The following story is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately depict, nor reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. This is fiction. Do not forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matter'; got condom?
"Muscle Jocks For Domination" 04 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"So, Steve, can you give me a clue to why your briefs had a wet spot?"
Clue? Sure, Steve could give Mr. Verraros a clue, but he'd much rather give him the big picture. However, he stuck to the tidbit, the matter requested, for now.
Rather lost for words though, he replied, "I'm not sure, Mr. Verraros."
"Not sure, Steve. Oh come on. You can do better than that," Steve's team boss replied.
Going to the door, Max Verraros turned the key, the deadbolt slipped into place, sequestering the two away in the board room. Realizing he still kneeled on the carpeting, in front ot the chair Michael O'Hanlon sat in, Steve began to rise.
"No, don't bother getting up, Steve," the boss' hand gestured for the employee to stay put.
"No?"
Picking up one of the last of the muffins, from the mahogany table, Verraros took a seat, formerly occupied by O'Hanlon. Steve watched, as the muffin was placed on the table.
"Tell you what, Steve. Stop me if I'm wrong, but I bet I the reason why the front of your briefs, the part with the bulging cock, showed the shiny leak from your hard shaft is that you want to taste more than the muffin?"
Pretty much the description, without much detail needed, Steve sensed his team boss already had thing figured out, in general. He didn't say anything, as he watched the belt buckle being unlatched, the button of the expensive Parisi suit pants undone, a sound not too different from his own, when Verraros unzipped. Bracing his back against the swivel chair and pressuring his feet on the floor, the exec lifted his torso so that his pants would clear his butt. Steve's eyebrows showed off his surprise of what was unfolding before him.
"Now, Steve," Verraros questioned, holding the peeled back muffin above the `v' of his legs, "how about eating one last muffin?"
"Well, I am kind of full, sir. My stomach...."
Shocked, Steve watched, as the twenty-eight year old exec pulled open the elastic of his briefs, dropping the muffin in, then letting the elastic waistband snap closed, trapping the fat free blueberry muffin inside.
"Eat that last cupcake, Steve and then you can go about your business."
"But..."
With his hands still clutched together behind his back, Steve licked his lips. It wasn't the muffin he was hungry for though.
"Here, why don't I make it easier for you, Steve."
With both thumbs inside the elastic, Max Verraros pulled his briefs away from the hairy transition of trail and pubes. Steve eyes bugged out, as he peered inside, seeing the yellow muffin, with purple spots, nestled next to the rather long, swollen piece of meat. Crumbs integrated with the thick, brown-haired bush.
"Tell you what, Steve..."
"What," Steve gulped, "Mr. Verraros?"
"Give you a choice. Now I know you've had several muffins and by now your stomach must be feeling a little sick. Either you can eat the muffin, or.... Pick something else out to munch on?"
"Something else?"
"Yes, Steve. Now, what else between my legs looks appetizing to you?"
Steve's concave posture made it easy for him to peer over the edge of the held out briefs.
"Here, why don't I make it easier for you, Steve."
The young exec lifted the muffin out, setting it on the table.
"There, now that limits it to either my cock or balls. Which will it be, Steve? Hurry and pick now or I'll have to pick for you."
"Um, why don't you pick, Sir?"
"Very well."
Then Steve's attention was bowled over, as Max Verraros lifted the front of his briefs over the pocket of his 11c, anchoring the Hugo Boss low rise briefs under his well endowed sacs, which hung down from the nice sized shaft, pointing at Steve's lower extremities. Tightening at the base of Verraros' orbs, made his sacs seem larger than life. Leaving the freedom of choice to the team boss exec, he took his 11c in his hand, the flat of his hand now separating the sausage from the meatballs, holding it as if on a platter, ready to serve up.
"Still hungry Steve?"
Steve's body caved in a bit more, as he leaned forwards. With each comment Verraros makes, Steve gazes up into his handsome face, taking in those hot, Italian features.
"C'mon, I know you want it. Don't you Steve?"
With his lips slightly ajar, a drip of saliva falls from Steve's mouth. Eyes still affixed on the exec, his head lowers, mouth widening, tip of the tongue extended. Now, with eyes on the prize, Steve falls over all the way, going for the juicy sausage.
"Mmmmmmmm..." Steve moans.
With his mouth surrounding the `office god's' long, thick shaft, Steve closes his eyes, savoring the tasty meal. Max Verranos' hands go to the back of his own head, arching his back, thrusting his pelvis forwards as he enjoys Steve's talents.
"Oh yeah. Swirl that tongue around'n'round, Steve. Feels so nice."
