When a hunky construction worker catches Zolly Forbes attention, the sadistic young executive executes a plan for some alone time in his personal basement. A hot two-part story by Amalaric!
Zolly Forbes’ Walk on the Wild Side - Part 1
by Amalaric
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1: Things to do With a Fine Cigar
Flipping the pages of the skin magazine purchased earlier on his lunch break; Zolly Forbes thoughtlessly put his feet up on the desk and rubbed his crotch, drifting on the up swell of a hot day dream for a few minutes before giving up in frustration. Boyishly cute at twenty-six and already a high-ranking executive of the company, he was used to an ordered world- at least by his own standards- and the noise of the construction crew in the refurbished offices down the hall was driving him to distraction. He threw the magazine against a far wall and, leaning back in his expensive chair, considered some other possibilities.
Harry McFarland may have had an old-fashioned name, matched by solid values and a stolid life, but his strapping body, six feet three inches tall and weighing in at two twenty without an ounce of fat, was anything but stodgy. Graced by God in one of His outrageously generous moods with a face straight out of Hollywood, Harry was his wife’s delight, the subject of squishy expectation as she did the housework during daylight hours and rambunctious fun when the kids were finally tucked in at night. Lovers since high school, they had been married for almost five years already and, though everyone said at the time that they were way too young, the flame still burned as bright as ever. Three years younger than Zolly Forbes, the exec’s and big, hairy construction worker’s paths never seemed to cross…or so Harry thought, but with a face like that and body to match he should have known better. It was only Tuesday morning and he was already looking forward to the weekend, sweating profusely in the close confines of the office suite, air thick with plaster and saw dust as a an apparition materialized- expensive black suit and white shirt- standing out against the crowd of chino, khaki, or blue denim and tee shirt clad workers like a ghostly, if somewhat cherubic, undertaker. Despite his boyish face, thunder creased the young exec’s brow and, motioning to Harry through the miasma of power tool-driven noise, the wordless command was unmistakable- follow me!
I probably wouldn’t have even noticed this guy if it wasn’t for all the damn racket over there… The thought seemed somehow amusing as Zolly’s mind slid (though he wouldn’t have been able to describe it as such) down the slippery philosophical slope of oppositional juxtapositions and paradoxical serendipity. Whatever the case, the slope was definitely slippery and the boyish executive was, perhaps, engaged in more than a slide; free fall would be more apt, as he effortlessly surrendered to uncaring obsession. For his part, Harry McFarland was perplexed, not so much by the unraveling scenario- though that was surely a point of concern- but by the rising tide of stark fear that his instincts coughed up, seeming so out of proportion to the situation at hand as he shuffled nervously in the chill sterility of the air conditioned office, a universe and thirty yards away from the rowdy camaraderie of noisy workmen just down the hall. Zolly leaned back in his chair, as he had a thousand times before, perusing the big buck standing in dumb confusion all lit up nicely under a fluorescent overhead. If he had paused for a moment of introspection, Zolly would have noticed that the slippery slope he rode with abandon was fast approaching a precipice, but his eyes were riveted on a different vision. Yes, and the vision had a name- Harry McFarland- somewhere around twenty three years old, tall and perfectly proportioned, with dark good looks that begged the best in some mongrel ancestral mixture; wide brow under brown-black hair, thick eyebrows over a straight nose, ample mouth and stubbled, manly jaw over a bull-like neck set on broad, muscular shoulders. The workman was dressed in requisite white tee and faded jeans and Zolly noted with pleasure certain pleasing details- like the damp half circles of sweat stained cotton under the man’s deep pits, or the tuft of dark fur peeking over the sagging collar of his tee, augmented by a wiry carpet on massive forearms and the stubble shadowing his jaw. His eyes roamed the merchandise, confident already of unconditional obedience, resting on McFarland’s narrow waist and the high bulge of lighter denim rising beneath his buckled belt.
