Dobson's captive hunk is stripped, bound, strapped and whipped to the pleasure of all watching.
White Collar Perks - Chapter 2: The Desk Slave
by Amalaric
Jimmy stared in confused humiliation, eyes shifting back and forth between the stony faced VP and his smirking secretary. ‘Do as you’re told, son,’ the security guard’s casual command broke the spell and, with a silent, internal whimper, the big buck slowly hiked up his tee shirt. ‘All the way.’ The guard’s relentless voice compelled its own kind of reason and Jimmy’s leaden hand lifted his shirt higher; clearing the ridged perfection of smooth abdominals with deep, clean navel, over the high swell of rock hard pecs revealing the full sweep of his muscular chest crowned by wide, rosy nipples. Dobson noted the spreading blush on the boy’s face and allowed himself a smile of contented satisfaction. The kid was pure perfection, shuffling nervously, a trembling hand clutching the raised hem of the tee, held tight against the creamy ridge of his collar bone. Jimmy, for his part, was not smiling. The shocked stud’s boyish face was creased in dismayed perplexity, still unsure of any reason for the humiliating display, though vaguely aware of the gathering sexual buzz swirling about the suddenly stuffy office. The evident signs, trickling up from his subconscious, were apparent in the deepening flush on his averted face and sudden erection of nubbed nipples brushed to reluctant excitement by the hem of the ascending tee shirt. He waited with rising fear for the next, inevitable command. Vaguely wondering what Miss Troutly could possibly be scribbling in her steno pad, Jimmy, caught in a strange limbo of spiraling humiliation, turned his imploring gaze, not at the formidable Dobson, but toward the guard. ‘That’s good, Jim, real good…’ and the young victim noted with mesmerized revulsion the beads of sweat popping on the cop’s upper lip and staccato breaths of rising excitement, flinching as a meaty hand lifted the drooping hem of his tee a bit higher exposing a damp armpit matted with dark, silky hair. ‘Seems fit to me, sir.’ The remark was aimed at the VP, who nodded his agreement and, smiling brightly at Jimmy, ordered him to strip off the tee and toss it over a nearby chair.
Jimmy complied in leaden obedience, shrugging the green fabric over his head and knew a few seconds of terror as his vision was obscured by the sweaty cloth, vividly imagining three sets of avid eyes roaming the contours of his half naked body, or a fist slammed into his tense, unprotected gut. Stripped to the waist, the sense of incongruity was heightened by the other uniformed and business suited occupants of the room and deepened his sense of exposure and awkward shame. Dobson, for his part, made a mental note of congratulations to whatever fashion mogul happened to be responsible for the latest sartorial craze among the brainless younger set; Jimmy’s blue levis were two sizes too large around the waist and quite baggy. True, Dobson thought, the loose trousers do obscure the undoubted beauty of the buck’s muscular legs, but we’ll remedy that soon enough…in the meantime, damn, there are other compensations! He could tell that the embarrassed stud was also suddenly aware of those ‘other compensations’, had even cultivated them in very different circumstances, but was bitterly regretting it now. Though he wore a wide leather belt, casually buckled over the top steel button, Jimmy’s worn blue jeans nevertheless sagged with suggestive splendor. Obviously, this was the intent, conscious or not, as he strutted about the boardwalk impressing the ogling babes caught staring from the corner of his searching eye…but not here…not here!! Neither Dobson nor the suddenly staring Harriet Troutly (steno pad forgotten) bothered to disabuse the handsome buck of his perception- rapt gazes caressing the broad dipping line of crisp briefs clearly visible above the denim. Jimmy followed the trajectory and, self-consciously hiking up his pants, knew his first flash of anger as the mildly defiant act merely caused Dobson’s smile to grow impossibly wider. The young stud’s budding sense of resistance was quickly tempered, quite literally, as the leering exec nodded toward the security guard and casually commanded him to secure the short link of chain to the shackles, rebinding Jimmy’s strong wrists and effectively immobilizing him. The nervous nineteen year old waited, broad adam’s apple working overtime as he choked on the spiraling humiliation, stripped to the waist and helpless, three feet in front of the VP’s glass topped desk. The tall buck stood in shamed silence, long fingered hands twitching, thumbs hooked in the pockets of sagging trousers, already too dispirited to hike them up again over the glaring expanse of white jockey shorts. His handsome head bowed in awkward denial, unable to meet the hot stares of the three interrogators. Dobson let out a short, but very contented, squeak and leaned back in his leather chair to peruse his strapping trophy and consider the next, long anticipated, move.
