,” he said.

I didn’t answer that. Didn’t need to. Instead I put a hand on the crown of his head and pushed him downwards, and he obligingly dropped to his knees in front of me. “I see,” he said, kissing the underside of my balls.

He opened his mouth wide, and I carefully fed him my cock. “My turn to plaster you now.”