Crack the Code, ch. 11: House or Home (Patreon)

“Still the best damn decision we ever made,” Carl chuckled, pulling a beer from the cooler and tossing it to Mitch.  He cracked his own and took a long pull as if he’d worked up a thirst, but “working” was the last thing on either of their minds.

“Told ya I can see ‘em coming,” Mitch grunted before taking a long drag from his own can.  He slapped his beer belly and let out a loud belch, a smug grin on his rugged face as he looked around the half-finished room.  The space would eventually be a master bedroom, but unfortunately he and Carl “just kept running into problems.”  Renovations to the spacious, mid-century manor should have been done months ago, and they very easily could have been if the largest of those “problems” wasn’t the duo’s desire to milk Daniel for every penny they could.  “Rich fuck doesn’t know his asshole from his elbow.  I think we can get another three months outta this, easy.”

Carl nodded, his blunted, bulldog features beaming.  “Thought for sure he’d catch on by now, but…” he shrugged his broad shoulders, the motion causing his beefy pecs to bounce beneath his tattered t-shirt.  Tufts of dark hair sprouted up through the neck and out through the sleeves that strained around his meaty arms, hinting at the wiry pelt coating the rest of the stocky man’s short, thick frame.  He was built like a wrecking ball, sturdy and round, and though he’d only just entered his thirties he very easily could have passed for a decade older.  Salty strands were starting to pepper his short, dark hair, and he’d long ago stopped trying to contain his ample carpet.  “If he’s too stupid to know better, that’s not our problem.  Not like he can’t afford it.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’.”  Mitch raised his mostly-empty beer in a toast before draining the rest and crushing the can in a weathered mitt.  The bronze-haired man stood several inches taller than his squat partner but was no more refined, with a broad, unsculpted frame and an equally crude face.  It was clear he’d been in shape once, though those days were now buried beneath the prominent belly pushing out the front of his loose t-shirt, while a decade of hard drinking and hard partying after high school had sandblasted his once-cute, boyish features.  Only the physical nature of their work allowed him to maintain what muscle remained, though its shabby appearance reflected their lackluster efforts.  “What do you think…slap a coat of primer up in here and call it a day?”

“Works for me,” Carl grinned, folding his log-like arms across his chest.  “You got the Ultra Premium stuff, right?”

“Oh, of course,” Mitch said, his tone going mock-serious.  “Only the best for our customers.  It does cost a little bit more, but you know what they say, you get what you pay for.”

Carl grabbed a few buckets of primer from the hallway, the cheapest kind they’d been able to find, and hauled them into the room, his beefy torso flexing with the motion.  Since he was the taller of the two Mitch went around taping off areas by the ceiling, and anyone who looked in on them at that moment would have seen an efficient pair of contractors busily working away.  It wasn’t that they didn’t know how to do their job, they were both actually quite good at it, but that they’d decided it was easier to rip people off rather than try to build a business around a quality reputation.  “Fuuuuuuck this guy,” Carl laughed as he loaded a roller with the cheap paint.

“I’d fuckin’ love to, bro,” Mitch said with a sigh.  “Better yet…gimme that rich dick, daddy.”  The taller man froze when he heard the unintended words that had just left his mouth, his thick frame going crimson.

“I know, right?  Dude’s all tight and lean and shit…bet he’s hung like a fuckin’ horse.  I’m ready for a ride, bud!”  Carl’s round jaw fell open, his eyes going wide.  He had his back towards Mitch, but although his friend couldn’t see his embarrassment, there was no doubt he’d heard the mortifying words.  He’d intended to question the other man’s odd statement, not produce one of his own, but as soon as he’d started speaking he couldn’t stop.

“What…what did you just say,” Mitch stammered after a prolonged moment of stunned silence.

Carl finally turned, his flat, full face still flushed.  “I don’t know…what did YOU just say?”

