The boys stop lifting entirely while Sam and Tom take the opportunity for some light fondling

Of course you forgot about Tom being behind you and you never notice that Sam is straddling your shoulders, very lightly sitting on you while he rubs each of his biceps as you carry the load yourself.

Worse, Bill places a rag under each of the legs on his end, resulting in you being the only one doing the work. With your arms already completely exhausted the rest of you is quickly catching up.

Then Tom decided to encourage you. First it was a slap to the ass, which you accepted with gritted teeth and stoic acceptance. He'd been doing the same thing all night so it wasn't entirely unexpected. But then he followed it up by slipping fingers into your sex, sliding easily into the sweaty, juicy hole.

"H-hey! Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Doing.... uh..." you rethink your words, unsure whether you want to draw the attention of the others to what he was doing.

Before you can decide what to say the dresser slams to the ground, courtesy of Sam leaning his weight on it. "Oops, sorry," he apologies. "Lost my grip."

"It's - uf - okay," you gasp, breathing strangely quickly. "Let's just... urgh," you grunt, straining upward, fighting the seemingly heavy weight of the dresser. You never notice that Sam is literally sitting on you - albeit lightly. Nor do you see that he's pressing down on the dresser with one arm.

You do notice when that arm reaches down and tweaks a nipple.

"Tom! St-stop that...."

"Stop wha..." Tom looks up, spots Sam's fingers on your nipple, and changes direction. "Just brushing your hair aside."

"That's not my hair," you gasp, then feel a hand on your other nipple. the sensations assaulting both breasts and pussy make you groan. "Th-that's not hair either," you berate, not realizing that three hands are involved.

"My mistake, sorry," he says, but you notice that it still continues. Given the effectiveness of past rebukes you decide to tough it out, a decision that might be slightly influenced by how good you're feeling. Well, your back's killing you, twinging like crazy, and your legs are feeling like they're going to fall off, and your feet and calves are feeling white-hot with pain.

With your whole body quaking, and your legs trembling - from exhaustion, you tell yourself - your breath comes from you in ragged moans as you finally turn into your doorway.

Though you don't see it Philip looks up, some remark on his lips, only for it to die into a bewildered expression. The boys wink at him, making wild motions of instruction. Maybe he understands their strange gestures for he spends five minutes having you move the dresser from one location to another under you're about ready to scream - from exhaustion, orgasm or both.

"Perfect!" he exclaims finally.

"Oh God," you exclaim thankfully, and perhaps from the stimulation. You try to stand, but with Sam still standing over you all you get is a larger twinge in your back as you try to lift his entire weight.

"One more trip," Philip says with a wink of his own at the boys. You groan, though it sounds lusty to everyone's ears. "Down to the van to make sure nothing is left. And to thank the boys."

Said 'boys' brighten up, and Sam pops open the fridge for some celebratory beers, pulling out four bottles of the strong foreign swill that Jacob asks you to buy for him.

At last the fingers leave your genitals and a wave of something like disappointment washes over you, even as you slowly straighten your twinging back until your hands are balled in the base of your back, arching as far back as you can get, giving quite a show for the staring boys.

"No time to dawdle, sweet-cheeks," Tom says, giving you an extra-hard slap on the ass. You groan, not even protesting the familiar action, feeling both incredibly aroused (even while denying it to yourself) and incredibly relieved to be standing straight again.

"Have a celebratory drink," Sam tells you, holding one of the open bottle to your lips. Sighing thankfully, and parched from two hours of non-stop work you drink gratefully, realizing only as the horrid taste fills your mouth that you're drinking the expensive beer. You nearly spit it out, but the thought of wasting it horrifies you more than the terrible taste and you swallow as quickly as he pours it.

With your head tilted back they steer you out the door, Bill on one side 'supporting you' while absently fiddling with a nipple, and Tom regularly spanking your ass as he urges you on, seemingly unaware that for you to move faster both Sam and Bill would have to move faster as well. His hard swats turn into a warm blaze on your cheeks, something that the beer - and your arousal - distracts you from.