by C. J. Black
"Damn it! Stupid piece of crap!"
In retrospect, I suppose kicking the tires didn't do any good. The damn junker was dead and gone, leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere. Well, not completely. I was actually in one of the nicer neighborhoods in the city.
But I didn't belong there. At least not yet.
I'm an upwardly mobile guy. While my buddies spent all their time in college screwing around, I was hitting the books. My dad worked at the same job for over twenty years. The same damn job! Now don't get me wrong -- he's a cool guy -- but I have other plans. In ten years I'd have a nice house in this neighborhood, with a wife and two point three kids -- whatever the hell that means.
I'd just started a job at one of the biggest banks in the state and one of the first things I was going to do when I got that first paycheck was buy a new car.
So what was I doing here? Stupid me: couldn't resist a little daydreaming. Yeah, I know, sue me. To make matters worse, it wasn't a warm night. As I stood, the first drops of rain were already coating the newly paved street. I grabbed my umbrella from the back seat. I had to get help, and unfortunately my cell wasn't cooperating. By the time I saw the headlights it was really raining. I sure as hell didn't need someone seeing a right-out-of-college kid loitering in the neighborhood. An arrest record would not look good come review time at the bank.
The Jag pulled in behind my car, a steak dinner compared to my road kill. The door opened and a tall figure in a dark suit climbed out. He opened one of those big, dark umbrellas and walked towards me.
In a moment he was in front of me. Suddenly I knew who he was.
His name was Brian Ford. Forty-three years old, divorced, two kids...and the CEO of the bank I worked for. You're wondering how I know this. Like I said, while my buddies were screwing around in both the physical and metaphorical sense, I was keeping my eye on the prize -- a corner office. Actually, his corner office.
"Trouble, young man?"
I gave him that smile that many women tell me is charming, "Afraid so, Mr. Ford."
He frowned in puzzlement, and then to my utter astonishment, recognition dawned. "Michael, right?"
Shit! The CEO knows my name? Corner office here I come. "Yes sir."
"I saw you at the intro meeting this morning. You were the only one who seemed interested."
"I was," I said. "I meant what I said. I plan to go far in at the bank, sir."
"I like that way of thinking." The smile he gave me kind of made me wonder. I suppose it was a good thing, considering, but -- just what was the old guy up to?
"Well, this isn't the weather in which to be discussing office politics," he said. "I was on my way home. I'll give you a lift and a change of clothes, then you can call the auto club."
Auto club? Who the hell called it that? "It's just going to be a tow truck for me, sir," I said as I followed him to the Jag. The inside of his car looked a lot more comfortable than my apartment. I put 'getting a Jag' on my list. He had classical music playing. He turned the radio down as we pulled away.
"It's just me at the house right now," he said. "My daughter's in Europe doing one of those blasted tours."
"She needs to get her head together and stop screwing around." He looked at me. "Sorry."
I was a little surprised at his slipping out of his corporate image that way. "It's been a long night," he said by way of explanation.
We drove the rest of the way in silence. I wasn't too uncomfortable, but I really liked the music. Besides, it gave me a chance to check him out -- you know, to get an idea of what made a good CEO. And he was good, any idiot could see it. It was a chance to learn. How else was I going to get where he was?
I'd seen his house featured in a magazine. It looked like something right out of Hollywood. The rain was still coming down when he pulled into the four-car garage. Despite our umbrellas, we were still soaked from our brief time on the street.
"Take your clothes off in the laundry room. I have some old things that may be a little big for you, but they'll do. You can call a tow truck from my office. I have numbers in my card file.
"Thank you, Mr. Ford."
"Out of the office you can call me Brian."
No thanks. Not a good idea to get too chummy with the guy you were going to unseat in a few years. Besides, I'd heard rumors about him and his, well, "sexual preferences." Again don't get me wrong, some of my best friends are gay, and sometimes I'd wondered what would it be like, but wondering and doing are two different things.
He pointed out the laundry room. I would have traded my apartment for it. I was in my underwear when he called through the door, "You decent?"
"No," I said. The door opened a crack and he handed in sweat pants and a T-shirt. "Thanks," I said as I took them, dressing hurriedly. Strangely enough, I didn't feel uncomfortable with being damn near naked in the CEO's house. I don't know, maybe I figured a guy like that could pretty much get what he wanted when he wanted, so unless he wanted me...