A few moments into the hot blowjob, Steve, hands still clasped behind his back, feels his necktie being loosened. As Max bends over, his chest presses against Steve, enclosing the act of oral sex. For now, Steve is contented with getting what he wants, so he's not intimidated with Verranos' efforts to get what he intends. With the shirt now free of the tie, Steve is told to cease his actions.
"Let's get you out of that sloppy shirt, Steve."
With the tip of the giant on Steve's lips, he looks up at his boss.
"Okay," Steve replies, dropping the log, as he sits back on his heels.
"Now is that anyway to show respect to your `master', Steve?"
A zillion little tingles rush Steve's senses.
"Sorry sir."
"I'm not a man without compassion, so I'll let it slide this time, Steve."
"Okay... I mean yes, sir... I mean master," Steve replies, flustered.
"The shirt?"
"Oh sure," the twenty-five year old replies.
Quickly fingering the buttons, all the way down, pulling his shirt from his pants, removing it and tossing it on the mahogany board table, Steve then waits for further instruction. Sitting back in his chair, Verranos senses Steve glancing at his hairy pits. He stashes that info away for another time.
"The position, Steve?"
"Oh sure.. yes Sir."
Without hesitation, Steve moves his hands from his thighs to behind his back.
"Now, next time you strip off your shirt, Steve, I'll expect it done in the correct manner. You will first remove your shoes and socks, then pants, then shirt. Do you understand that directive, Steve?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why don't' we see if you can follow through on that point, Steve?"
"Sir?" Steve looks up, inquisitively.
"Take your shirt, put it back on, the tie, tuck it in, `properly'."
"Yes, Sir."
Whipping the white shirt from the table, Steve stuffs his arms back inside. Intent with buttoning it correctly, he makes the special effort to match up things. As per his humiliation experience, Steve opens his pants, tucks the shirt-tail in, all the way around, zips up, then places his tie around his neck. Tying it, he smooths it down his chest. It's then he realizes the thin part of the necktie is longer than the front, thick part.
"Ooops!"
Reaching down, taking the tie in one hand, the exec pulls up on the multi-colored fashion-piece.
"Now, it's things like this that will give you demerits, Steve."
"Demerits, sir?"
Letting go of the tie, Max replies, "Go in the back, left pocket of my pants, Steve."
"Your pants, Sir?"
Not saying anything, Max Verraros relaxes in the chair, arms on the railings. Steve takes the nonreply as `yes'. It turns him on to pick up the boss' pants, holding the fabric that enclosed his torso, in his hands.
"After you retrieve the little black book, Steve, you may fold my slacks nicely and place them on the table."
"Yes, sir."
Producing the item, Steve hands it to his superior. Next, at the best of his abilities, he folds up the fine fabric, placing it nicely on the table. As he turns, to return to the specific position, he sees Verranos writing in the little black book.
Holding it up so that Steve can view it's contents, he explains, "As you can see Steve, I've already noted, this isn't the first time you've forgotten to shave?"
"Um," feeling up the stubble, thinking back, Steve confirms, "right, sir."
In the little black demerit' book, Steve sees a page with his name on it, dated. Next to the line that says, sloppy ^Ö shave', is a number `10'.
"What does the ten mean?"
"Did I give you permission to speak, Steve?"
"No. Do I need it?"
With a frustrated look, Verraros, shaking his head, turns the book towards himself.
Naming the offense outloud, he writes, "Insubordination, 10 demerits."
"What does that mean?"
Taking the eraser, he mars out the 10' and writes in 20', answering, "Twenty demerits. Shall I raise it to thirty or are you going to start behaving, Steve?"
Steve didn't know whether this was a game of roleplay or `what', but the twitching in his pants told him he was enjoying it immensely. He kept his mouth shut, figuring that had been the cause of the up in demerits.
"That's better. Now, why don't you stand up and show me the proper means by which you strip off that shirt, Steve?"
He knew now not to open his mouth to say anything. So, complying with direction, Steve rose up off his knees. Immediately he began unknotting his tie.
"Whoaaa... slow down, Steve. Take it easy. Enjoy stripping off your clothes for me."
Or was it the other way around? Taking up his leisure pose, Verranos clasped his hands behind his head and started to take in the boardroom pleasure of watching Steve remove his clothing.
"No, the pants first?"
"Oh yeah," Steve said out loud, then followed with, "Oops," knowing he wasn't suppose to utter a word.
Shaking his head, Verranos picked up the little black demerits book and began using the eraser. Completing the uppage in demerits rather quickly, the exec turned his attention back to the office striptease.
"That's right. Nice and slow, Steve."