‘Stand up straight, boy.’ The captive landscaper ground his teeth and slowly obeyed, fresh resentment coursing through his tensed body. His smooth torso was bathed in a light sheen of fresh sweat, layered with healthy young muscle, massive shoulders squared against a vaguely anticipated onslaught, ridged abs taut and hard under creamy skin. Dobson marveled at the size of the boy’s rounded biceps, noting the complex interplay of veins cording the meaty flesh, snaking down lightly furred triceps. The clean sweep of well-defined pecs gracing his deep chest highlighted a kind of perfect symmetry seen in the sculpture of classical Greece. And I’m only looking at half of this stud!!! The thought made him dizzy and he nearly choked on the desire to hurry the process; to issue the peremptory order that would cause young Jimmy to unbuckle his belt and lower those sagging blue jeans…and all that must follow, but first there were other things to savor, chief among them loosening the cocky kid up, toying with him a little…like, maybe forcing our handsome office slave to put on a show. Yeah, nice and slow…time for some strip tease, Jimmy! ‘Turn around, Mr. Ruisdale.’ Jimmy shrugged, tossed a quick look of faked bravado at the guard, and offered a view of his broad, smooth back to Dobson and his powdered bitch. Thoroughly hot and in the grip of a lust so potent he thought he might explode, the VP pushed the swivel chair away from his desk and, as Jimmy listened with growing apprehension, back turned to the commotion, moved forward to stand next to his victim, nostrils filled with the potent sent of musky denim, morning deodorant, and surging testosterone emanating from the nervous buck. Laying a hand on the smooth expanse of muscle, he was gratified as Jimmy flinched, jerking his head sideways. Dobson ran a finger down the length of hot skin, casually hooking the loose waistband of sagging trousers, which slid down another half inch over the widening expanse of Jimmy’s jockey shorts. ‘Bend over.’ The command was simple enough but Jimmy balked, conscious perhaps of the questing finger burrowed mere centimeters above the upper delta of his cleft ass, at first pretending not to hear or understand, but actually gathering meager strength for an act of defiance. It wasn’t easy. Dobson, and all that he represented, commanded a kind of adoration that only a nineteen year old could muster…but enough was enough. ‘No fucking way,’ the expletive, muttered in a whisper, surprised Jimmy and delighted his interrogators. ‘What did you say?’ The question was deceptive, delivered with ominous calm. Jimmy’s mind skittered along frantic byways, searching for a way to back down without bending over. ‘What you gonna do to me?’ The question, repeated from ten minutes before, held a new urgency as the unwilling office slave stalled for time. Dobson ignored the remark and turning to the guard said, ‘Officer, will you please assist the young man?’ Jimmy grunted in shocked dismay as a broad leather strap snapped across his naked back followed by a hissing groan of pure agony as a knuckled fist slammed into his gut, doubling him over, gasping for air.
He was briefly conscious of a fat tear splashing the beige carpet that filled his field of vision and knew fresh depths of humiliation. Nineteen year olds didn’t cry, but it seemed that certain rules were made to be broken. Jimmy was also shaking like a leaf- something else nineteen year olds weren’t supposed to do- partly from raw fear but also from the breaking storm of real rage and a measure of shame that, until now, he had never known. Even so, the lesson was well taken, as aching abs reminded him of unpleasant consequences. The tall stud assumed the revolting position; doubled over at the waist, eyes riveted on the carpet, skin crawling at the back of his warm neck as the company cop’s meaty hand held him in place. Dobson sighed and ruffled the captive’s thick black hair. ‘Hopefully,’ he drawled in full pedantic form, ‘you now understand that the agreed upon disciplinary procedure must run its full course…’ Agreed upon????? Jimmy’s frantic brain swirled; still seeking a route of escape, not really comprehending. The business suited asshole droned on, laying a cold, proprietary hand on the broad arc of Jimmy’s naked back, ‘And, I feel that I must remind you Ruisdale- that course of action demands the full measure of, ah, corporal punishment.’ He paused for a few seconds, allowing the last two words their intended impact, and continued, ‘A thorough strapping is in order, I think, and given the ambiguity of your tender age- not a boy, but not quite a man- it may be appropriate to begin where your dad should have but probably didn’t, bent over the knee so to speak and afterward (he giggled suggestively), well, we can work our way upwards.’ The dawn of shocked realization as Jimmy finally understood (albeit vaguely) what the VP had in mind was quickly underscored and intensified as Dobson reached around the panting stud’s narrow hips and casually unbuckled his belt. A jingling sound filled the still room as a symbolic bastion knew its first, tentative breach but the buck’s harsh breathing, intensifying as the older man lightly caressed the peach fuzz treasure trail from navel to the elastic of his jockeys, provided a pleasing counterpoint to the metallic music. Jimmy sweated in stunned immobility like a doomed deer caught between the balefire of onrushing headlights, feeling like he might pass out…wishing, from some far away place, that he could.
