briefs
workboy
workboy
The rain started several hours ago. It seems to have been getting heavier, and the mud around the work site has gotten thicker. I’ve been stuck in my heavy rain gear all day, stained with splashed mud. My hard hat keeps it off my shaved head, but my well-used leather work gloves are soaked. These summer storms usually cool things down here on the road, but today it only makes it more humid. With rubber rain gear over my insulated Carhartt overalls, plus the jacket and my heavy Wesco loggers, I am as wet inside with sweat as I am outside with rain.
Being a flagger on the remote road work site can be boring at times, and it wasn’t the first job I would’ve picked. But I didn’t pick it. My Boss decided I needed to work harder, and here I am, about 60 miles from home, every day on this heavy road construction project. Sometimes I think the big truck drivers like to hit the mud puddles so that I get soaked with splashes from their heavy truck tires.
When I am in my rain gear, I am not supposed to go to the Honey Bucket. Boss has ordered me to piss myself cause no one will see under the rain gear, and Boss likes my Carhartts well used.
As the sun sets behind the nearby mountains, the workday comes to an end. I grab my lunch box and water bottle and head to my truck.
Saying goodbye to the others on the crew, I reach my well-used Toyota 4x4 and toss my stop sign in the back. The truck is covered in mud, just like me. I climb in with my still-wet rain gear, take off my hard hat, and replace it with a dirty, piss-stained Carhartt baseball cap. The interior is so dirty that it doesn't matter when the seats get wet. A neoprene cover on the seats protects the actual seat material. I don't think anyone would want to own this pickup if it were sold.
I am required not to change clothes; it is one of my boss's orders—the cab of the truck stinks of mud, sweat, grease and piss. My owner has pissed in it many times; the mud is thick on the floor mats.
I start the truck, put it into gear and head back toward the city where we live. I am allowed to listen to the radio while driving, but Boss has it preset to country music. The windows can’t roll down, so the truck gets warm while driving. The windows fog up on occasion, and I have to turn on the defroster, but there is no AC. So, it gets toasty in the rubber rain gear, insulated Carhartt overalls, with a button-up shirt made of the same Carhartt material, under that I have on a UA shirt and shorts, and my cock is locked in a CB3000. As the cab of the truck warms up, the smell of the piss, mud and muck fills it, and I admit that I would be getting pretty hard if I could.
As I get close to home, I remember that I hadn’t emptied my thermos, so I take the final sips of Boss’s piss that he fills it with every morning before I head out to the job site.
I arrive at our home, on 7 acres outside of the city. It is wooded and has lots of privacy. Weekends are often filled with work on the property with Boss. I see Boss chopping some wood as I arrive at the garage and park my truck just inside. After I get out, I leave my cap in the cab, shut the door and kneel at the back of the truck with my hands up behind my head. And I wait….
Boss enters a little while later, looking awesome in his Wranglers, brown work chaps, brown round-toed Ariat boots and black UA shirt. He is sweaty from chopping the wood. He stops next to me, and I bend down to kiss his slightly muddy boots. He bends down and kisses me deeply, and my dick grows in its chastity.
“These boots will be your dessert tonight.” Boss mentions as he looks down at his boots, then catches my eyes.
I reply enthusiastically, “Yes Boss!”
Reaching behind his back, Boss pulls out the well-used leather hood that I often wear and slides it over my head. Something cool slips over my head, almost like lube, as he laces it up tightly and tightens the straps he locks in place. There are holes for sight, smell and taste. The neck is longer and tucks down into my coat. I hear the final lock around the collar. He pats my cheek, “Just how you are meant to be, fucker.” States Boss.
“Before you eat, haul in that wood I chopped.” Boss mentions as he makes his way into the house.
“Yes Boss!” I respond quickly.
I get up, scurry outside, gather the chopped wood and bring it into the living room. It takes several trips before I get it all in. Afterward, I take the old jock and wipe up the mud stains I left on the wood floor.
