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 reflect persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If sexual scenes 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 states and countries, you are not allowed to read this by law. This is fiction. Don't forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matters'; got condom?
"Writer's Block" 04 written By Bradford dean Bigelow
%
It was the gloomiest weekend of my life. I think I lost ten pounds from not having enough protein. The kind you get from real food. I didn't venture out of the condo, thinking of ways I could make it up to Chase. I didn't come up with any bright ideas, other than placing calls to his condo. He wasn't picking up. I left at least two messages a day. He didn't phone back. At the same time, I didn't hear a peep coming from the condo under mine. I wondered, every minute I was awake, what Chase was doing and feeling. I didn't sleep very well, which I sensed, served me right.
Out in the hallway, I checked at different times, to see if he was cooking chicken soup or any other aroma that would make a connection with him, via my nose.
Monday morning I got up and did the regular routine, only I couldn't sleep past 3 a.m., so that's when my day started. Everything seemed to go wrong. The coffee was weak, the Braun failing me, most likely my fault by adding the wrong measurements of grinds and water. I nicked myself twice with the razor and had to redo the buttons on my shirt, after coming up with two buttons and one buttonhole, at the collar. I fidgited with the necktie and finally settled with having the wide top part, shorter than the thin back part of the necktie, by about a half inch.
To top if off, my mind wasn't on the driving and I got a ticket for going through a red light. I've never been late to the office and even though I left early, the damn cop made me ten minutes late. I did wind up forgiving him, because he looked real macho in the uniform, wishing he'd take me back to the barracks, tie me to a chair and torture my nips. I'd close my eyes, if he did and pretend the cop was Chase.
Of course, being the CEO of this territory, I could be late and not suffer any consequences. Anybody else though and they were in deep shit. But today, not being my day, I was on the warpath for any little infraction. Strange thing, I couldn't find anything wrong, so then I nitpicked. Poor Bobby Freeman.
"Freeman!"
"Yes, Mr. Bigelow?"
"In my office, pronto!"
"Yes, Mr. Bigelow."
I sat behind my desk, as the twenty-four year old entered. Even though we had only a year difference between us, in age, my status at the company made it seem like twenty.
When Bobby reported, he stood there, hands behind his back and legs spread. Regardless of whether he thought he made a big mistake, or small, which it was, his head hung down, as if he looked at the floor, most likely in shame of whatever he did wrong. I had a flashback to 'Balls & Chain' magazine, where this young offender, stripped to a black speedo-sized leather brief, stood in the same position.
"Freeman?"
"Yes, Mr. Bigelow," he looked up at me.
"Take your jacket off and have a seat."
"Yes, Mr. Bigelow."
'Dammit'! I said to myself, he doesn't have a tee shirt on underneath his dress shirt and all that dark body fuzz is clouding my mind again!
I began the usual drill, "Bobby, how long have you been with the company?"
"Two years, Sir. Right out of college, Sir."
I liked the 'Sir'!
"Tell me, Bobby, do you enjoy your job here?"
"Yes, Sir and I'm really sorry that I forgot to sign out. I realize that this is a very serious offense."
"Hold it, Bobby."
"Yes, Sir."
I decided to really apply the screws, even though his infraction was small, forgetting to sign out of his session on the computer, before leaving work on Friday, could jeopardize our accounts, if someone else got into the program files.
Coming around the desk, I sat on the edge of the lux, wooden mahogany veneer. My crotch was about a foot and half from Bobby's face.
"I have to admit that we have a good track record for security here, Bobby and so far have never had to correct this infraction before."
"Please, Mr. Bigelow. Don't fire me. This is my first job and..."
"I'm not going to fire you, Bobby."
"Even a bad letter in my personal file wouldn't look good, Mr. Bigelow. Could you please give me a verbal warning and I swear I wouldn't do it again?"
Hearing Bobby 'squirming' like this began to send signals to my crotch. By the time I thought that I should head back to my desk, it seemed too late, as I saw Bobby's eyes look down and then back up to my face.
"What?" I asked, as if it had been Tony in front of me.
"Nothing, Mr. Bigelow", Bobby replied, sticking his index finger in the collar of his shirt, as if to let out steam.