‘Stand up, Mr. Ruisdale.’ Jimmy did as he was told, blushing furiously, still facing the wall. ‘Turn back around, and lower your trousers.’ The terse command hit the big stud, shuffling nervously on booted feet, like a train. Jimmy stood frozen in dismayed immobility, long fingers twitching at his sides. Dobson sighed, shook his head in mock frustration and, reaching forward, unfastened the first steel button of Jimmy’s jeans. ‘See how it’s done, boy?’ He laughed, ‘I think you know how to do the rest- So, drop your pants, NOW!’ The burly cop made an ominous move, cocking a hairy arm behind his balled fist and Jimmy slowly completed the job, fumbling the remaining buttons open then shucking his trousers down long, muscular legs to pool at his ankles. He stood awkwardly, conscious of the bulge in his scanty briefs, hating the stares of the three interrogators. Dobson let him sweat for a few minutes as Harriet Troutly pretended to scribble notes and the security guard rummaged noisily in a file cabinet somewhere beyond Jimmy’s field of vision. Eventually, the VP, by now anxious to get the show truly on the road, propelled his victim forward a few steps with a hand laid firmly over the wiry fur at the small of Jimmy’s back; straight up to the glass topped desk, in nerve-tingling proximity to Miss Troutly’s wide-eyed stare of unabashed fascination as her gaze sucked up the sight of the near naked buck two feet away. Her nostrils dilated with the musky scent emanating from his damp crotch and she watched, entranced, as the overhead fluorescent played light tricks with sweat slick, trembling muscle. ‘Lean over the desk,’ Dobson was relentless. Jimmy let out a long shudder and, bending at the waist, lay supine across the cold glass; shackled hands thrust forward dangling over the far edge. The resourceful cop produced a pair of cuffs and, fastening one bracelet to the short chain linking the manacles, attached the other to the bracket handle on the top drawer of Dobson’s desk. Jimmy was effectively helpless- bent ninety degrees at the waist, chest and belly slick against the unyielding surface, cotton clad ass jutting suggestively backward. Dobson casually fingered a wide leather strap, savoring the shamed stud’s light groan as he tested the taut muscle straining against the confines of his briefs. I think you’re ready now, boy. Time for some warm-up action.
The strapping seemed to go on forever, though in truth Dobson timed it to around twenty minutes. This was, after all, merely the preliminary. To Harriet Troutly’s disappointment and the VP’s secret satisfaction, Jimmy took it like a man, teeth clamped together against the rising crescendo of stinging pain as Dobson laid the strokes hard and fast on the rounded muscle of his tightly clenched ass. That the boy felt the pain, however, was made abundantly clear by his body language; thick, hairy thighs quivering with stress, bound torso squirming against the desktop, eyes squeezed tightly shut and jaw muscle working furiously to contain the agony and deny the onlookers any overt sign of weakness. Jimmy assumed that endurance would pay off and, believing that being thrashed while splayed over the boss’ desk constituted his punishment for Saturday’s infraction, dreamed through a red haze of snapping strokes of pulling his pants back on when it was over and walking, free and somehow redeemed, out the door. Dobson finally paused and, handing the strap to the solicitous cop, watched as Jimmy exhaled a deep sigh of relief and slowly opened questioning brown eyes. He only winced a little as the hated executive ran a palm over the searing fire that still glowed deep in the shaking muscle of his bruised butt, waiting for that moment, ever nearer, when a turning key would signal sweet release. Dobson interrupted the reverie by thrusting his hand between Jimmy’s slightly spread thighs, cupping his big balls through the hot, sweaty folds of loose shorts. That got a quick reaction from the thoroughly straight stud, who, reverie tattering around the edges of dashed hope, reflexively jerked against the chain binding his arms, twisting his long torso sideways, and crying out at last. ‘You sick fuck! Let me go!!’ Understandable, but considering the circumstances, not very wise. Dobson squeezed hard, nodding as Jimmy convulsed in agony, then let go, took a deep breath, and decided to proceed with the next phase of the carefully thought out plan.