As if doing it mutually, both had strained briefs, Steve balanced on the edge of the table, lifting one foot to unlace the right dress shoe.
"C'mon now, Steve. A worked body like that and you can't balance yourself?"
"Um, can I say something?"
"You may."
Sensing a bit of pride, for going through the correct channel, in order to achieve speaking rights, Steve congratulated himself in the fact that his boss didn't reopen the little black book.
"Sometimes I do have a problem with balance."
"Have you had any core training on the ball?"
With tongue in cheek, Steve wondered if he meant the balls between his legs or.....
"Um, no sir," he picked the more logical answer.
"I'll add that to your workout regiment, then."
"My workout regiment, sir?"
"We'll talk about that in a moment Steve. Get on with the stripping."
"Yes, sir."
Max relaxed body, but not vision, as he watched Steve remove his socks. Trying to do it without leaning on the table, Steve almost fell on his face.
"Absolutely pitiful!"
Steve smiled, thinking the way Verraros said it.
"Oh, so you think I'm joking , Steve?"
"No, sir."
"Don't fucking lie to me!"
The twenty-five year olds lips rounded in an `o' position. Now he knew the seriousness of the matter, when his superior had to raise the tone of his voice, plus use a modern explicative.
"Sorry, sir."
"Believe me, Steve. You will be," opening the black book, he wrote and announced at the same time, "10 more demerits for insubordination and 25 for lying."
"That's 35? I said I was sorry," Steve complained.
Hands on his almost bare hips, bare after opening his dress pants, holding one side in a hand, while the other sagged to his thighs.
Closing the black book sharply, Verraros tells him right off, "Listen Steve, if you don't like the way I discipline, you can put your clothes back on and get the hell out of here."
"But...."
"I don't want to hear any of your crap, Steve. If you're not interested in working here, then the door's that way," Verraros pointed with his thumb, over his shoulder. "I'm moving you into the next phase of your training here. If you're not interested, then don't waste my time."
Steve stood there. A sane person might have taken the advice offered and clear out, not wanting to endure the guff handed to him. However, instead of taking things personally, one reason attributing to his bulging briefs, dictating a clear message that he liked the domination of Max Verraros, the way in which he spelled things out, well, if made his decision a strong one, not to get dressed and head for the exit.
"Well, what's it going to be, Steve?"
Like back in grade school, Steve raises his free hand, not the one that still has his dress slacks perched at his hip.
"Permission to speak again...um, sir?"
"Permission granted," Verraros acknowledged, calming, as he sensed he wasn't losing Steve.
"Now don't take this wrong, but when I was hired here, I didn't think I'd be going through stuff like this and...."
With a quick smile, one that dictates a sly demeanor, Verraros reached forwards, faster than Steve can dismiss, his thumb and index finger scooping some of the fresh goo from the low rise black briefs.
"I suppose you're going to tell me that you don't think it's fair?"
"Well, I..."
Rubbing the pre-cum, between his digits in a most notable fashion, "That you're opposed to my techniques?"
"Um, well..."
"That you're not `enjoying' this possibly, Steve?"
Steve didn't have a leg to stand on. Not the kind that you lose your balance, but rather the teetering of words. Steve couldn't draw support against any of the options spelled out.
"Now, Steve, I'm going to judge your answer by your actions. Either you can keep stripping down for `me' or suit up and leave. Plus, I want to hear it from you that you want to stay employed here."
Steve raised his eyebrows.
After the short pause, he replied, "Yeah, I'd like to stay employed here."
"And you agree to my methods of discipline?"
"Yeah, okay."
"Doesn't sound so reassuring Steve. If you really want something, you go after it with aggression `and' what happened to the respect?"
Taking a deep breath, as if working on his cardio, Steve replies, "I really want to keep working here. I'll accept any method you deem necessary to turn me into a good... no, into a superior worker and I'll try to adhere by the rules you set before me, sir."
"Try, Steve? No. You've got to do better than that, but I'm not going to hold that to you at this moment. Trying means failure and yes, you will fail, but you'll learn through your failures and that's where the discipline comes in. What I'm going to ask you lastly here, Steve, will you submit to whatever punishment is necessary to turn you into a model employee."
"Punishment, sir?"
"Yes, Steve. For now you've seen what humiliation can render, however as we move on in training, reprimands could become more intense."
"Can you give me an idea of what that entails, sir? I mean, you don't mean physically?"
"Steve, do you think writing out a hundred times `I will not disobey', will get you anywhere?"
Letting out a short giggle, Steve dummied up real quick, recalling that this wasn't a comedy sitcom.
"No, sir."