I knew what made Bobby clammy.
"Nothing? You think this offense is nothing, Bobby."
"Nooo... noooo, Mr. Bigelow. I didn't mean anything about the big trouble I'm in."
Again, he did a quickie glance. The feeling began to return to me. The same one as when Tony stood there in my condo. Tony wanted something and wanted it bad. Like Bobby here, I felt bad that I deprived him of that want.
I smiled, then as if I forgot I was at work, said, "You want it bad don't you, Bobby?"
"Of course, Mr. Bigelow. I really like my job here and need it. I've got college bills to pay for."
Figuring he got the message, but backed down, I threw him a mild reminder, pulling my suit jacket back, as if flaunting my crotch. I could tell Bobby took the bait again, because guys that wear glasses and look at something specific, can't help but point their specs in the same direction as the gaze. He couldn't have missed 'it', since I was really getting horny over the scenario unfolding.
"Go ahead, Bobby. Touch it!"
His eyebrows went up and he stared at me. I knew I had him, when he rose up out of his chair.
"Um, no disrepect intended, Mr. Bigelow..."
Was I reading this wrong. I was sure Bobby Freeman was gay and 'wanted' my slightly bulging crotch.
As he took off his glasses, folding them and putting them away in a class case, located in the pocket of his pants, his voice seemed to change. At least the way in which addressed me.
My smile disappeared quickly, as Bobby said, "On the contrary, Mr. Bigelow, I think 'you' would be more at ease, if you got on your knees and sniffed my crotch?"
Bobby Freeman must've enjoyed this moment intensely. I mean, I wasn't even that serious, throwing my weight around in a nonchallant manner. He seemed dead serious.
"I beg your pardon, Bobby?"
"On the contrary, 'boy', it's 'sir', to you!" Bobby replied.
If I thought my crotch moved before, that was kindling. Now it was on fire, as it swelled and I couldn't stop it from doing so.
Like I had done with Tony, locking my condo door, Bobby Freeman walked to the door of my office and locked it. On the return sashay, he loosened his necktie and undid the first two buttons.
"Why dont' you get us a drink, boy and make mine a double?"
Here it was 10 a.m. and the transformed, 24yo 'Clark Kent' was ordering up liquor?
"Bobby, listen, I think there's been a little misunderstanding and.....ooooooh!"
The meek and mild... now, born to be wild!
Bobby walked up to me and totally freaked me out. Grabbing hold of my necktie, just below the knot, he yanked me off the desk and into his face. Falling towards him, my hands landed on his torso, so I wouldn't trip, falling flat on my face, mostly likely into his crotch, which wouldn't have been too hard to swallow!
"Get your fuckin' hands off of me, boy!"
I quickly withdrew them, as if touching something hot and wow! Bobby Freeman surely was beginning to heat me up! I tried one last ditch effort at gaining control.
"Now listen, Bobby," I began, putting my hand on his hand, that held my tie, trying to ease it free, my other hand on my own tie, saying, "C'mon Bobby, I was only..."
"What did I say about the hands, boy?" He said in such a macho, manly voice.
I saw stars and gagging in pain, as Bobby pulled down on my tie and lifted his knee into my crotch.
"Ugggggggghoooooooohshit! Oooooooh shiiiiiiit!"
I surely proved the point, that holding your balls did nothing to deaden the pain. Bending over, holding them, likewise. Thirdly, falling to the floor on my knees, bent over, didn't relieved only a little of the painful sensation, like wanting to throw up.
I noticed Bobby walking around my desk, helping himself to my desk chair, sitting down in it.
"I'm still waiting for my drink, boy," He dictated to me, still in the calm, masterly voice, adding, "the demerits are accumulating with each wasted minute."
I can't believe that this guy, formerly a wimp, now thought he could control me. However I had one problem with all this. I was enjoying every minute of it. Like Chase McPhee at the helm, I wanted to kiss up to Bobby Freeman, be controlled by him. My balls ached, however a crossover began kicking in. The pangs of Bobby's knee to my balls began to dull, being replaced with a surge of manseed flodding into them.
"Let's see, I've accumulated a stroke count of twenty so far. The punishment keeps mounting up, for every lost moment without that drink sitting on 'my' desk, boy!"
"You're serious, aren't you, Bobby?"
I looked down at the paper Bobby wrote on, which happened to be the minutes from the meeting last Monday, that I was handing out at this afternoon's meeting. He had quickly written in two sets of five stroke counts.
"Wha what's that for?"
"Your punishment boy. Looks like you're going to be mighty sore at work tomorrow."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The punishment keeps mounting for bad boys who don't obey their masters."
"Listen Bobby, this has gone on long enough...I...ugggggh!"
With agility, he sprung up out of my chair, his fist positioned to catch my stomach.
"Ooooooohfuck!" I shouted, again reduced to my knees.
"I guess it'll be awhile before I get that drink. Let me make a phone call."
My stomach ached really bad. I'd never had believed that the weakling could pull a punch like that. Knocked the wind completely out of me. Now I listened, as he talked on my phone, naming my secretary, Chaz Little.
"Yes, Chaz," Bobby talked in his normal voice, "Mr. Bigelow has decided to hold today's meeting tomorrow and is cancelling all appointments."
"Wait a minute! Wait one fuckin' minute!" I jumped up, to confront Bobby, now on my guard against any low blows, "You can't do that! I order you to stop this charade and now!"
Pushing Bobby Freeman aside, was entirely the wrong thing to do. Taking the phone out of Brad's hand, he ripped the receiver out of the rectangular bottom.
"You.... you broke my telephone!"
"Yeah and I'm gonna break something else, if you don't get my drink and right now, boy!"
At this moment, I didn't know if Bobby was serious or not. He seemed very realistic. I figured the best thing to do would be to play along, until I had a chance to make a run for it. So, I went to the portable bar and began making a drink. I don't know what the hell he wanted, but figured a double shot of Chivas wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would even put him under. I made it a triple!
"Here's your drink."
"No, that one's your's. I'll make mine own, Brad."
'Brad? Disrespectful son-of-bitch!' But for now, Bobby held the cards, so I played along. However, I wasn't so sure about guzzling down the triple Chivas I made up for him.
"C'mon, Brad. Drink up. Let's have a toast to our new relationship, shall we?"
"Our what?"
"You heard me, boy. From now on you and I are going to be running the division. Of course, everyone will think it's only you. Haven't you ever heard the phrase: 'Behind every good man, there's a good man', sort of like that. Oh well, you catch my drift Brad, don't you?"
"I can't believe this is happening to me. You know you aren't going to get away with this, Bobby?"
"Sir, to you boy. Did you forget? Don't worry about it. I'll be beating it into your hide, anyway."
"My hide?" Flabberghasted by Bobby's remarks, I did take a sip of the triple-Chivas!
"Hmm... and just think, Brad? I would've been tasting that drink! Come on now. Bottoms up!"
Bobby clinked my glass with his. I felt like a real blockhead, after making it a triple. Didn't I think this kid, fresh out of college, pulling this master/boy stunt was smart enough to figure out my plot? As I planned, I played along. However, a double Chivas would have been plenty enough to carry me through the day.
"Oh man... I don't feel so...."
I blinked both eyes, thinking I saw a mirage. Sitting on the leather sofa, in my office, I thought I saw Bobby Freeman standing there, stripped to the waist, the twenty-four year old, flashing that totally hairy body, almost black hair, from the top of his shoulders, to his beltline, not stopping for anything. Even his nips, wherever they had been positioned, on his pecs, hid amongst the densely furred chest. I also wondered why Bobby's pants seemed to shimmer.
"Strip, boy."
I thought I heard him give me an order. Nerve! I'm the boss here and I don't take orders!
Standing, I said what I thought. At least, I tried to stand, but I still said, "I'm the boss here and I don't take orders from any lowly office boy!"
Next thing I know, he has me sitting in one of my office chairs, backwards, so that my chest meets the wooden panel of slats. Too high on the Chivas, I'm like a useless wimp, at fighting back. My hands are in front of me and he's using my own tie to secure them, tightly binding them to the bottom rung of the chair.