Jimmy reckoned he had suffered more than enough. Pulling up with all of his considerable strength against the cuffs which bound him to the drawer handle on the far side of the desk, he swore as the ancient bracket refused to give, round ass wriggling with erotic energy, bunched muscles of his long, broad back jumping with tension. ‘I think our boy wants to straighten up,’ Dobson’s ridiculous observation nevertheless held an ominous note. ‘I did what you said, Mr. Dobson…sir.’ Was there just the slightest hint of pleading beneath the defiance? The VP smiled as Jimmy continued, ‘So, write it down or whatever you have to do, but I gotta get out of here…’ He began to stammer, ‘…to get out…let me go, NOW!!!’ Dobson sighed and, turning to the cop, surprised Jimmy with a compliant request, ‘Officer, you heard the young man. Release him from the desk.’ The operation was quickly completed; unclasped cuffs back in the guard’s hands twirling lazily around a chubby forefinger, but the shackles were left on the rebellious buck’s thick wrists… ‘Just a precaution,’ Dobson assured him. But we’re finished here, Jimmy thought as he rose to his full height, standing with worn denim still pooled at his ankles, for all practical purposes stripped to his undershorts before the three interested observers. He bent painfully over in order to pull up his trousers. ‘Not so fast!’ Dobson interrupted, ‘That is, unless you planned on taking them off…but if that’s the case, I think you ought to start with the boots.’ The Troutly bitch sniggered at her boss’ cleverness, while Jimmy ran a hand, shaking with nervous desperation, though his hair; stifling an irrational urge to burst into tears. This can’t be happening, it just can’t…but it was. He decided to make a run for it. Dashing toward the wood paneled office door (as fast as feet hobbled by his lowered jeans would permit), Jimmy was grateful that his hands weren’t bound behind his back and, reaching the door in full anticipation of a rear tackle by the burly cop, frantically twisted the knob. Locked! Ah, fuck…ah, fuck…ah… The sound of hilarity burned his ears as Jimmy turned around just in time for a second gut punch, harder than the first, that sent the air rushing from his lungs, stars popping before tear-filled eyes, and his breakfast puked up in a steaming puddle on the exec’s expensive carpet.
‘Damn, Rusidale! Look what you’ve done. Stress getting to you, boy? Gonna be some more hell to pay for that, I’m afraid.’ Despite the remark, Dobson didn’t seem to be really upset. Motioning toward his secretary, he curtly said, ‘Looks like the lad’s had a little accident, Harriet. Be a sweet heart and clean it up would you?’ Miss Troutly frowned but, not daring to contradict the boss, hustled into the en suit bathroom for some supplies. ‘That’s better,’ Dobson turned toward Jimmy, swaying dizzily with the guard at his side, ‘Now where were we? Ah!’ He nodded at the cop, ‘I don’t think Mr. Ruisdale has quite learned his lesson yet, Bob. Perhaps a more strenuous workout might be in order?’ Bob grunted agreement and Dobson continued, ‘OK, then…stretch him out- you know, a nice, tight spread eagle…’ He scratched behind one ear as if considering, ‘Yeah, right here in the center of the office should do nicely; give us some room for a view (he laughed at his pun) and every inch of this big buck to work on.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ The guttural assent signaled Jimmy’s doom as he was marched to the middle of the room and positioned between two heavy and very shiny (Dobson had only had them installed a week ago) eye bolts screwed into an overhead beam. The guard stood on a chair as Jimmy waited in stupefied apprehension and looped a length of chain through the bolts, attaching the ends to the metal cuffs on the prisoner’s wrists. It was only then that the short chain linking the shackles was removed, but Jimmy barely had time to take note, much less react. With a fast jerk on the long chain, his muscular arms were hoisted high and spread wide…reaching for infinity. The cop whistled with satisfaction then knelt and deftly stripped off Jimmy’s boots, socks and trousers. He jacked the stud’s legs wide, preparing to anchor them in place with more lengths of chain, but was interrupted by the VP. ‘Hold on a minute, Bob.’ The cop backed off, wondering what his boss had in mind, as Dobson moved to center stage. Jimmy rustled in his softly clinking bonds, feeling hideously vulnerable with his arms stretched over his head, sweat trickling from pits matted with dark hair, stripped down to nothing but his scanty briefs; he felt an invisible breeze ruffle the short pelt on legs and forearms…or was it merely the prickle of stark, uncontrolled terror? Dobson indirectly answered the question, stroking Jimmy’s long, heavily muscled flank- from the massive sweep of raised pecs, over the flared lats and smooth rib cage, to the ticklish line of hair running to its subterranean course down the front of the stud’s shorts- and the cold lead in the pit of Jimmy’s stomach rolled over, making him feel like he might puke again. Yep, there was no breeze in the suddenly hot, seemingly airless office; the rising hair on the back of his neck was caused by pure, undiluted fear.