Then I head to the back porch for my meal.
On all fours, I await Boss to bring it to me. Still in his chaps and boots, I comment on how wonderful he looks. He kisses me on the top of the hood and tells me to chow down. I have been eating like a dog for several months now, since starting the flagger job. While eating, as Boss often does, he lifts his boot, sets it on my head, and pushes my face into the bowl of spaghetti. In the evening, the food on the hood or face is left to dry till morning. But today is Friday, and tomorrow I am allowed to shower, clean and start the weekend fresh.
As I eat my dinner, Boss goes in the house and has his. He can see me from the table through the screen door, and he taunts me at times, telling me I’m a good pig. I smiled back at him.
Dinner finishes up, and I do the dishes, loading them in the dishwasher and cleaning up the kitchen. It is a challenge at times, as my gear sometimes leaves dirt behind and then I have to clean up after it. In the living room, I rest on the floor, allowed to nuzzle Boss’s sock-covered feet after he takes off his boots. He watches TV, as I take in his dick after he unzips his Wranglers and I take in the taste of my Boss and the leather of his chaps. There is nothing to hurry here, as he relaxes and uses my mouth as his pleasure. He pisses in it and sometimes uses it as an ashtray. I want to touch him, but he won’t let me with my still wet leather work gloves.
Around 8, it is time for me to be put away. Since taking the flagging job, I have not been allowed to sleep with Boss. I miss that a great deal. Crawling to a box in the corner of the room, he prepares me for the night. He adds a blindfold and gag to the hood; both are locked on. He helps me out of my rain gear, only my rain gear. The box is lined in rubber as he helps me in. He secures my ankles, legs, arms and wrists, as I hear the snap of each lock. He finds his way to my tits and plays with them for a while, watching me struggle in my bondage. Unable to scream or beg for mercy. I feel the weight and confinement of the Carhartts, rubber boots, gloves and the leather of the hood. The gag fills my mouth, and I am blind to the outside world. I smell a mixture of leather, rubber, piss, mud, spaghetti and sweat.
“Pig, I have something to discuss with you before you are locked up. I’ve been working on you, pushing your boundaries for the past few months. He have accepted them well, the new job, becoming more of a thing to me than a lover. Being kept in filth for days at a time. At times being kept like an animal.”
“You see, that is my goal, is to make you into an animal. You are becoming my pig. What I find interesting is that you haven’t fought me on anything that I have done so far. I’m not sure if you have become totally submissive or that you truly are a pig and this is the way you are meant to live.”
I move slightly in the bondage, the words Boss speaks building into my mind as I feel my submission, becoming the pig that he describes.
“Tonight you are taking the next step and I will not let you stop it. You need to go this far and I need to control you even more for that is my destiny is to own you outright without limits.”
As he says that to me, I start to feel nervous and excited at the same time.
“Tomorrow is Saturday and things are going to be as they have been in the past.”
Remember when you put on your hood, and you thought it was lubed. Well, you were correct. The leather had been soaked in your Master’s piss.”
I am stunned; no doubt Boss hears the moan from the gag, and I struggle a little bit, but now it is fruitless.
“I want to you as a pig and that mean no limits. You will not be leaving this box tomorrow morning as you normally do. You are locked in through the weekend you fucking pig.”
I feel something striking my hood, and slowly the piss from Boss leaks in.
“You are my toilet for the weekend, and you will be messing yourself also.”
I beg in the gag to not follow through on this.
“You will not stop me, you are mine to do as I please and you will achieve this. You will become a pig to me, my pig! So you know, your dinner had a laxative in it, I want you to suffer in the pain of bowel movements. I want you to lay in your own filth. Plus, what I add will soak into your gear. Couple of my mates are coming over on Sunday and they will be adding to your new sty. You will go to work on Monday a new pig. I love you pig.”
With that, the doors on the box slam shut and I hear him lock them. I try yelling, but it does not come out through the gag and the box.
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