"Hey, what the fuck?"
I next feel his hand in between my stomach and the chair. The bastard's unbuckling my belt!
"Bobby, what the fuck you..."
"Shut up, boy!"
"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ooooooh! Oooooh!" I cry out, as my belt it pulled through the loops of my pants and turned on me, slapping over my the shoulders of my dress shirt.
"You'll learn to mind boy, or suffer the consequences!"
I thought back to my reasoning a half hour ago. The brilliant idea about playing Bobby's game, until I had my chance to escape his clutches. Fine plan that turned out to be!
With my hands tied, I could at least try to stand and maybe turn the chair on him. Nada. I looked to the miniblinds, noticing the cords had been cut. Great.
"Now, let me see," Bobby said, in a calm, but dominating manner, looking over this afternoon's meeting notes, "five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, six, seven, eight. Twenty-eight demerits, evened off to thirty."
"What are you gonna do?"
"Do, Brad? What do you think happens to badboys who don't mind their masters?"
"Um, wait Bobby... akkkkkkkkk ooooh....ooooohhhh!" I cried out, as my own belt whipped against my upper back.
"When are you going to learn that it's 'sir', to you, 'boy'? Hmm... seems a shame to mess up a good shirt."
Mess up my shirt? He reaches down in between the chair, over each of my shoulders, takes hold of the open collar and proceeds to rip it down to my belly.
"Heeeeeeeeeey! That's a $98 shirt!"
"Not anymore it isn't," He keeps up the cool demeanor.
Ripping it out of my pants, then pulling it up from where it's tucked into my ass, over my head, tee shirt and all, Bobby anchors it under my chin. I can't believe this is happening to me. Here I am, tied to one of my own chairs, in my own office, my wrists bound with my own tie, ankles secured with mini blind cords and now my bare back is exposed for his disciplining purposes? And now me, the head honcho, CEO, is being slated for punishment?
"Ugggggggggghhhhh! ooooh shit!" I cried out, as the belt whipped across and down my back, from my right shoulder, to the middle of my spine.
"Fuckin' swine! I'll teach you a lesson, boy!"
"Ugggggghhhh! Uggggghhhh! Akkkkkkkkk!"
I can't remember when I was in such pain before, as Bobby kept dealing out the punishment, my own leather belt working my back over and over, no matter how much I protested. I also don't recall the moment I passed out.
%
I don't know how long I was out, but as I came to, I remember the smell of chicken soup, permeating the air, filling my senses.
I know I heard, "He's waking up."
Slowly, as my eyelids opened, I held up my hands in front of my face.
"I'm free! I'm free! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!"
I wasn't sure of where I heard that quote before, but for now, it fit the purpose, perfectly.
"How's our boy doing?"
"Huh?"
It didn't register at all. It's the surroundings that came into recognition, before the timbre of the voices. I had seen this room before!
"Feeling better, Bradford?"
The voice was too familiar.
"Chase McPhee!"
Sure enough, there, standing next to the bed, stood Chase, holding a bowl of his famous creamy chicken soup.
"Chase, it's so good to see you.... uggghh..oooohhh my aching back!"
"You stay put, Brad. Bobby, bring that tray table over here for me, please."
"Sure, Chase."
"Bobbbbby? Chase, he's an animal! Get him away from me!"
It's then I heard giggles of laughter. I was totally confused.
"Wait a minute! Wait one fuckin' minute!"
"Oh now relax, Bradford and have some of my creamy chicken soup."
Bobby joins Chase, saying, "Yeah, it's loaded with lots of protein. It'll have you on your feet in no time, Mr. Bigelow!"
"Mr. Bigelow? But you're?"
Chase says to me, "A great actor, isn't he, Brad? Bobby should get an Academy Award, don't you think?"
"But...Noooooooo... did McPhee put you up to this, Sir? I mean, Bobby?"
They both giggled again, like this was funny or something!
"Chase's brother and I attended the same college. We took acting as an elective."
"Acting? You mean 'that', in my office... was all an act?"
Bobby put his hand on my shoulder, saying, "Yeah, Mr. Bigelow, however I'm sorry for the heavy whipping. I kind of got carried away."
