Alex gets a job

Alex wiped the sweat from his brow as he pushed the cart loaded with canned goods down aisle 7.

landing a part-time gig as a stocker at the local supermarket felt like a win—easy money to pad his empty wallet after that mugging last week. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the shelves. His manager, a burly guy named Rick in his 30s with a perpetual five-o'clock shadow, had shown him the ropes that morning: lift boxes, stack neatly, don't block the aisles.

By midday, the store buzzed with shoppers—carts rattling, registers beeping. Alex knelt to refill the soup section, tins clinking as he slotted them in. A shadow fell over him, and he glanced up to see an older customer, maybe 50, in khakis and a polo, basket in hand. The man set it down, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his cock—semi-hard, veined, with a slight curve.

Without a word, the man stepped closer, guiding Alex's head forward by the hair. Alex opened his mouth, letting the cock slide past his lips. It hardened fully on his tongue, the head bumping the roof as the man thrust shallowly. Alex sucked steadily, cheeks hollowing, while his hands continued stacking cans one-handed. The man's hips rocked in a lazy rhythm, cock gliding in and out, saliva coating the shaft.

A few pumps in, the man grunted softly, holding Alex's head still as cum shot out—warm pulses hitting his throat. Alex swallowed it down, the bitter taste mixing with the faint metallic tang from the shelves. The man tucked himself away, grabbed his basket, and wandered off toward produce. Alex wiped his mouth on his sleeve and finished the row, the interruption barely registering amid the store's hum.

Back in the stockroom an hour later, unloading a pallet of cereal boxes, Alex felt hands on his waist. It was Javier, a fellow stocker, lean and tattooed, mid-20s. Javier pressed against him from behind, yanking down Alex's work pants just enough. His cock, already stiff, nudged Alex's ass crack before pushing in dry—the friction burning as it stretched his rim.

Javier gripped the pallet for leverage, thrusting steadily, his balls tapping Alex's skin with each slide. Alex kept unboxing, stacking bars on a cart, the motion syncing oddly with the penetration. Javier's pace stayed even, cock dragging along his walls, until he buried deep and unloaded—cum filling Alex's ass in quiet spurts. He pulled out, zipped up, and slapped Alex's shoulder. "Keep it moving, newbie," Javier said, grabbing another box.

Alex nodded, feeling the leak trickle down his thigh as he wheeled the cart out. The rest of the afternoon blurred: restocking chips in aisle 4, a quick bend-over from a dad grabbing diapers—his thick cock pounding short and fast before cumming inside—then wiping shelves in the bakery section, where the baker himself bent Alex over a counter, sliding in smooth from the flour-dusted air, rutting until release.

As closing neared, Alex spotted movement in aisle 12—snacks. A wiry teen, hood up, was stuffing electronics into his jacket. Alex set down his mop and approached casually. "Hey, put those back," he said, voice firm but even.

The shoplifter bolted, but Alex lunged, tackling him to the linoleum. They scuffled briefly—arms flailing, bars scattering—until Alex pinned him, wrenching the stolen goods free. The teen cursed, twisting away, but Rick appeared, hauling him up by the collar.

"Good catch, kid," Rick said, cuffing the shoplifter's hands with zip ties from the office. He radioed security, then turned to Alex. "But you know the rules. Interfering means you take the heat. Break room, now."

Alex followed, pulse steady despite the implication. The break room was empty, a folding table in the center under harsh lights. Rick locked the door, then called over two others: Javier from earlier, and Carl, the night shift lead—a stocky 40-something with a buzz cut.

"Strip and up on the table," Rick ordered, casual as assigning a task. Alex peeled off his uniform shirt and pants, climbing onto the cool metal surface on his back. Rick climbed under him first, positioning so Alex straddled his hips. Rick's cock, fat and rigid, prodded his ass before sinking in—the girth splitting him wide as Alex lowered down.

Javier moved to Alex's head, swinging a leg over to straddle his face. He fed his cock straight into Alex's mouth, pushing until the head lodged in his throat. Alex gagged once, then relaxed, sucking as Javier rocked forward, balls resting on his chin. Carl stood at the table's end, waiting.