Mitch’s heart raced as he opened and closed his mouth without speaking.  He wanted to deny his own statement, or at the very least question Carl’s, but he couldn’t bring himself to.  “I…nothing…I mean…nothing that’s a big deal,” he shrugged, blinking.  “Let’s…let’s just get to work.”

The pair stayed silent as they fell into a routine of pouring, rolling, and applying the watery primer.  Both of their heads spun as they tried to process what they knew they’d heard, what they knew should have been entirely out of character, but which they couldn’t bring themselves to see as such.  Unable to compare notes, neither of them could mention to the other how close they could get to pointing it out, only to have the words and the anxious emotions fade at the last second.

More alarming, though, was the lingering truth behind the bizarre statements.  Even if he’d been able, Mitch never would have told Carl about the way his stomach fluttered and his cock throbbed when he thought about their wealthy client.  And the same went for the burly bulldog, who suddenly couldn’t shake the image of Daniel’s handsome, charming face from his mind.  Like flipping a switch, the absent man had gone from an object of derision to one of desire, no longer a rich punk but a gorgeous, chocolate-haired hunk.  Daniel was only a few years older than either of them, with an athletic, gym-built frame, two aspects which had previously fueled their ire, and which now fueled something else altogether.

Mitch tried to blame anything he could for the strange thoughts.  He told himself he just didn’t get enough sleep, that he hadn’t eaten enough before chugging the beer, and maybe the beer was stronger than he realized.  Carl had tossed it to him, and it wouldn’t be the first time his friend had tried to prank him into getting more drunk than intended, but all of the rationalizations fled when he turned to question the other man.  His stocky partner was bent over a paint tray, his shirt having ridden up in the process to expose what looked like a cherry whale tail instead of the elastic band of his usual boxers.  “Uh…what the fuck are you wearing, man?”

Carl righted himself at the sound of Mitch’s shocked laugh.  He looked down at his dirty t-shirt and equally stained jeans as his friend approached, confused by the question.  “What are you talking about?”

“What’s going on back here?”  Mitch reached down and slipped a hand into the back of the shorter man’s jeans, giving one of the plump globes a squeeze before tugging the string of the thong deeper between them.

“SHIT!  What the fuck?!”  Carl yelped and went up on his toes at the foreign sensation.  “What did you just do?!”

“Me?  You’re the one in the panties,” Mitch laughed, relishing the other man’s embarrassment.  “Have some fun last night that you forgot to tell me about?”

Carl was too stunned to respond.  He tried in vain to look over his shoulder and confirm what his stubby fingers felt, his frantic frustration eventually overpowering any impending humiliation.  He tore open the fly of his jeans and shoved them down, his eyes going wide when he saw a skimpy, bright red thong where his plaid boxers should have been.  His short, stout cock and heavy balls were clearly outlined against the thin fabric, his whole body going a matching shade as he gawked at the unfamiliar underwear.  “FUCK!  WHERE THE FUCK DID THESE COME FROM?!”

Mitch rolled his eyes.  “Very funny,” he groaned, surprised to find his gaze returning to the stuffed pouch.  He’d never actually seen his friend naked before, and he’d never actually realized just how much he’d wanted to.

“Mitch…I’m serious…this isn’t a fuckin’ joke, man.  I don’t know where these came from!  I swear to god I had boxers on when I left the house this morning,” Carl insisted, a strange tingle running through him when he thought about the fact that he was standing so exposed in front of his friend.

“Suuuuuuuure you did,” Mitch said, shaking his head.  “And they just magically…dis…appeared…” The taller man trailed off, a fresh wave of confusion washing over him when he began to notice further discrepancies in his friend’s appearance.  Though he’d never seen him naked, Mitch had caught enough glimpses of Carl’s plump rear when his pants had sagged over the years to know they should have been just as furry as the rest of him.  But now, as his eyes confusingly lingered on the other man’s lower half, he noticed a distinct lack of hair on the ample cheeks.  Even the fur on his friend’s thighs had thinned, but more jarring was the lack of any tan lines on what should have been pasty skin.  “Did you…when did you start shaving and tanning,” Mitch asked, his tone incredulous as he registered the absent tufts at the other man’s neck and sleeves.

