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Give till it hurts...and if that's not enough, get with some s&m!
'OFfiCe JOckS FoR DOmiNaTiOn' o7
WriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
At fifty-two years old, Frisco had seen much, done a lot, when it came to kinky stuff. Actually, it wasn't until college was upon him and the funds began to dry up, his father's business going bankrupt, Frisco found himself in a predicament.
Applying for a loan, well after graduating he could see himself in debt. Where he saw himself in four years was owning a lucrative business, building a profitable empire. That dream began to fade.
A chance meet up with an older guy, at a bar, put all that anxiety aside. Thoughts of difficult tuition-raising years went astray. A little younger than Mario is now, 29, Frisco had met up with a forty-something year old exec. Both frequented the same gay bar, but a few months passed before their eyes locked onto each other.
The minute he stepped in the door, Frisco turned his back on his roommate to check out the surroundings. He found himself alone, when turning back to question something. "Figures," he chuckled to himself. His first gay bar, Frisco found himself a little on the anxious side, getting his feet wet, which at the moment his pits were wetter than his curiosity!
Frisco jumped when a hand touches his shoulder, a guy saying, "you look lost."
Cooped up for years with his thoughts of how being gay could be, Frisco was quite jumpy, given the blaring music, flow of alcohol and the touch of a stranger, "uh, yeah, I guess I am. Who are you?"
"Sergei. And you?"
Taking a sip of his drink, Sergei waits.
A little abrasive in his manners, Frisco could attribute it to being nervous, but repairs the situation with a small smile, offering a handshake to greet the stranger, "my real name is Francisco, but they call me Frisco."
Sergei could see this kid, 'raw', unuse to the gay scene, decides to help change that. With a grab to the middle of Frisco's buttoned-down shirt, he reels him in for a kiss, "welcome to the club, Frisco, which I'm guessing is your first time?"
What choice could Frisco have, his extended hand being mushed against Sergei's
bare belly and even though only his knuckles touched skin, it felt like a longing was set free, "uh, thank you for asking, yes!"
Frisco was quite nervous, even though the stranger's kiss felt wonderful!
Sergei, being he was a high-ranking executive of a company, not his own, but in the family, had risen through the ranks. Head of personnel and hiring, he 'knew' people. Gay bars, he's been in hundreds of them. Fact is, many of the men he hired came from the gay bar clientele. Whether company business, or personal vacationing, there weren't many cities throughout the world, which he didn't know the location of a gay bar or club.
"I know just what you need to loosen you up," he takes Frisco under his wing, literally corralling him in the pit of an extended arm.
Leading Frisco over to the bar, he goes along with it, "okay, thanks."
"Oh, what a shame. You seem to fit in so well, except..."
Frisco learned that exception. As they got to the bar he didn't have the need to order a drink, Sergei doing that for him. Right after, hands were on the buttons of his shirt, working their way from the collar, tugging it from the belt around his waist.
"What are you doing?"
Mid chest, he caught Sergei's hands about to unbutton, ready to reveal the mat of light brown hair.
Another distraction, this other dude approaches the bar. Like Sergei, was shirtless and vocal in his approach, a young guy with beautiful hazel eyes. Watching from a distance he was waiting for the opportune moment, "really uncle? He's like half your age?!?!"
New to the scene, this other guy, who already exposed the truth he was nephew to Sergei, seemed to wield more power, Frisco saying, "your family?"
By the look on Sergei's face, Frisco could tell he didn't like the idea that his nephew was wedging himself in between the two, making hands separate from prying the shirt from his bod.
"Hello. I'm Petar. You will have to forgive my uncle. It doesn't take much to make him feel frisky."
Frisco was certainly put in a forgiving nature, with Petar smoothing out his shirt, like he was a valet tidying him up.
As with his roommate, after he lost focus, Frisco's attention is drawn from the uncle to the nephew, "not a problem."
To break the ice, two drinks showed up in front of them, a strong tap to the bar surface, the bartender letting them know, "your drinks, sir, compliments of the house."
"The house?" Frisco questions. "You must be someone important around here?"
Instead of taking the drinks, Petar says to the bartender, "we'll take our drinks at the table in the corner, Luka."
Sergei was kind of annoyed, but he adored his nephew. Any other bloke, they would not be dealing with the situation with such calm.
"Yes sir," Luka replies, reconnecting both hands with the two drinks.
"I'll see 'you' later," Sergei says to Frisco.
Half-joking, not too serious, Frisco says, "what did your uncle mean by that?"
"You're okay with sharing, I hope?"
Frisco didn't know what to think about that, but because Petar was just as hot as the uncle, he let it slide, "I guess. Maybe."
Luca didn't look to be any older than Petar.
Fresh out of bartending school, reason he did so well, Luca abstained from socializing. While friends resorted to weekend sports, fall football and the like, Luca tackled his books, memorizing drink recipes, spending many lonely nights
doing solo jerk-offs.
Living at home, one night his father, Dave, comes over, as Luca is hitting the books, places hands on his shoulders, saying, "y'know, Lucas, no matter how much you put your nose to the books, the real experience is in the field?"
It makes him smile, thinking his wise father having said the same about understanding almost any aspect of life, in particular, coming out. When he was in high school, on his 18th birthday, his dad's partner, Mark, had broken it to him that they were having the party at a local leather bar. Funny thing is, Luca had it in the bag, Dave not having to give a long-winded explanation.
"Oh, I learned all about that stuff in bartending school," Luca said with pride.
It got Frisco's balls churning, so he provokes, "oh?"
"Yeah. So y'see, one class this guy asks what drinks are served at a leather bar and strangely it seemed, the prof got kind of giddy about answering him. Even though it had him going off topic and giving a dissertation the ins and outs of serving up drinks at a gay leather bar, he even took questions, since the topic began to be addressed by several students."
"I guess you had to be there?" Petar processes the thought.
Regardless of whether Petar was feeling frisky or not, he wondered how Luca must've felt at class that day. They sat, chatted, by it was really Luca on his mind.
By the third round of drinks, Frisco kind of had the impression Petar was more interested in the waiter than himself, "y'know, I used to do quite a few years ago an uncle taught me how to mix drinks and I've been the head mixer at family parties ever since. Think could use an extra hand at the bar?"
Like another sense, other the ones a person possesses already, sight, sound, etc., Sergei's attention has been on the Latino ever since Petar stole him away. Mixing with the crowd, he's slowly worked his way to within earshot of his nephew and Frisco's conversation, enough to know Petar was more attuned to Luca, each time he visited the table. He was just in time to hear Frisco's question.
Petar was just about to say something, when his uncle steps in, "I think that can be arranged."
Sergei seemed to have a lot of clout, which had Frisco behind the bar and Luca grabbing two beer bottles to take over to Petar's table.
Being relatively new to the job, Luca says, "I didn't know your uncle had the power to do that."
"Do what?" Petar says, looking up at Luca, standing there.
"He said for me to take the rest of the night off."
Petar smiles, saying, "then what are you standing there for? Sit!"
When Luca was applying for the bartending job, Petar just had to find out more about the handsome applicant. His resume was all about work background.
After chatting, Petar found out how lucky Luca was, having two dads, instead of a traditional family.
"Yeah, I guess I was lucky at that."
"Um," Peter begins to deviate, "did you ever catch them doing anything?"
Luca knew what he meant, but played it cool, "anything? Like what?"
"Like," Petar searches for the right word, but then chooses to get to the point, "running around the house naked?"
It sets Luca off laughing, "don't all guys get to see their dads naked at one time or another. Sure, plenty of times I had to use the bathroom and either one of them were in the shower. A couple of times they both had little time to shower, so they did it together. No big deal, other than."
There was silence, Luca not wanting to say, but Petar provoking, "other than what?"
"I think they forgot I was brushing my teeth and I heard all kinds of moans and groans, until it felt like," Luca pauses, thinking, "like an erotic symphony going on!"
"Oh man, you are a lucky guy. What did they say when they came out of the shower and saw you?"
"Nothing. I mean, I had to get to school, so left before they turned the water off."
Already stiff reliving the story, Luca thought he better change the subject for the greater good, "what about you?"
"Not as lucky as you!"
Petar lived at home, with parents who were more wrapped up in their business, rather than much of a family life. As a pre-teenager he questioned his father why he couldn't take a day off and do stuff other sons do with their fathers, like going fishing or hiking? That was the first and last time Petar asked, his father taking it as wiseass-teen outburst.
"You don't tell me what to do," he slapped Petar across the chops. "Do you know it is your mother and I, working our fingers to the bone and it is all for the household and your needs?"
He could have gone at this with more tact, but with the stinging of his cheek, Petar barked back, "well, you don't have to have a cow!"
Petar wound up almost falling down the basement stairs, ahead of his father who kept on heckling him about money and how things don't come free in this world. He also sensed part of the motivation, a strong sense of beer cast from every angry word.
Coming to a workbench, Petar's father demands, "strip the shirt!"
This was a first in their rocky relationship, which had Petar thinking out loud, "where is this coming from?"
"I've been too lenient on you. It's time you've learned your place before it's too late!"
Then, realizing why his father was tearing the leather belt from pant loops, "no way," he tried rushing past his father.
Grabbing the back of his shirt, Petar almost falls backwards. Had his dad not been well-built from building a business which required much lifting, he probably would not have been able to treat his son like a yo-yo, his bod retracing steps.
Finally, the root of his father's aggression becomes apparent, "not so fast, you little gay faggot!"
'Oh shit,' Petar immediately thought, but as a secondary reaction, wondering who outed him. Hoping his father would accept the myth, "oh that. Well, I can grow out of it. I mean, I've been looking to get some therapy, so I can stop being gay."
He knew his parents were homophobic. The few times he attended church, he heard people talk about gays, in a way which revealed the fact that it was spreading like wildfire among youths of today. Out of curiosity Petar went to one of the pastor's seminars. He was horrified to hear of some of the cures, which included electrical shock therapy. Not daring to voice opinion out loud, in his mind he thought, 'why not water-boarding?' Truthfully, he thought this might be a coming out seminar, but after hearing of the atrocities, he kept being gay, silent.
Petar's excuse with his father didn't fall on deaf ears, buying him time. It certainly was intimidating, watching, the leather belt now dangling from a hand, wondering if his fib worked.
While waiting for his father to make up his mind, Petar stalls, "by the way, who's the one responsible for spreading lies about me?"
Perhaps it would've been better to keep silent.
Mentioning someone outing him only revived the anger in his father's mind, renewing the hate, "from a trusted source. Now, you going to strip that shirt, or else?"
He didn't have the brawn his father had, but for sure Petar wasn't going to go down easy.
It was hot in the basement, his father, being tipsy and sweating, and even thought only wearing a sleeveless shirt, took to removing it, which had him draping the leather belt over a chair.
If he was going to react, Petar thought now is the time. Seeing a rubber mallet, he launched himself to the side, grabbing it by the handle, and as his shirtless father turns around, warns, "don't come any closer."
It was apparent, Petar still had love for his father, even though right now it seemed camouflaged by the handle of the mallet.
On the other side, his father came at him without thinking.
Perhaps part of Petar's downfall had been thinking too long, which it took only a small amount of hand-to-hand combat for his father to wrestle it out of his hand.
Now, panicking rather than thinking, he faced a deranged man, fueled by hate and alcohol, approach. Nothing more was at his side to do battle. Even so, Petar steps forward in a calm state of mind, doing his best to deliver an Academy Award performance, "perhaps we got off with a rough start. Can we talk about this?"
"Sure,we can talk," his father says.
However, with all of his being, Petar, seeing the fire in his eyes, a smile on his father's face, which wasn't the result of hearing a joke, makes a last dash effort, going low under the swing of the mallet. He made it to the first step of the basement stairs, before once again being reeled back, his tee shirt now tearing till it was pulled free from his bod.
Not the end of his ordeal, just the beginning, his father grabbed an arm and flung him around. The rubber end of the mallet made contact with his stomach!
"Ugh-h-oh-fuck!"
Petar caved in, falling to his knees, both arms cradling his abs.
Then, thinking his father had realized what he's done, Petar felt a pair of hands under his pits, lifting him up off the floor. He was too winded to respond, to voice his opinion of what was happening.
Then, he felt his bare stomach grazing up against the edge of the wooden workbench. At about the same time, one arm is pulled from consoling his sore stomach. With realization a rope was being fashioned around his wrist, he retreats from his stomach, the other hand, fishing for anything on the workbench surface to protect himself. He finds a Phillips screwdriver.
"Oh no you don't, faggot-boy!"
All hope was lost, his father grabbing his wrist. So tightly, he couldn't clutch hold of the screwdriver, dropping it.
Around the other wrist his father wound the rope and like Petar's left-hand bondage, tied the right one off to a hefty workbench vise.
His father stood back and for a few seconds, marveled at how his faggot-son was stretched out, with only a few stitches of shirt to remove. He did have a flashback to when he was a teenager, his father tying him out-stretched, but in the woods, between two trees and not a basement work place. He couldn't deny he didn't have it coming to him, but of the outcome, relates, "you'll learn how to behave boy!"
Feeling the last rag of shirt being torn from his back, Petar has a moment of revelation of being in denial and thinking about other gay men who have come out and have been punished for being who they are deep down inside, "okay, I'm gay, but it doesn't mean it's the end of the world. I'm still your son."
The logic didn't reckon with his father, his mind clouded by judgement and liquor, "now we're getting someplace!"
Petar felt hopeful, until the strap landed across his back. Catching it off guard, rather than prepared, he screams, "ak-k-k-k-oh-shit!"
Then it became apparent, as the strap made crisscrossed lines across Petar's back, not only had it been a gay issue, but the way he covered it up, lied about being a 'faggot', freely cursed, then turning it into a personal vendetta, that he will never speak about a faggot-boy, ending with, "and like my daddy did, if it takes beating it out of you, boy, you'll learn to tote the line."
Of the incident, later Petar would recall his knees almost touching the floor, both wrists in bondage, stretched to where he thought it would cut off the circulation, hanging there until his pleading turned to screams, then sobbing.
Petar didn't know how long he had been bound there to the workbench, but when he came around, he could see a ray of sunshine through a chink in the smoky glass window filter down until it shone over the top of the workbench. He didn't feel the implications of at least twenty lashes across his back. The rope around his right wrist had somehow gotten gnawed through by thrashing back and forth, he remembers, an effort to dodge the leather strap. With that happening, it had nearly torn him free. His knees sat on the concrete floor. It felt cool, the cement, but did little to alleviate the pain of his back.
Then, he heard a rustling of footsteps on the floor upstairs. Terror filled his mind, thinking his father was back, bringing the reverend from the church and who else knows who.
Petar was totally wrong. Instead, there descended the basement stairway men in uniforms, swearing at the sight of Petar, hanging from the workbench by one arm and the bloody condition of his back. One of the officers, instead of dictating to the others, went to work, setting the teen free.
"You should be lucky you have nosy neighbors."
Even though he was in horrible pain, Petar remembers the officer lifting his chin, asking him if he was alright. He remembers smiling, the officer smiling back, saying, 'you're going to be alright, kid,' then passed out.
"Wow," Luca says, "that's some story," but also feeling empathy, touches Petar's arm, "I'm sorry it had to happen to you this way, coming out, I mean."
"I'm still trying to process. Like the police officer told me afterwards, it gets better."
"Did you stay in contact with him?"
In a sheepish manner, Petar says, "uh. Yeah."
Feeling a little tingle in his balls, Luca says, "well, someday you'll have to explain it to me."
"Okay," Petar smiles.
"And," like a domineering figure, "you're not to leave out one single detail, if you get what I mean?"
Petar did fill in one detail, "he's very sweet in bed!"
"Is he into three-somes?"
Playing along, Petar says, "well, first I think I should find out if we're compatible in bed?"
Luca's phone jingles, "oh, I gotta take this."
"Oh wow, it's the job I applied for way before the bar."
Petar says, "well, don't you think you should answer it?"
"Nervous," Luca says.
However, the true factor in touching the green button, was Petar touching his hand!
"Hello?"
"Yep, this is me."
"Uh, yeah I did, but it's temporary," Luca whispers, "I hope your uncle can find a replacement bartender?"
And after the guy on the other end says something long-winded, Luca replies, "uh yeah, I can come in today. What time?"
Petar whispers, "ask him if he's got a job for me!"
He was kidding, but in a cross between being nervous and excited, "uh, my friend wants to know if you've got a job for him."
"Oh sure. You got it. Thanks."
After touching his phone off, Petar says, "that was lame of me."
"I know, but he says it wouldn't hurt if you came in and filled out an application?"
"What kind of job is it you're applying for?"
"Not sure exactly my title, but it's office work. I think?"
Petar quizzes, "after you mentioned me, did he say where they have openings?"
"Vaguely. He said they have openings in the field."
"They raise cows?"
Luca laughs, but seriously says, "not funny."
"I know," Petar replies, "but thanks for asking for me."
"The guy, I believe he said his name was Josh, asked me how old you are, but I didn't know, so I didn't say."
"Twenty-eight. And you?"
"Twenty-six," Luca says, "but I'll be twenty-seven next month."
"Me too. I mean, twenty-nine, next month."
Luca kids, "almost over the hill."
"Well, you do like older men, don't you?"
Already liking Petar, "I sure do!"
There was a period of silence, both processing what was said.
"Well," they break their gazing, "what time do you have to be at your 'new' job?"
Jiggling his phone till it comes awake, Luca says, "like, in twenty minutes, and I've got to shower and dress?"
"Fear not. I share my uncle's apartment upstairs and he's got plenty of hot water!"
"Um," Luca cracks half a smile, "you wouldn't happen to be needing a shower too, would you?"
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% Copyright 2022 T. Chase McPhee
Developing segments of 'OFfiCe JOckS FoR DOmiNaTiOn' may not be amended, distributed, sold, used, quoted, paraphrased, chopped, sliced, diced, nor made part of any collection, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the author. Drones are prohibited from overhead viewing. _ Check here that you are not a robot.