‘See, Bob,’ Dobson was in his element, ‘Mr. Ruisdale can take it like a man and, so, I reckon that it’s time we found out just what kind of a man he is.’ He hooked a finger in the dipping elastic of Jimmy’s shorts, stretched it out a few inches and let go with a resounding snap against smooth skin. ‘Our big boy seemed to be sporting a respectable package, even with his pants on, and now we’re gonna see if all the promise meets…ah…expectations.’ ‘Please, man…don’t…’ Jimmy twisted in his chains, desperate to preserve a small measure of modesty, head frantically turning, taking in the eagerness mirrored on three equally grinning faces. Pleading was obviously useless and he stopped in mid-sentence, handsome head bowed to the inevitable. Dobson inhaled deeply, caressing the outline of his captive’s cock though the damp cotton, watching Jimmy squirm a little, then hooked his thumbs deep in the yielding briefs and pulled them slowly down. The ever-helpful Officer Bob slipped them off and, with a surreptitious glance at the boss, shoved them into his front pocket. Harriet Troutly flushed under her lavender scented powder and, breaking the near sacred silence, gushed, ‘Oh! He’s gorgeous!’ Though utterly banal, the remark was nevertheless true- more like MAGNIFICENT, Dobson thought and, stepping back, took a long look at his sought after prize. Jimmy’s head remained bowed, less from humility than humiliation, refusing to meet the naked lust perusing his nakedness. Anything could happen now as the stuff of deepest nightmare played itself out. Once again, Harriet Troutly broke the silence, ‘Please, Mr. Dobson,’ her voice held a strange, girlish quality, ‘may I touch him?’ ‘Certainly, my dear.’ And the boss stepped back a pace to make room as Jimmy sank to new depths of shame, big dick grasped, gingerly at first, between a dry thumb and forefinger. His hefty balls were lifted, separated and casually toyed with and he winced with pain as the tip of a long fingernail raked the sensitive ridge below the head of his penis. ‘Oh,’ the palpable sigh was as cloying as the secretary’s scent, ‘he’s so beautiful, but what a shame they circumcise them so young…’ Dobson rolled his eyes, patience at an end, and ordered Miss Troutly back to the dubious pleasures of her steno pad and pencil. Licking his lips with anticipation he turned to the cop, ‘OK, Bob, get his legs spread- nice and wide- it’s time (he winked at Jimmy) to rock and roll.’