“What?  Never.  I haven’t…haven’t…” Carl gave a choked gasp when he looked down and saw what his friend was referring to.  Without saying another word he tore out of his t-shirt, Mitch’s surprised yelp beating his own.  Though his beefy torso was as thick and brawny as ever, the hair that covered it had lessened significantly.  Instead of laying thick and wild, the dusky pelt had clearly undergone precision manscaping, now coating only the front of Carl’s meaty upper body in a controlled dusting.  His plump pecs were still carpeted in a thin layer, but it stopped at his shoulders and didn’t reappear until his forearms, and his ample midsection bore only a marked strip down the middle.  The furry trail vanished into the stuffed thong, spreading as a trimmed bush but remaining apart from the silky strands that sprouted anew halfway to his knees.  Carl could only gawk in silence, his head spinning as he too noted the full-body tan somehow covering skin that rarely saw the sun.  He wanted to scream, to insist that it was all wrong, but even as he had the thought, a wave of horrifying mundanity slammed into him.  Of course he kept himself manscaped.  Of course he was wearing a thong.  Of course he was tanned.  As he stood nearly naked in front of Mitch, shivering at the sensation of his smooth, meaty upper thighs rubbing together, he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge that anything was wrong at all.  “Do you like it,” he asked with a smirk, folding his arms behind his head and popping his hips to wag the girthy bulge back and forth.

“Duh, dude,” was all Mitch said as he reached down to give the heavy package a squeeze.  He felt the stout organ surge and twitch against his hand but didn’t let go, hit with a sudden desire to see the other man in all his glory.  His friend didn’t pull away either, letting him grope and knead until his fat cock had reached its full, firm six inches.  Mitch’s mouth watered at the sight of the tented thong, so overcome that he didn’t notice Carl reaching for his own pants until they were already undone.  Looking down into the open waist, the patch of bright cobalt where his gray boxers should have been was surprising, though the shock had already been mitigated by the sudden sensation of his bare backside against denim.  Unlike Carl, his lackluster cheeks weren’t parted by a string but supported by the matching elastic bands of a jockstrap, the pouch of which began to twitch and bounce as his average cock surged to life.  He lifted his shirt to get a better view, exposing his beer belly as his pants were sent to the floor to join with his friend’s.  Like the stocky bruiser’s, his pasty skin had somehow been baked an uninterrupted bronze to match his hair, but he already couldn’t tell if that was right or wrong.

“A jock for a jock,” Carl grinned, toying with the waist of Mitch’s revealing underwear.  There was a look of surprise lingering in his wide eyes, though his cheerful tone was nothing but casual.  “Your ass always looks so good in these,” he said, giving the taller man’s rear a swat.

Mitch wanted to protest, to say that he never wore them and didn’t have much of an ass to begin with, but the former felt like a lie and the latter was rapidly changing.  As soon as Carl’s hand made contact, a shudder rippled through the taller man.  Mitch gasped as he felt an invisible vice clamp down over every inch of his body, the unseen tension making his every muscle ache.  And expand.  The stunned blonde couldn’t decide if he was elated or horrified as he watched his mediocre pecs swell into a sculpted shelf while his prominent belly receded below.  In a matter of moments it had flattened into a ripped, tapering washboard, his now-trim waist pinching inward before exploding out again at his inflated rear and muscled thighs.  Even his cock joined in on the growth, stretching from an average five-and-a-half inches to an imposing nine, the lengthy club spilling out of the pouch along with his equally hefty balls.  He realized at some point that he’d let go of his shirt but his abs were still exposed, discovering his new crop-top at the same time as his missing pants and boots.  He blinked and shook his head, marveling at the sculpted pistons hanging off his broadened shoulders as he prodded at his impossibly chiseled frame.  “Easier access, too,” he winked, giving voice to none of the phantom, fading questions evaporating from his increasingly addled mind.