"Steve, you wouldn't be the first, nor the last of a line of men that have come and gone through the ranks here. Don't think that you will be the only man that has experienced physical stress, in order to learn, to build up your own strengths."
"What I meant, sir, is you're not going to... well, do stuff to me, sir."
"Stuff, Steve? Can you elaborate on what you envision?"
At this point, to Steve, it didn't really matter. All along, he sensed the dominant attitude of his team leader. Not wanting to look at his own briefs, nor would it matter, since probably Verraros had seen more pre-cum production, Steve resigned to the fact, whatever happened, happened. He figured if things got rough, he could always back out of the program. Yeah, how would they make him stay?
"Never mind, sir. I accept the way.... Your program is structured," Steve resorted to term it.
"Fine." Looking at his watch, Verraros reported, "Well I do have a meeting in a half hour, Steve. All of these things that have promoted your demerits, have made us run out of time for today. Damn, I had hoped to get so much farther with you today, Steve."
Getting up enough courage, Steve admits, "I'm sorry that I've wasted your time, Sir. I wish there was a way I could make it up."
"I do set goals for getting employees on course, to achieve goals. After our meeting this afternoon, perhaps..."
"Oh, that's another thing......sir?"
Verraros picks up the little black book off his lap, opens it and uses his eraser. It was on the tip of his tongue, to ask `what for'.
"10 more demerits for insubordination. You will learn not to interrupt me, Steve. However, since you have, what is so immediate that it couldn't wait for me to finish my though?"
"Well, you see sir, I have this prior obligation and I need to be out of here by two forty-five."
"And what would this be that is more important than being at an important meeting with your fellow team members?"
The way in which Verraros dictated the question, made Steve feel like crap that he had to miss it, but then the explanation gave him more fortitude, as the good deed he would be doing.
"You see, I met this kid at the donut shop today."
"Kid? How old?"
"I'm not sure. Eighteen or nineteen."
"Oh? And did he pick you up or you him?"
"Now, pardon my French sir, but I don't think that's fuckin' fair?"
Out of everything that's taken place, nothing pissed Steve off more than what `sir' had just presented to him. In fact, he felt so strong about his statement, Steve didn't care if he got a fuckin' five thousand demerits for saying it!
"Lucky for you Steve that I don't know French. Alright, I'm excusing you from the meeting this afternoon."
"You are?"
After saying what he did and the French word' known meaning, as clearly as French fries', he figured Verraros' eraser would become very busy.
Not apologizing, rather moving on, the team exec offered, "How is your evening structured, Steve?"
"Oh, it's going to be another great evening, after I drop Raavi off at his place."
"Raavi, is it?"
"Yes. I met him this morning. He works at the donut shop. Nice kid."
"Hmm... he's in his late teens and works selling donuts?"
"He goes to college part time. Says he can't afford going full time."
"What is he working towards?"
"A bachelor's in business management or something related."
"Hmm... seems like you got a lot out of him for just meeting him, Steve?"
"Small talk. You know how it is."
"That I do. Too much small talk can make an employees late to work, without realizing it, right Steve?"
Seeing the conversation had begun to subside from the serious side a bit, yet feeling still on his guard, Steve said, "Yes, sir. I agree. Totally my fault. I should have watched the time... been more aware."
"So, after you drop...is it Robby?"
"Raavi, sir. R-A-A-V-I, Raavi Omparkash."
"Yes, after you drop Raavi off, then what are your plans for the evening?"
Replying with a lite fare of words, not meant to be sarcastic, Steve replied, "heading home, flick on the TV, head to the kitchen for last night's leftovers that were leftover from the night before and so on and..."
"I think I get the gist, Steve. I'm going to leave my cell phone number with you. After you drop Raavi off at his home, give me a call. Possibly we can work something out for making up for lost time today?"
"Sure. That would be okay."
Verraros let Steve off on the respect, figuring he would be making up for it tonight.
"Very good. You can get dressed now, Steve."
"Okay."
Going to the table, Verraros began putting papers in his briefcase, closing up his own laptop, as Steve went about the chore of putting himself back together.
"Okay. Well, bye sir."
"Oh, Steve?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You will come right to my place, after giving Raavi car service."
"Your place, sir?"
"It will be too late to come back to the office."
"Oh. Right."
"Call me."
"I will."
Walking out, Steve had a little let down. Actually, tonight he wanted to chill out and watch the hockey game. As he walked to the office he shared with Rick Rhodes, he couldn't seem to tame his erection. Fortunately, his laptop case was large enough and heavy in content, to press the front of his pants, obliterating any show of his excitement.
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Continued.....
Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.