The next three hours, punctuated by short breaks (Dobson required some time out to rest his arm) found Jimmy Ruisdale in a hell he had never imagined in his other life, clipping hedges under a sunny sky. Dobson began by circling his victim like a hungry shark, testing planes of hard muscle and very private and sensitive places on the spread eagled stud’s displayed body. Jimmy’s six foot frame quivered with tension, brown eyes screwed tightly shut against the invasive probing. At one point, the amused VP pulled an old wood ruler out of the desk drawer and, hoisting the warm length of Jimmy’s thick penis, made an elaborate display of taking measurements- shaft, width of the flared head, each of his sizeable balls handled separately- all duly noted and recorded on the steno pad by his attentive secretary. Dobson brushed the wiry bush of dark pubic hair curling around the buck’s manhood and, like a hungry predator taking a first nibble, gave it a hard tweak. Jimmy winced but refused to cry out. No matter, dude, Dobson thought, it’s still early in the game. He moved up to the expressive perfection of the boy’s handsome face, averted in humiliation, running a long finger over the curved ridge of his clenched jaw, and noted the tightly shut eyes, which came to life as Dobson remarked, ‘OK, boy, time for a wake up call.’ Words were followed by action as the exec produced a short whip of multiple black leather strands and Jimmy’s expressive eyes widened, filled with dawning horror. Anger and desperation got all jumbled up in impotent imperatives and hopeless pleading, trying somehow to stave off the first kiss of the whip. ‘Shit, no!! You can’t…I mean…’ he tried reflexively to free himself, strong legs and arms pulling at the chain, flexing hard ridges of well-exercised muscle in the process. ‘Please, man, it was an accident…I swear I’ll make it up somehow. Ah fuck…let me go, man, don’t…’ The whip sliced through the air and curled sensuously around Jimmy’s smooth torso, cutting him off in mid-sentence, useless reasoning giving way to a far more appropriate and visceral mode of speech. The short grunt followed by a hiss of surprised pain was gratifying and Dobson followed up with another fast stroke that took Jimmy across the wide sweep of sweat-slick pecs, raking his sensitive nipples with a final searing curl beneath a damp armpit. The fast snapping sound of old leather on taut, young skin was followed by a mewling yelp of shocked agony as the big stud jerked sideways in his chains. And so it went- Dobson like a mad painter decorating the virgin canvas of Jimmy Ruisdale’s nineteen year old body with a welter of burning stripes, working up his own sweat to match that of the panting buck; grunt of pleasure for groan of agony as whip wielder and stretched victim matched each other’s tempo on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum.
Jimmy’s broad, work hardened back received special attention from the hungry whip. This guy was just made for the lash, Dobson thought, as he laid the strokes on thick and fast. The once-proud stud’s tear-stained face was hidden from the VP’s view, but that was small consolation to Jimmy, conscious of the avid stares of guard and secretary seated in front of him, enjoying the show. He tried to ‘take it like a man’, maybe justifying the much commented upon dick and balls swinging suggestively between spread, hairy thighs, but eventually succumbed to ragged yelps punctuated by inarticulate pleas for mercy; finally muffled as the security guard, on his own recognizance, stuffed one of Jimmy’s sweaty socks into his wide, handsome mouth. The tall bucked gagged, as much on humiliation as the crusty sock, swallowing convulsively, and the tears flowed freely, raining, along with his running sweat, on to the beige carpet.
The beating seemed to last forever and Jimmy retreated into a luminous fog of unfocused agony, head now hanging between wrenched shoulder blades, bathed in sweat and the odd trickle of blood where the lash had abraded tan skin. He wasn’t immediately aware of the sudden silence as Dobson threw the whip into a corner and settled back comfortably on his swivel chair, eager to asses the fruits of his labor. Damn, that was one great workout- beats the gym any day. He grabbed Jimmy’s frayed attention with a portentous remark, uttered casually, as if it were somehow inconsequential. ‘Well, Mr. Ruisdale, I hope you’ve learned a lesson this afternoon?’ Jimmy didn’t bother to reply, feeling like he could die of mixed pain and shame. The next remark, however, had a galvanizing effect on the dispirited stud, ‘I think we’re finished here, boy.’ Jimmy looked up as Dobson motioned to the guard, ‘Bob, cut him down, would you?’ The cop did as he was told and Jimmy collapsed on the carpet, breathing deeply and completely unsure of what he was expected to do. ‘Get your clothes on, Jimmy.’ Dobson smiled as the young landscaper caught his gaze, handsome face filled with perplexity, wondering if it was some kind of joke. The boss nodded and repeated the command and, believing at last, Jimmy rose to his full, trembling height and, looking around, moved about the office gathering his discarded clothing. ‘Give back the boy’s undershorts, Bob,’ Dobson laughed, and the cop begrudgingly reached deep into a pocket and complied. It took Jimmy nearly ten agonized minutes to complete the process of getting dressed but eventually he stood, suited up in jeans, green tee, and work boots shuffling in front of the boss’ glass topped desk…just like a life time ago. ‘Can I go home now?’ The amused exec let the all important question hang for a while, seeming reluctant to let go of the vision of nineteen year old masculinity standing submissively before him. His answer, when it came, was preceded by a long sigh of pure pleasure that caused Jimmy to arch his dark eyebrows with hope tempered by a wisp of uncertain confusion, ‘Yeah, Jimmy, it’s time to go home’.
1 Comment
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Stripped1 - December 4, 2022, 7:49 pm
The guy in this series is drop dead gorgeous!