“Well, yeah.  Gotta prioritize,” Carl laughed, seemingly oblivious to the changes unfolding across his own body.  Like Mitch, his thick frame began to tighten and refine, though unlike the taller man’s tapering “V”, he retained the majority of his now-shredded bulk.  His carefully shaven pecs became a granite slab above his cresting, lumpy muscle gut, while his striated, pile-driver arms hung at an angle from his cannonball shoulders.  Below, his own cheeks had ballooned into a matched set of muscled globes attached to legs like squat, concrete pillars, with a cock that hadn’t lengthened but which had thickened by at least a third, jutting out like a soda can above the churning oranges that were his balls.  As with Mitch his pants and boots had vanished, along with the shirt previously crumpled on the floor nearby.

Mitch swallowed hard and stepped away in an instinctual, desperate attempt at clinging to the life he knew.  “Were…were we just doing something,” he asked, feeling like he was falling as he looked around at the well-furnished, well-decorated room.  A part of him insisted that it had been raw and incomplete only moments before, but, at the same time, the sprawling bed and sleek, custom furniture felt impossibly familiar.  Mitch froze when he caught their reflection in a nearby mirror, the sight of his now-platinum hair and comically wide-jawed face hitting him like a punch in the gut.  Instead of weathered he was smooth and soft, with the doe-eyed look of an innocent jock instead of a shrewd con-man.  Even Carl’s blunted features had refined, taking on an almost exaggerated edge between his pointy nose, razor cheekbones, and chiseled chin.  Only his plump lips softened the angular, unblemished mask, leaving the shorter man with the cold face of a runway model.

“Search me, bud,” the brawny beauty shrugged, batting his icy blue eyes.  He seemed equally unphased by the altered surroundings, focused instead on Mitch’s aching club.  “I can think of something, though,” he purred, dropping to his knees.

Mitch groaned when Carl’s full lips wrapped around his inflated pole, the last shreds of awareness slipping through his fingers like the soft, dark hair on the kneeling man’s scalp.  He tried to tell himself they shouldn’t look like this, that they shouldn’t be acting like this.  He tried in vain to cling to the knowledge that they were working on the house, not living at it, and that they weren’t just a pair of Adonis house-boy airheads.  “Fuuuuuuuck, bro….you give the BEST head,” Mitch groaned, a hand slipping up beneath his crop top to toy with a plumped pec.  As he stood and pumped his hips he could see an equally finished hallway through the open door behind his friend, but it no longer struck him as odd.  He could clearly envision the rest of the house, with the sprawling, open first floor, the manicured patio and pool out back, and the bedroom down the hall that the two of them shared.  It was nowhere near the size of Daniel’s, but since they spent most nights in bed with their handsome sugar daddy it didn’t need to be.

“Helps that you’ve got the BEST dick,” Carl grinned, nuzzling the spit-slick pole.

“And where does that leave me?”

“Danny!”  The cheerful exclamation shot from Mitch’s mouth like a reflex, his stomach fluttering at the sight of the lean brunette emerging from the spacious bathroom.  Daniel’s toned, athletic frame was covered only by a thin towel around at his tight waist, his thick, wavy brown hair still damp from a recent shower.

“Big D!  Where you been, bro,” Carl asked, hopping to his feet.

“You two,” Daniel grinned, eyeing the gorgeous duo.  “You’re like a pair of goldfish…I just went to take a shower.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Carl stammered, his plucked brow furrowing.  The stern expression only lasted until Daniel sauntered over and put a hand on his protruding pecs, giving the fur a light stroke.

“Aww, baby, I wasn’t making fun,” he cooed, his other hand running a finger up and down the deep channel bisecting Mitch’s smooth abs.  “You know I don’t keep you around for your brains.”

“Obviously,” the tall blonde said, unaware that he was making fun of himself at the same time.  “That mouth is where it’s at.”