‘Sir?’ The question caught him off guard but was, nevertheless, not unpleasing. Harry McFarland was honestly perplexed. ‘You wanted to talk to me, sir? Is there a problem?’ Zolly’s slow smile made the workman shiver. He blinked slowly and decided to get right to the point. ‘Yeah, you could say that…’ he put on a frown, chillingly convincing despite his boyish good looks, and continued, ‘…in a lot of ways, uh, your name is Harry, right?’ McFarland nodded slowly, really frightened now, wondering how he would pay the bills, as recession loomed, without a job. He took a deep breath and the swell of his massive chest under the tee sent Zolly Forbes into a last wild spin as the precipice yawned visibly before him and, all uncaring, he fairly danced over the edge. ‘Let me get right to the point, Harry. I’ve…ah…noticed you the last week or so, coming and going in those offices down the hall…and the fucking noise is driving me crazy, got to do something about that…’ He paused as McFarland stared, wide brown eyes incredulous but realizing that there was more to come…much more. ‘Well, I guess- to be honest- that isn’t really the point, but it got me thinking,’ Zolly rubbed his forehead and frowned, ‘yeah, it got me…uh…anyway, you have how many kids Harry? And, how’s your wife these days?’ The tall construction worker felt like he was being sucked into a scene from one of those artsy movies he despised- all swirling non-sequitors- and shrugged…waiting for the axe to fall. Zolly didn’t keep him waiting long. ‘Anyway, I’ve been doing a little research and, let’s just say that this bad old world can be one fucking dangerous place. Like, for instance, that school where your kids go (he rattled off the name and address), or your house, for instance, with the little lady there alone most of the day and I’ll just bet she is too careless to remember to lock the door…and even if she did…’ McFarland was no genius, untrained in subtlety and simple, preferring the bedrock to the stratosphere, he, nevertheless, was far from stupid; why was the bastard threatening him? Zolly never answered the question directly but clarified things to the stunned shock of the shuffling stud, ‘So, this is what I propose- a simple solution for a simple guy.’
Harry McFarland muttered some unfocused excuse to his distracted wife and was at least thankful that the kids weren’t yet home from school. He had returned from work early, explaining that he had ‘some special business’ to attend to, and that was fine as far as she was concerned, but still he seemed somehow distracted. Linda put it out of her mind- trusting her man implicitly- and returned to the latest issue of Cosmopolitan that had just arrived in the day’s post. Harry stood behind her for a moment and, if she could have seen the look on his face, her heart would have melted in direct, wet proportion to the lubricating juices welling from a willing pussy…but she didn’t, and the look of love, and longing, and reluctant sacrifice went all unnoticed as he turned and headed, per instructions, for the shower. Ten minutes later he sat on the bed pulling fresh white socks onto damp feet, dressed as commanded in clean shirt, tee underneath, trousers over fresh briefs…and he had even clipped his finger nails. Less than an hour after that the tall construction worker stood before the front door of a rambling house in suburbs he had never visited and, heart screaming a last protest, leaned purposefully on the doorbell. It was answered all too soon by a grinning Zolly Forbes and the hulking victim shambled across the threshold knowing full well that whatever was waiting would go beyond decency, tearing at the fabric of a life lived in easy decency, taken for granted…and he cursed himself and the crazy executive in one breath, hoping that whatever was demanded would somehow keep his wife and children from harm.
The basement of the big house was spacious and clearly the result of careful planning; a fantasy in stone and that was readily apparent to the practiced eye of the skilled worker guided to the center of the mortared chamber, eyes wide with an equal measure of fascination and fear, as he stood beneath dangling links of chain and refused to look at his interrogator, gazing instead at the intricate patterns of cobbled brick on the floor. ‘Take your shirt off, Harry.’ The command, seeming to echo from an infinite distance, came as no surprise and the big stud, who could have snapped Zolly Forbes’ spine with little effort, fumbled with the buttons of his clean work shirt then shrugged the tee over his head standing at last bare chested in the center of the stone basement. He bent his head in angry resignation as Zolly scurried forward and shackled his hairy wrists, hoisting them high toward a cold iron ring attached to the ceiling. Immobilized at last, McFarland twisted in his bonds, testing the links as honor demanded and affording his captor a view that vindicated reckless insanity; broad, hairy expanse of naked muscle of the strung-up stud’s naked torso, helpless to resist the onslaught that was sure to come. ‘Why you doing this to me, man? I never done nothing to you…I…’ It was a moot point and went unanswered. If the buck was too stupid to understand, well, that made his predicament that much sweeter. Zolly stood before his victim and ran a hand roughly over the mighty sweep of his hairy chest, testing the tensed muscle and, after a cursory examination, glided lower, unfastening his trousers and savoring the slow snick of the descending zipper. Harry half expected the violation, but expectation and reality were two different things. He grimaced in real pain as his trousers were jerked down around his ankles, shoes and socks roughly removed, until he stood nearly naked before the other man’s hungry expectation, stripped to his briefs and painfully conscious of the alien lust crackling in the still air. He knew that he should have gone to the cops but also realized, as sure as the bastard had explained it back in the office, that it would have been his word against the exec’s- useless, with a looming disaster waiting to engulf his family. That thought gave him, not comfort, but at least some resolve as his shorts were slowly lowered, leaving his long, muscular frame swinging stark naked against the tight embrace of the chain, every inch of his body exposed to the other man’s twisted intentions. Zolly, for his part, had long since careened over an abstract edge of insanity, neither realizing nor caring what happened after the day’s rough sport. He had no idea where the tempest of his lust would take him and didn’t count the cost, retreating instead into the multi-hued patterns of pure art with McFarland’s big, strapping body as unwilling canvas. He vaguely registered the other man’s plaintive questions and smelled his fear, but these were mere strokes on a blank canvas of masculine flesh that would soon shriek with vivid color. The chained stud slowly came to the same realization and, thinking of his kids arriving home, all uncaring, from a day at school, bent his head and valiantly choked back a rising flood of tears.
