Suddenly Tim turned toward the open doorway. He wasn't alone! Saul, the crew foreman, was standing there, staring at him.
More specifically, he was staring at Tim's big tube of a cock, still hanging half-hard in Tim's left hand.
Tim experienced a surge of panic. He was covered in cum and there was at least two inches of the white sticky liquid in the tub, and more dripping off the tile walls. He flushed even as, perversely, his cock started to harden in his hand.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tim demanded, but his voice quavered.
Saul's eyes drifted up to Tim's face. It took a moment for him to reply, as if he were returning from a daze. "What? Oh, I came by to pick up the work orders and--well, I heard screaming--"
Tim blinked. Had he screamed? He didn't remember. He remembered the pleasure, blindingly intense. He would have to do that again. Soon. He licked his lips, barely aware that his forearm-sized cock was again rigid in his hand, pushing his fist open with its girth.
Saul, though, was staring at it again, mesmerized. "Man," he breathed, "that was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life." Tim licked his lips again and noticed for the first time that the front of Saul's jeans were soaking wet. Jeez, Tim thought, Saul fucking came in his pants.
Saul took a step into the room, breathing hard, and Tim's cock was steel-hard in his hand, straining to point straight toward the ceiling, its graceful curve now arching back toward his upper abs.
Saul was now inches away, his kissable lips slightly apart. "I have to see that again," he whispered, eyes dancing.
Tim's cock lurched in his hand, as if desperate to comply
Tim stared into Saul's eyes and suddenly broke into a big grin. He says: