The Watcher
I work as a carpenter for an outfit that does emergency repairs for homeowner's insurance claims; fire, water damage from broken pipes, that sort of thing. I had a small job repairing an attic and an inside wall from a tree limb that had fallen through a family's roof, a pretty easy three day job for me and another day for the roofer and painters. I could do my part of the job myself, which was fine by me as I got more money if I didn't need a helper.
The house I was working on was located in an older section of town, meaning that the houses were owned by those of moderate means; run down, but not dilapidated. The family that lived there had working parents; the dad was a mechanic and the mom a secretary, and there were two teenage boys. The parents went off to work early and the boys were out of the house until school let out, leaving me alone until the afternoon. My first day the boys took an interest in what I was doing, but then drifted off to go outside and ride bikes and do the other stuff kids do after school. There is another thing that teenage boys do after school, or any other time to be frank, and I had the opportunity to witness not one, but both of these young men do that very thing.
The first day and a half I repaired two attic joists, a small section of roof and the ceiling above an upstairs room; after that I concentrated on the interior wall. Now, I mention all of this because it set up what was to follow during the last two days of the job. In stripping down the damaged wall there was revealed some of the older, less than professional aspects of the house's construction. From my vantage point in the upper room where I was working I was able to see through a very narrow gap into the first floor bathroom. When I looked down I was able to see the sink and next to that the toilet, across from these I could see part of the tub. Mostly what I saw was cheap, worn linoleum floor tile lit by a curtained window.
As I said, I had started to work repairing the wall in the upper room, doing mostly measuring before cutting, when I heard the front door open around 2:30 PM. It was one of the boys coming in after school and I didn't give it much thought, that is until I heard the door to the first floor bathroom open and Dennis walked in.
Dennis was the younger of the two brothers. He was twelve years old. Dennis had a round, boyish face, his cheeks and nose covered in freckles, his green-blue eyes encompassed by long brown lashes; in other words a cute looking kid. He also had short brown locks and two goofy ears sticking out from under a ball cap that never left his head in the four days I was on this job.
I was going to turn away and give the boy his privacy as I saw him bend to pull his jeans down, but he quickly flopped onto the open seat of the toilet and threw his feet, still in their dirty, scuffed basketball shoes, up onto the white edge of the tub and leaned back. When he did, I could see the boy's dusky brown testicles pressed between the exposed white skin of his inner thighs. Dennis quickly lifted his sweatshirt and that's when I saw the reason for his being in the bathroom – a plainly visible erection that the boy grabbed in between his thumb and first two fingers of his right hand and gave a dozen rapid strokes to with his fingertips; it too was the same dusky brown as his scrotum. At first, from my angle, it didn't appear to be more than a couple of inches long, but after a few moments, Dennis let go of his uncut member and shuffled himself into a more comfortable, stretched out position and I could see that his erection was about four inches long. The youngster settled back and took hold of his boyhood and began rapidly stroking once more.
It wasn't fifteen seconds before Dennis' head lolled backwards and he let out a boyish moan. I stepped back from my observation for a moment, worried that the twelve-year-old might catch a glimpse of me looking down. I realized, however, that the opening from which I observed was so small and would be so much darker than the bright light of the bathroom that there was no possible way for the boy to catch sight of me in the upper room.
Dennis' right-hand kept up the accelerated pace with which he masturbated his penis. The boy reached down with his free hand and pulled on his what appeared to be, from my distant vantage point, a near hairless sack. Again his head rolled back, mouth half open in ecstasy.
"Ahh ... Ahh ...," the boy gasped aloud between deep, clearly audible breaths.
I watched as Dennis twitched from the jolts of sensation that were running through his young body. I could see, even though less than a minute it passed, the boy's testicles pull-up into firing position.
"Nnhh ... Nnghh ..."
I felt the immediacy of the boy's desperate sounds in my own drooping member. Dennis grasped his sweatshirt in his freehand. I thought he was going to pull it up in order to avoid it being splashed with his spurting ejaculate. I was wrong; he merely clasped the cotton fabric to his immature torso in his erotic reverie. The muscles of the boy's neck tensed as he applied a more frenetic pace to his stroking.
"Ohhh!"
The boy's face, which had been turned upward in the transport of exalted bliss, tilted downward, covered by the bill of his baseball cap, to gaze upon his turgid erection. His fingers slowed, giving deliberate, firm jerks to his stiff penis. The twelve-year-old's sneaker clad feet, atop the edge of the bathtub, wiggled side to side in time to the deliberate strokes. The boy ground his bottom vigorously atop the hard rim of the toilet seat.
The boy had come.
I couldn't see any liquid evidence whatsoever of Dennis' orgasm, but he quickly switched his erection to the hand that had clasped his sweatshirt and reached over for some toilet paper with the other. As he clumsily attempted to tear off a few sheets, the boy tried to avoid having the pointy end of his hooded penis touch the bottom of his sweatshirt. There must've been some wetness around the tip of his puckered prepuce, though I couldn't see it. As soon as Dennis had torn off a short length of paper he immediately placed it on the end of his erection and, with both hands, pulled upward a couple of times; with some delicacy of course, in his post-orgasmic sensitivity. After quickly checking the paper for evidence, the boy dabbed at the tip a few more times before scooting slightly sideways and sliding the wad of toilet tissue underneath his left buttock and into the toilet below. After wiping his index finger on the fabric of his jeans, the twelve-year-old lowered his feet from their perch and, with some difficulty as his pants were still down to his knees, stood up.
The boy pulled up and fastened his Levis, straightened his sweatshirt, hit the handle to flush away the only confirmation of his fleeting lust sitting at the bottom of the bowl, and checked himself in the mirror before exiting the bathroom.
Dennis had taken care of his after-school beat off so quickly, it was probably no more than three or four minutes total from start to finish, that my pole didn't even have time to reach full staff. I could feel my fattened member oozing into my underwear and for the next hour or so I enjoyed my cockhead sliding stickily in my foreskin while I thought over every detail of the twelve-year-old's sensual display.
Now, truth be told, the next day I delayed buttoning up the drywall near the narrow opening that looked down into the bathroom, hoping that the scene of the day before would be repeated. Well, it was and it wasn't. Again, around 2:30 PM, I heard the door open. I hung around for a few minutes hoping that Dennis would enter the bathroom for another quick after-school jerk. He didn't, however, and I merely heard him in the kitchen fixing an after-school snack. About fifteen minutes after Dennis had arrived I heard his brother Patrick come through the front door. That explained why Dennis was in such a hurry yesterday, he must have only a short time before his brother gets home from school. I heard the two boys talking for a bit and then I saw, out of an upstairs window, Dennis ride off on his bike. It wasn't two minutes later that I heard Patrick enter the downstairs bathroom.
Patrick was Dennis' older brother by a year. He was a good four to five inches taller than his younger brother and exhibited the skinniness of teenager who was experiencing his adolescent growth spurt. Patrick had darker features than his brother, his hair was wavy black and his eyes a deep brown, but his face was definitely less boyish, more fourteen than his actual age of thirteen.
When Patrick entered the bathroom he already had his belt unbuckled and it was merely a moment before his jeans were down to his knees. I could see that the fly of Patrick's boxers was already pushing forward quite a ways as his penis began to lengthen. Not wasting any time, Patrick yanked his underwear to mid thigh. I was surprised at what I saw – no, not the length of the boy's penis, but that he had no pubes whatsoever. Now, I was far away and there might have been a few hairs on the eighth grader's just barely hanging balls, but there was no evidence that I could see. Whereas his younger brother's plump four inch rod and tight scrotum had darkened to a light cocoa brown, Patrick's shaft was as white as it could be and was definitely not a shade darker than the pale white skin of his abdomen. This was not true of the youth's foreskin; its puffy, half-unrolled edge was mighty pink and it revealed a small cherry-shaped head with an even deeper blush. Patrick's testicles had just begun developing a lightly pinkish hue as well.
The young teen's rod was half hard as it sprung up from his shorts and he swung it back and forth a few times as he looked at himself in the mirror over the sink. The boy's shaft was long and thin, it wasn't even an inch thick, but you could tell that when he matured he would have an impressively long piece of equipment. Within seconds Patrick reached down and began vigorously jerking himself with his thumb and two fingers just like his brother; then, after less than ten seconds, he quickly switched to a full underhand grip.
I wondered if he was going to jerk off watching himself in the mirror, which I couldn't see from my vantage point, but no, he quickly dropped his cock and took a seat on the edge of the closed, hard lid of the toilet and, pulling his sweater up a bit, went back to work. This gave me a direct view of the boy's exposed crotch and I felt a stirring in my Levis as my cock slid downward.
Patrick continued with a quite vigorous underhanded action. Teenage boys usually are very impatient when they first begin masturbating; they go at it without restraint seeking that rush of sensation. After a while they begin to try to prolong the pleasure, especially when they have time for an extended jack off session. I would say given the barely mature appearance of Patrick's genitals, coupled with the headlong way in which he indulged himself, Patrick probably hadn't been engaging in the solitary pleasure for much longer than his twelve-year-old brother.
The dark-haired teen gave little moans of pleasure, intermittently exhaled "uhhs" and "ohhs" occurring as his hand stroked upward, pulling his foreskin over the end of his penis. After about a minute the boy released his grip. If he hadn't he probably would have achieved his orgasm more quickly than his brother had. Just because the older boy had loosed his erection from his grasp, this didn't stop him seeking a continuance of penile pleasure. The eighth grader used his long, thin fingers to rub his member up against the smooth skin of his lower abdomen. This action afforded me a clear view of his drooping, barely mature scrotum as it hung between his creamy white, hairless thighs. Patrick willed his ungrasped rod to spring up and down, a priapic celebration of maleness if there ever was one. Not being able to resist temptation a second longer, Patrick grabbed his erection and began to crank it in a circular motion, around and around. This led to more underhanded strokes. I could see Patrick's muscles tighten underneath the very small amount of boyish fat that still remained near the teen's belly button. While watching, I massaged myself a little on the outside of my Levis. I wasn't fully hard and I didn't want to be; I enjoyed slowly rubbing my half-fattened cock. I felt the tip leaking into the pouch of my underwear.
Patrick paused, holding his erection completely still in his right hand, no doubt trying to hold off his climax. Taking his left hand he reached down between his spread legs and ran the tips of his fingers under his hanging testicles. He uttered a breathy exhalation - "uhhh" - and then impulsively gave several quick strokes to his rod before stopping himself. Patrick then cupped his left hand underneath his hairless, pink sack and began rolling his nuts side to side. The boy grunted with pleasure. Using his left hand he forcefully pulled his testicles upward while spontaneously stroking with his right. Again he paused, trying to delay his orgasm.
By now, my cock had been leaking so much at the sight of this teenage boy going at it that the wetness had soaked through my jockeys and created a noticeable slimy spot inside the denim over my right leg. I had a large, fat bulge pressing the crotch of my jeans and I felt the blood rush in to fatten my balls. I had to stop rubbing my cock or else I was going to spring a full-blown rod.
The immature fourteen-year-old masturbating on the floor below gave a few light strokes with his fingertips before pulling hard at his erection. The teenager groaned at the intensity of his assault.
"Uhhh ... Uhhh!"
Patrick forced his long, thin boner down as far as it would go and then he released it, letting it spring up, fully arched in a curve of youthful flesh. The reddened head exposed, the eighth grader's member twitched – once, twice, three times. Had the teen had a dry orgasm? While I can't say for sure, I don't think that was the case because Patrick, after several tense moments, grasped his penis tightly and, in his preferred underhanded grip, tilted the stiffened shaft downward, and began abusing it in earnest.
After about fifteen or twenty seconds of vigorous stroking, Patrick pulled his cock upright and looked down at the pink tip in the rolls of his prepuce, no doubt checking for some evidence of pre-come. He then gave another five seconds of firm, underhanded attention to his boyhood, using much shorter and deliberate strokes and checked the end of his cock again. Patrick quickly reached down and pulled his boxers a bit farther down his thighs and spread his legs wider apart.
At this point the events I witnessed in the downstairs bathroom happened very, very quickly. Patrick gave several strokes to his tightly held erection and stopped. I think I may have seen one tiny spurt of clear fluid, but I couldn't be sure. Patrick began frantically jerking and within two strokes a single gush of nearly clear fluid shot several inches into the air and landed on the boy's thigh. The boy gave a quiet gasp. He continued to slide his hand up and down, panting loud enough for me to hear, but I didn't see anything more erupt from the end of the boy's penis. Then, with desperate speed, he reached for the roll of toilet paper. Ripping off a short length, within seconds he wiped up whatever was on his right hand. His purple-headed erection, its foreskin fully retracted, bobbed between his thighs and Patrick quickly turned his attention to wiping the tip of his penis. There must've been a few drops that fell on the boy's scrotum as he gave a quick wipe or two before reaching over to wipe off what had landed on his left thigh. The eighth-grader then sat up and, lifting the seat of the toilet slightly, slipped the wadded toilet tissue underneath. Patrick quickly pulled his underwear up over his still fully lengthened boner and, turning about, flushed the toilet. After pulling his jeans up and belting them, he checked himself in the mirror and then let himself out of the bathroom.
This entire spectacle from start to finish took no more than five minutes. Such is the nature of youth. I gave my own penis a tug or two, enjoying the slipperiness of my juicy cockhead in my shorts. I was tempted to go to the downstairs bathroom and do the deed myself, but the time I had for the job was running short. It only took me a couple hours more to the finish the drywall in the upper room (covering the opening that allowed me to observe the two boys) so the painters could finish the repair job the next day. I never saw Dennis or Patrick again, but I'll never forget seeing them rushing to indulge themselves in boyish after-school pleasure.
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