Rick thrust up from below, hands on Alex's hips guiding the bounce—cock plunging deep with each lift. Javier matched the rhythm, fucking Alex's face in tandem, saliva dripping down his neck. Then Carl stepped up behind, spitting on his tip—long and straight—before pressing against Alex's already filled hole.

The pressure built as Carl shoved, his cockhead forcing past the rim alongside Rick's. Alex's ass clenched, the double stretch tearing a muffled groan around Javier's shaft. Inch by inch, Carl buried in, the two cocks rubbing together inside, veins pulsing against each other. Rick and Carl found a sync: one pulling back as the other drove forward, their combined girth making Alex's hole gape around them.

Sweat slicked their bodies, the table creaking under the weight. Javier gripped Alex's hair, thrusting deeper, his cock bulging Alex's throat visibly. The triple **** dragged on—Rick's upward slams hitting prostate, Carl's angled pushes grinding from behind, Javier's relentless face-fuck **** off breaths. Cum from earlier shifts lubed the way, squelching with every slide.

Minutes stretched; Rick came first, grunting as he flooded Alex's ass from below, hot jets coating his walls. Carl followed seconds later, adding his load, the overflow seeping out around their joined cocks. Javier held deep, pulsing cum straight down Alex's gullet—thick ropes he swallowed without pause.

They disengaged slowly: Javier first, wiping his softening dick on Alex's lips; Carl pulling out with a wet pop, cum dribbling; Rick sliding Alex off last, his spent cock flopping free. "Lesson learned?" Rick asked, tossing Alex a rag. Alex nodded, wiping himself clean, the ache settling in as he dressed.

The shoplifter was gone by then—hauled off—and Alex clocked out, legs shaky but functional. The walk home was short, streetlights flickering on as dusk faded. He let himself in, the house quiet—his dad out for the evening. Straight to the bathroom, Alex stripped and stepped under the hot spray, soaping his body thoroughly. The water stung his sore ass, but he scrubbed anyway, rinsing away the day's stickiness—cum, sweat, grime.

Dried and in boxers, he collapsed into bed, the mattress dipping under him. Exhaustion hit fast; eyes closed, breaths evening out into sleep.

Hours later, in the dead of night, the front door clicked open softly. Footsteps padded down the hall—two men, shadows in the moonlight filtering through blinds. They entered Alex's room, shedding clothes silently. One climbed onto the bed first, a heavy-set guy rolling Alex onto his stomach without stirring him. Alex mumbled in sleep, face buried in the pillow, but didn't wake.

The man spread Alex's legs, cock hard and ready, slicked with spit. He pushed in slow—the rim yielding from the day's use—sinking balls-deep into the lax heat. Alex shifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping, but slumber held. The intruder thrust steadily, hips rolling in quiet pumps, bedframe barely creaking.

The second man knelt by the headboard, lifting Alex's head gently. His cock slipped past lax lips, into the warm mouth, inching toward the throat. Alex's tongue moved instinctively, sucking lightly as the man rocked, fucking the **** face with care—pulling back before gagging could rouse him.

They worked in tandem: the one in his ass grinding deep, hand stroking Alex's flaccid cock to half-hardness; the other sliding in and out of his mouth, pre-cum leaking down his chin. The rhythm built gradually—thrusts syncing, bodies pressing close. Alex's body responded on autopilot: ass clenching around the invading shaft, throat relaxing around the other.

The ass-fucker came first, burying deep and unloading—cum pumping into Alex's guts, warm and filling. He stayed seated a moment, grinding to empty out, then withdrew, a trail leaking onto the sheets. The mouth-fucker picked up pace slightly, holding Alex's jaw as he neared. Spurts hit the tongue, sliding down swallowed in sleep, until he softened and pulled free.

They dressed quietly, slipping out as they came, leaving Alex sprawled—cum drying on his skin, inside him, undisturbed in his dreams.

Morning light crept in, and Alex stirred, groggy, feeling the familiar fullness but attributing it to the long shift. He stretched, wincing at the pull, and headed for another shower, the routine starting anew.