"Oh yeah, well let me get a bit more carried away, Bobby. You're fired!"
"No can do," Chase said to me, nonchallantly.
"What do you mean I can't do it? I'm the CEO and what I say goes! You can get your shit and clear out, Bobby!"
Strange that Bobby didn't look concerned at all.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"
However, it's Chase that replied, "How can you go and fire an outstanding employee like Bobby here, Bradford, when he had the guts to carry on with the 'Monday meeting', offering himself up, as a sacrifice, when you became ill? Tell ya, Bobby, that's gratitude!"
"Ill? I wasn't ill. I was fuckin' tied to a chair and tortured! And 'he' did it! Oh no, Chase, you're not going to have it over on me this time!"
"Really Brad? Then maybe I'll call it quits with you and I and on top of that, tell Tony Morello to go ahead and blab it all over the place about the 'Balls & Chain' magazine he found in 'your' condo?"
"McPhee! Icksnay on the 'Balls'n'Chain' stuff? Huh?"
I complained to Chase, about mentioning the bdsm magazine, in front of my employee.
"What's this about Tony, now?"
"Yes," Chase says, going over to his dresser, opening the drawer and then hurling my August 2005 issue of 'Balls & Chain' onto my chest, almost getting it in my bowl of creamy chicken soup, sitting on the tray table, that Bobby Freeman had set in front of me.
"Somebody mention my name? Oh, hi Bobby-baby!"
I don't believe it! They're all in cahoots!
"What's this, Tony?" I ask, after he and Bobby Freeman exchange a kiss, Tony, in his belly tee, still standing there, rubbing Bobby's back.
"Chase introduced us. Well, not that I was looking for it. I actually ran into Chase and Bobby, as they had been coming in, as I was heading out, over to the gym and..."
"Tony, I don't need the whole story of your personal life?"
"Yeah, okay, Blockhead..." Tony continued, utilizing the nick that I allowed 'only' Chase to call me. "But the long and short of it is that Bobby and I are shacking up together in 8-6 and Bobby and I want to thank you for the down payment on the mortgage. You're a real doll, Brad. Thanks a mint!"
I almost had a heart attack! Good thing Chase said that they should wait outside.
"Chase, have you gone fucking mad?"
"I don't think so, Brad. All I'm really doing is saving your hide from the lawsuit."
"Lawsuit? Where did that fucking come from?"
"Just goes to show you, Brad that you shouldn't be drinking a triple Chivas at ten o'clock in the morning."
"Chase, what the fuck are you talking about?"
"Yeah, I've managed to talk Bobby Freeman out of bringing a lawsuit against you for sexual harrasment, suing you for ten million dollars or whatever amount he can dream up."
"Ten? Mill? Ion? Doll? Ars?"
"Yep. He said that you tried making him suck your cock."
"I did noth..... oh wait a minute."
"Coming back to you, Brad? Remember standing in front of your desk, telling Bobby he wanted your cock and to drop to his knees?"
Tony speaks up, "Same thing you did to me, Brad!"
"But how did you know that I would do that?" Brad replies to Chase.
"I didn't, but it worked right into our plot, Blockhead."
"You mean, if I didn't do that, that I wouldn't be getting sued?"
"Not necessarily. Actually, if I hadn't mentioned to Bobby that he could probably sue you for sexual harrassment that..."
"You, McPhee? You put him up to it?"
"Sure, but I know that, deep down inside..."
Here's where the worm started to burrow back into my life! After all that, plus his confession, he has the nerve to take the soup and tray away, sit on the bed, then begin the ritual making love to me, like we've done so much in the past. The nerve of him to French kiss me, after encouraging Bobby Freeman to sue me for sexual harrassment. The absolute audacity of him to rub his hands all over my chest, massaging my nips with his thumbs, after putting Bobby up to the task of acting out he was my master.
"So, I think this just about evens out the score, Bradford. What do you think?"
"What score, McPhee?"
"Well, the dirty trick you pulled on me with Tony Morello. That dirty little, dastard deed."
"And what about the marks on my back from Bobby Freeman whipping me and with my own belt?"