Zolly Forbes sat back, surveying the masterpiece that was Harry McFarland, and drew a long hit on his freshly lit, illegally imported Cuban cigar. The aromatic smoke suffused the room, lending an exotic ambiance to an already charged atmosphere. His voiced seemed disembodied, seated on a stool behind the big buck, checking out the rippling expanse of McFarland’s muscular back and hairy ass, as he pondered the glowing tip of the eight-inch tobacco shaft. He blew a slow smoke ring and hoisted himself from his stool, ambling into view as Harry flexed nervously in a naked semi-spread eagle, acutely conscious of his vulnerability and plumbing the depths of mixed fear and humiliation. Zolly, never one for pretense, strode forward and hoisted the stud’s heavy cock and sweaty balls in one hand. The weight was considerable as McFarland’s sexual attributes seemed to match his face and physique in sheer perfection. The terrified buck winced as his manhood was roughly grasped and fondled, panting his anxiety with an unspoken plea frozen on the shocked mask of his handsome face. ‘You ever cheat on your wife, boy?’ The question, so unexpected, left the construction worker speechless, still reeling from the scandal of having the cock in question grasped with impunity by another man. ‘No…’ the word came with some effort, garbled past a choking sensation of pure desperation. ‘I think you’re lying,’ said matter of factly as the tip of the cigar brushed the sensitive velvet rim of McFarland’s imprisoned dick. He screamed, throwing back his handsome head and arching his back in a way that was pure inspiration. The cigar hovered for a moment and landed hungrily at the thick base of Harry’s penis. The mingled smell of singed pubic hair, Cuban tobacco, and sizzling flesh filled the air. ‘You sure, boy?’ Harry, drenched with sweat, screamed harshly, ‘I SWEAR IT!!!’ And panting, ‘Why…?’ ‘Oh, just curious,’ Zolly replied and nudged the glowing tip of the cigar against the writhing buck’s dangling left testicle. Harry gagged and, emitting an animal sound of ragged and unreasoned agony, convulsed; twisting violently in his bonds, muscles contracting and handsome head shaking frantically back and forth as he tried to evade the searching brand. His effort, though highly erotic, was futile and the glowing tip, after lingering for a while against the tender slack flesh moved to his other testicle and the process was repeated. Harry shrieked and the sound of his deep, manly cries of undiluted and uninhibited agony filled the chamber as surely as the blue smoke of the half-spent cigar.
Zolly withdrew the cigar and, after slowly licking the long shaft, took a deep drag. He exhaled in Harry’s reddened face, smiling as the big stud blinked with discomfort, and stepped back. Leaning forward he bent his head toward the center of the construction worker’s hairy chest, gently kissing the cleft between muscular pecs and running his tongue over a sensitive nipple. ‘That feel good?’ Zolly’s voice was muffled as he toyed with one of the stud’s nipples. Harry hung slack in his chains, sobbing softly and, looking up, Zolly noticed and approved, rising to his full height in order to lick the salty wetness from the big stud’s unshaven jaw. He kissed the captive’s full lips and sensed a tightening revulsion even has he slid a hand behind the buck’s warm neck and bent his head forward, pressing Harry’s unwilling mouth against his own. ‘I know…’ Zolly sighed, ‘We have some time, boy, and I do know how you feel…’ He paused as if deep in thought. ‘I reckon that the attention of this here cigar is more welcome than my own, yeah?’ Harry gasped something inarticulate but the intent of confused denial was clear as Zolly sighed and glided out of sight, taking up a new position behind the terrified stud. ‘You know, as I recall, someone pretty famous found a use (or so they say) for one of these things a while back. It was in all the papers, remember?’ Harry felt a gathering pin point of dangerous warmth suffuse the tightly clenched crack of twitching globes. ‘Of course, his wasn’t lit…or so they say…’ And the big stud’s shrieks echoed off the stone walls early in the afternoon. Before the sun set he would beg for the kinder, more intimate attentions of Zolly Forbes.
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31118azti - September 27, 2019, 9:47 am
Interesting intro and what a nice body!
darkmusingsofahornyoldfag - September 27, 2019, 3:23 pm
Hot story!
scotts60143 - September 30, 2019, 9:30 pm
So VERY excited to see this story again!!! It was always one of my favorites from CM. Thanks for posting again Amal and the nips are as hot as ever!!