The following story is written inspired by the men at play site, for men with a fetish for professionals, business suits, metrosexuals and/or underwear. The main character is half-Arabic, for those who might like that angle. Otherwise, let your imagination fill in the rest of the gaps with suitable fantasies of your own.
This is 100% my own creation and should not be reproduced without my permission.
Otherwise, enjoy :)
Kev, kgberrywriting@hotmail.co.uk
Sufjan McCoy reached out and slammed his hand down on the beeping 7am alarm. He stretched out his arms, bringing life to his chest and triceps, and twisted around to revive his torso and back. Feet falling to the floor, he beat out a path to the shower, ran the water hot and scrubbed himself clean. Under the flow of the water, he took a razor to the usual: chest, armpit, ball sack.
Now much more awake, he stepped out and dried his freshly smooth skin. He wiped clear the steamy mirror and shaved his face, trimmed his black pubes and applied his daily moisturiser. Ritual over, he proceeded to the bedroom where he opened a fresh box of white briefs and slid the tight, soft fabric around his well-kept waist. Eyeing the time, he slid into his smooth charcoal grey designer suit: lavender shirt, shiny cuff-links, a stud for each ear. Splashing on some hair gel and scent last-minute, he jogged down to his sports car and set off to the office for work.
Sufjan parked skilfully in his personal spot next to the boss. The secretary greeted him politely as he entered the building, and he gave a cheeky wink in response, recalling their brief, whirlwind relationship the previous year.
Strolling to his private office, he started up his computer and reclined in his power chair. He breathed a steadying breath as the leather comforted his muscular form. He was supervisor of the accounts department and had a lot of responsibility for exactitude in this department. Scrolling over his to-do list for the day on the screen, Sufjan McCoy readied himself for a busy day.
But there was a surprise. Top of his inbox was: Urgent Request. He clicked and opened the message:
Dear Mr. Sufjan McCoy,Please report to my office at the soonest possible opportunity.
Mr. Robert Davie,CEO
Slightly confused, Sufjan immediately obeyed and walked at a brisk pace to Mr. Davie's office, two floors above. In the lift he double-checked his appearance to make sure he was presentable, since he knew Mr. Davie was himself meticulous in his self-maintenance.
Sufjan knocked on the door.
"Enter," responded the strict voice from inside.
"Sir, you requested to see me?"
"Ahh, McCoy. At last. Yes, yes. Come in." Despite his reedy voice, Davie had a good professional look about him. He kept his smooth, pale face clean shaven and his hair neat dyed deep black. His clear blue eyes had a glow about them. He used to wear thick, geeky glasses but just now, Sufjan noticed he must have switched for contacts.
He made for the seat. It was plastic, cold, and not very comfortable. But it took his large frame none the less.
"Your department has made fifteen acknowledged errors in our tax returns. Are you aware of this?" Mr. Davie responded.
Sufjan shifted in his seat. How was this possible? The guilt spoke for him and Mr. Davie read his mind, "How is this possible?"
Then he remembered. At the time of the tax returns, he had been caught up in his relationship with the secretary, Lionel Ross. The forms had not had his full attention: instead, Lionel's man-pussy had received the attention the forms deserved.
"I- I'm not sure sir. I'm shocked - I..."
"Is there something on your mind, Mr. McCoy?" There was an awkward silence. "I do keep a cordial relationship with Mr. Ross. His wife was very upset. You know that this is not forgiveable: we are a company of professionals."
"I know sir. I- I'll resign. I'm sorry..." Sufjan looked up. Despite Davie's short, wiry form, he must have been working out recently and he had a youthful energy.
"No, no. You don't have to resign, I'm quite willing to forgive you." Davie was reclining in his seat now. The air was different. It was tense.
"How?" Sufjan carefully asked. His eyes - dark brown, inherited from his Arab mother - met Davie's.
"Do exactly as I say," Davie suggested gently. "Lock the door."
Sufjan knew that he had to do it. He walked over to lock the door. His cock began to stiffen in his briefs; they clung to his genitals; walking felt strange. There was freedom in this imprisonment. He liked it.
"Do up the blinds," the boss commanded.
The light became dim. Sufjan returned to his chair while Davie reclined and watched him. He groped his crotch shamelessly and pressed out the outline of his stiff cock through his suit trousers. A quick estimate gave Sufjan about six and a half inches; so he knew he had the advantage in size.
"Now kneel on the floor and spread your legs."
The toes on his shiny black shoes bent as his knees took the weight of his body. Davie stepped out from his desk, and hands began to survey his torso: feeling over his chest, shoulders and back. It ran down and felt around his crotch. Sufjan's cock was hard, very hard.
"My, my, McCoy! Have you done this before?"
"Yes, sir."
"With whom? Tell me..."
"With Lionel Ross, the secretary."
"Are you gay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why... is your cock so hard..?"
"Because I love sex, sir. I can feel sex in the air."
"Oh very good boy! Good boy indeed," Davie crooned as he knelt down and fondled Sufjan's long, thick cock through his suit.