"Get off it, Brad. You passed out from the Chivas. Not the whipping. Big deal, you have four and half little lines on your back, that will go away after I rub them with some nice hot oil every night while we're making sweet love to each other."
I was weakening and Chase knew it.
"Alright, so we put aside our differences, Chase. There's still one little detail."
"And what's that, Brad?"
"Where in the world is Tony and Bobby going to get the money to repay me for the down payment on the mortgage?"
"I've got that all taken care of, Brad."
"You do? Mind sharing it with me?"
"No problem. Bobby will get his share from his promotion and raise."
"What fucking promotion and raise?"
I had to admit I was semi-livid.
"Your assitant, of course."
"My what?"
"Sure. You should have seen Bobby at that meeting. Remember the way he talked to you in your office, when he was beating you to a pulp, Brad?"
"I'd like to forget it, but humor me anyway, Chase."
"He wasn't acting at the 'Monday meeting' on Tuesday afternoon."
"Monday meeting on Tuesday afternoon? Wait a minute! What's today?"
"Wednesday. Man, did that Chivas knock you out and what I had to put up with, with you barfing all over my bedroom!".
"I don't even remember, Chase."
"I know you don't. That's how sick you were and to think that I had to put up with your barf all over me, my bed, the floor and the jon! What a fucking hell you put me through, Brad."
On man, by the time Chase had finished with me, I felt about two inches tall. I can't believe that one little sneaky affair with another man, got me into so much trouble. Maybe, in the long run, it had sent a message. Here, I was as sick as a dog and Chase stood through thick and thin, to nurse me back to health. I figured I'd better change my tune.
"Chase, thanks."
"That's why I'm hear, Brad, however."
I knew this was coming!
"If I ever catch you with another man, I'll.."
"I get the message, Chase. I think I can see the err of my ways. You went to a lot of trouble to... to show me you care and love me."
"Hey, don't be so pigheaded. Think of what Tony's getting out of all this."
"Oh yeah. You filled me in on Bobby. What about Tony?"
"Yeah, thanks Blockhead," Tony smiled, thanking me for whatever reason, that I had yet to be briefed on.
"Well, one of you guys going to fill me in?" I looked back and forth to my reconstituted lover and my new right hand man.
"I think Bobby can fill you in more?"
"Part time, I think Tony can take on my 'old' responsibilities, juggling it with his college load," Bobby reported, still those glasses, dictating the manly direction.
Becoming aware that with Bobby's new responsibilities, I did wonder whom took up the slack, doing Bobby's old job. It also perked my interest to find out the width and depths of Bobby's new job perspectives.
"Of course. Better watch your step, Brad. Bobby'll be bucking for your job!"
That solved part of the curiosity.
"He wouldn't!"
"No. I don't think so. He's quite contented at being your right handed man."
"Hmm.. So, he ran the meeting like me, with a tight fist?"
"Yup. Threatened to shove it up their asses, if they stepped out of line."
"Hmm.... sounds erotic!"
"Be careful what you wish for, Brad!"
"Actually, the belt didn't feel half bad, y'know, but Bobby's knee to my balls...I don't think he was acting!"
"What do you want, Brad... the acting class was two years ago. Bobby's a little rusty."
"Hmm..."
"Oh, by the way, Brad."
"What, Chase?"
"You have to have a talk with Jeff Malone."
"Oh? About what?"
"He was a little pissed about you outbidding his client over the price of 8-6, you know the condo you bought for Tony and Bobby?"
"Bought? I thought you said I gave them the down payment?"
"You did. I mean, they wouldn't have gotten it, if you didn't offer to pay the $350,000 cash for it."
I felt a 'strangling' coming on.
"After all, Jeff's client would have had to get a mortgage and all, money talks and when cash was offered, Jeff's hands were tied. Besides, by paying cash, Brad, you got six percent off the top!"
My hands, set in strangulation mode, surrounded Chase's neck, but that look in his eyes, those tantalizing lips, that hot body, the 6%... I let all the aggravation and grief slide, using my hands to bring him in for a caressing kiss.
%
continued.........
Copyright 2005 Bradford D. Bigelow All Rights Reserved.
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