“I don’t know…from where I’m standing the whole package seems pretty stellar,” Daniel said, taking a step back before motioning to the well-appointed room.  “It all does.  Now THIS is what quality work looks like.  That Code Breaker doesn’t come cheap, but he doesn’t cut corners, either.  I can’t believe a few seconds with a keyboard was all it took to make this happen.  It’s incredible…I was just in his office and then, and then all of a sudden I’m in the shower in there?  And it’s exactly like I pictured the room ending up?  Amazing.  It’s going to take a minute for the bank account to recover, but…” he trailed off with a satisfied grin as he eyed the confused pair.   “Still, probably cheaper in the long run than what you guys would’ve cost me, especially with your choice of materials.  But, in hindsight, hiring you was the best damn decision I ever made.  It led me to the Code Breaker, which opened things up for so many lovely possibilities.  Like this one,” he said, giving each man a tug before gesturing around the room.  “Since you two seemed so intent on sticking around here for as long as possible, I thought it only appropriate that you get to enjoy the finished product.  It’s exciting, right?  Instead of just building a house, now we get to make a fun little home of our own.”

Mitch didn’t understand what Daniel meant, and he didn’t really care.  He was much more interested in reaching out and plucking the towel free so he could get a look at the other man’s naked frame.  It wasn’t as impressive as his own bodybuilding swimmer’s physique or Carl’s honed, power-lifter looks, but as far as they were concerned it had them both beat.  “I mean, like, where else would we be, dude?”

“Yeah, bro, we love it here!  You’re the best bud we could hope for,” Carl said, nodding like an emphatic bobblehead.

“That’s what I love to hear,” Daniel sighed, letting the two wrap their arms around him.  “I think we can all agree that some sweet, dumb jocks are much better than a pair of dumpy assholes ripping people off, right?”

The altered men gasped in unison, a final, fleeting flash of awareness tearing through them.  For an instant, they saw it all in horrifying clarity, the way they’d been contrasted against what they’d become.  Instead of burly laborers, they’d been warped into a pair of giddy go-go boys, strutting around in as little as possible whenever possible.  They spent their days lifting, lounging, and fucking, with only meager cleaning and yardwork tasks thrown in to break things up.  Nothing too technical, they didn’t have the attention spans for that anymore, but enough to earn their keep when they weren’t using their bodies for that purpose in a more primal fashion.

“I think I interrupted you two, didn’t I,” Daniel said when the pair’s stunned expressions softened again.

“You sure did,” Carl barked, giving Mitch a rough shove towards the bed.  The shredded blonde let out a dull laugh and hurried over, pulling Daniel along as they all climbed on.

As with everything else, the two studs felt an impossible familiarity while Carl lubed his fat pole and Mitch propped himself up on all fours, eagerly slurping Daniel’s hardening seven inches into his mouth.  And when the hairy hunk slowly worked himself inside, there was no pain, only a muscle-melting ecstasy that drove the blonde wild.  Having both ends stuffed at once was a joy like no other, easily drowning out the confusing shreds of anxiety that stubbornly clung to the edges of his mind.  Mitch wasn’t used to feeling anything but content and horny, nor was he in any hurry to add other emotions to that list.  All he wanted to do was get Daniel off and have Carl blow inside him, and then when they were done he’d take a crack at his friend’s pillowy rear.  Or, if he was lucky, Daniel would take a ride on his lap.

Mitch shivered as Daniel began oozing against his tongue in earnest, loving the taste.  His and Carl’s affection for the smaller man was unconditional, with both of them knowing how much they depended on him to take care of them.  It was Daniel’s generosity that kept them housed, fed and, barely, clothed, so they were happy to do whatever the handsome hunk wanted, whenever he wanted it.  Nothing was too embarrassing or debasing as long as it made Daniel happy.

The thought gave the stuffed blonde an idea.  If they did a good enough job, maybe the smaller man would take them out dancing later.  He loved to show them off just as much as they loved being shown off, and though Mitch didn’t fully understand why, the day felt important, like a big project or something major had just been completed.  Either way, celebrations were clearly in order.