Davie slid Sufjan's suit jacket to the floor and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his naturally tan skin and dark brown nipples. Sufjan closed his eyes and felt his boss's fingers over his musculature: his rock-like pecs, his pebbled abs. Soft cotton ran over his biceps and his shirt was pulled from him and dropped to the floor.
Davie's lips suckled on his nipples, and he kept his position sturdy. He felt like Davie was a child, unable to control his desire for milk, sucking on his breasts. Naturally, he lay one hand on the back of his head, another on his bottom to support him. His ass was firm and round, the suit was smooth and pleasing to touch. Gently, he pulled Davie into him and their torsos met, cocks colliding in the middle.
Davie pulled away and looked into Sufjan's deep eyes, "Undress me."
"Yes sir."
Sufjan did as he was told. He lay the child-boss on the ground and undressed him, sliding down his blazer, removing his shirt; Davie stood up, and Sufjan untied his shoes, pulled off his socks and trousers. His skin was ivory white, his muscles gently toned and all-over hairless; and when he pulled down the boss's black boxer-briefs, a hairless crotch met him.
Now a very bent, very hard penis stood in front of him at eye level. Sufjan reached around Davie's ass and prepared to do his duty to his master.
"No Sufjan, not today." Davie stroked his employee's face and held his chin in two fingers."You want it don't you?"
"Yes sir."
Davie's cock slapped against his face and let out a little precum.
"Don't you want it, Sufjan?"
"Yes sir, I want it."
"Stand. Strip."
Sufjan pulled off his smart leather shoes, his tidy black socks. He released the button of his designer trousers and stepped out of their crumpled mass on the floor. Left in his fresh, soft briefs, he let their tight material release their captive inmate and finally, he stood naked before his boss. His proud cock stood at eight inches, full, erect and leaking juice.
Mr. Davie sat back in his executive chair. Grinning cheekily, he pulled out a long, black rubber dildo and threw it at Sufjan, who caught it.
"Suck it, show me what you would do for me."
Sufjan kneeled back on the floor and started licking the round, rubber head of the dildo. His tongue lapped around the round head; it curled up against the stiff rubber and rolled all around it. Then it travelled down his mouth towards his throat. Sufjan found himself getting majorly turned on, and as he took the cock in his mouth, he started feeling his own silky smooth ball sack, his own long, stiff cock. He heard Davie jacking off at his desk. He felt so powerful! So he worked and sucked even harder on the cock, making deep expressions of pleasure on his face: throwing his head back at the feelings in his cock.
"Oh, very good McCoy, very nice. Very... sexual. Now, lube up the dildo."
Davie put a dispenser on his desk. Sufjan reached out his hands as Davie pumped the lube out. Then, treating the dildo as if it were his lover's own, he lubed it up carefully, pleasuring it the best he could.
"Back on your knees."
He kneeled.
"Now, fuck yourself with that cock."
Tenderly, Sufjan started sliding the dildo into his ass.
"Fuck - your - self!" Davie commanded, all the while masturbating his long, bent cock.
As his ass started to open, the dildo slid deeper and deeper inside. Sufjan shut his eyes and moaned aloud as it entered him, filling a space and an urge inside him that he knew and loved. He was filled with the desire for it to go deeper, harder, faster into his anus.
As he plunged the dildo in, he worked on his bulging, aching cock, pleasuring himself immensely.
Then, all of a sudden he wailed with pleasure. The artificial cock had found its magic nesting place.
"Fuck! Oh, FUCK!"
He began to drive the dildo in and out of his ass, touching the g-spot again and again, and again and again. The pleasure grew, it mounted; the pleasure in his cock, his ass, his balls, it piled and compacted; the flowers in his mind budded and finally blossomed, full, explosive: and he came.
"Christ, oh FUCK!" Sufjan reached orgasm. His world stopped spinning, and pleasure overrode each and every sensation. His life burst out of his penis, and landed on the industrial, blue carpet of Mr. Robert Davie's office floor.
When Sufjan opened his eyes, he found himself watching his boss's cum spew over his little white stomach.
Gently, he pulled the dildo out of his ass, and caught his breath. Then he collapsed backwards. His anus was aching, his cock shrinking back to normal size.
Mr. Davie handed Sufjan his own briefs and orderd him to mop up all the cum. He rose and wiped them across Mr. Davie's belly, cleaning up his mess, and then mopped the floor. The small briefs were a total mess, but when he tried to give them back, Mr. Davie commanded him to wear them for the rest of the day.
"Be a good boy, Sufjan. You don't want to upset me any more now, do you?"
"No sir."
He pull the tiny, come-damp briefs over his considerably larger frame. They were very uncomfortable, very tight. His penis bulged against the damp, see-through material. "Anything else, sir?"
"Dress me."
Sufjan dressed Mr. Davie, commando, buttoned his shirt, tied his tie. He made him coffee, cleaned his floor, and even read him some of his mail. All the while, he was dressed in Davie's little white briefs.
When lunch time came, he finally allowed Sufjan to dress and leave. "Sufjan, you were very good. I think, you are too much of an asset to fire for such trivial problems. I hereby promote you to being my personal assistant. Have the rest of the day off, I shall call you again when you are needed."
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