Chapter 15: Wednesday – Michael Watches

Michael woke up before dawn on Wednesday, his mind still reeling from the night before.

He had fucked his own son for hours---pumping load after load into Jack’s already ruined hole while the boy moaned sweetly beneath him. The guilt was crushing. But so was the lust.

When Jack finally fell asleep, covered in his father’s cum, Michael lay awake staring at the ceiling. He thought about his older son, Ryan---23 years old, serving in the Marines, everything Michael had ever wanted in a boy: disciplined, honorable, upstanding. And then there was Jack ... his sweet-faced, cock-hungry youngest who had turned their home into a cum-soaked brothel.

Michael made a decision.

At breakfast he told Jack calmly, “I have to go into the office for a few hours today. Some paperwork I can’t avoid.”

Jack, still visibly sore and moving carefully, nodded softly. “Okay, Dad. I’ll be here.”

Michael left the house ... only to circle back ten minutes later through the side gate. He slipped upstairs to the guest bedroom, left the door slightly ajar, and positioned himself in the large walk-in closet with a clear view of the living room and hallway. His phone was set to record. His cock was already hard.

He waited.

By 9:30 AM the trucks started arriving. Dozens of them.

Word had spread far beyond the original crew. Men from multiple construction companies, friends of friends, even a few who had simply heard rumors about the “blond twink cumdump at the Thompson house” showed up. Fifty-eight men in total---rough, sweaty, working-class white men ranging from their early 20s to late 50s. Some fathers had brought their sons. The yard and street looked like a job site.