As I walked down the hall toward his office, I had to admire him. He was well-off and knew it. I don't blame anyone for showing their wealth. His office was neat, thanks, I supposed, to a maid service. Except for his desk. Piles of paper were strewn all over it. As I reached for the card file, I noticed something about the papers and I suddenly had trouble swallowing.
"Guess you heard about that."
"Shit!" I said before I could catch myself.
He laughed. I noticed he'd changed his own clothes and was wearing sweat pants and a tank top. "One of your co-workers is bringing a discrimination suit."
"Should you be telling me this?"
"No," he said. "Should you be looking at those papers?"
"You left them there," I countered. "Sir."
He laughed again. "Touché." It was then that I noticed he was carrying two bowl-shaped crystal glasses filled with dark liquid. "Cognac. It'll warm you up."
I was wary but I took the glass. I'd never had cognac. I figured I'd better get used to it.
"Go ahead and make your call. I'll be in the library, down the hall to the left."
Library -- dang! Another mental note: Start buying books for a library.
The tow truck was out on a call and wouldn't arrive for two hours. What the Hell. It might just be a good thing. Butter up the boss, get an AVP position. I found him in the library like he'd said, sitting at a desk, scribbling on something, probably some multi-million-dollar contract. That's going to be you someday, boy.
"Are they on the way?" He said without looking up.
He grunted like it didn't matter. "Make yourself at home."
I sat on the couch and watched the flames in a fireplace I could have parked my junker in. "Sir, if you don't mind? I've said before I want to go far in this company."
"I noticed," he said. "But there might not be a company if I don't take care of this thing."
"What happened exactly?" I knew I shouldn't ask. And it nearly knocked me over when he told me.
"One of your co-workers said I discriminated against him on the basis of his sexual orientation. That is -- his supervisor did."
"Yeah, I know who it is. He was bitching about it in the lunch room."
"Really." Ford's eyes narrowed.
"If you ask me, he's making a big deal over nothing. Then again, people like him always do."
"Oh?" His tone told me I'd screwed up. "What do you mean "people like him"?"
Aw, hell -- that had come out the wrong way. "I meant--"
I'd never seen an old guy move so fast. He was out of the chair and standing over me before I could react. I'm pretty well built, but Brian Ford is no flabby CEO. The guy has a personal trainer and works out, and it shows. It was a little scary...but I felt something else, too.
Even for me, being a guy, I had to admit there was some attraction there -- not like I wanted to do him or anything. Just that this guy's whole demeanor practically screamed power. I had to admit I liked it.
"Are you saying because he's gay he doesn't have a complaint?"
"N-no, of course not!" You'd better save this one fast, Michael or you'll be flipping burgers. "I mean people like him, in general."
I had a feeling he didn't really believe me, which kind of pissed me off.
"Be honest, Michael. Truth be told, you don't like people of other 'sexual orientations.'"
"I don't care what people do as long as they stay out of my space." Damn, I'd done it again. "Everybody, I mean."
"You're not a very good liar, Michael." He leaned forward and trapped me against the sofa with his arms. "Gay, bisexual, it makes you uncomfortable."
"Okay, okay, it does." I looked him straight in the eyes when I said it. Maybe he'd appreciate my honesty or maybe I'd just flushed my whole life down the toilet. "It's just not my thing. It's nothing personal"
"So you'd never consider doing it with a man?"
What the fuck? Where the hell did that come from? "I'm not gay."
I didn't like where this was going at all. "Maybe I should go."
"Michael, there was a reason I remembered you."
I swallowed hard. "Why?"
"Because I want to fuck you."
"But it seems you're a bit homophobic."
"I didn't say that!" Which I realized immediately wasn't the best thing to say under the circumstances.
There came that look of disbelief again. Part of me wanted to hit him for looking at me that way and another part discovered I wanted to prove him wrong. Why I cared I couldn't tell you.
"What do you say, Michael?" His voice was soft. He was goading me.
"So, what the hell is this?" I knew I had to make sure I didn't find a little pink slip in my mailbox on Monday. I mean, damn, even if the guy is a horny bastard, his company is in the friggin Fortune 500. "If I say no, I'm fired, right?"
"No," he said. He actually seemed offended. "Don't you think I can get anyone I want? Do you think I fuck anybody that comes along? You're a smart man, Michael."
He didn't have to force himself on anybody. And he wanted me. And there was that power. That was what I wanted.
Maybe he saw something in my face. I don't know. But the next thing I knew, he grabbed me under the chin with one hand and his other hand pressed against my shoulder. He wasn't rough, but it let me know he was in complete control.
"I'm not going to force you Michael. It's up to you. I don't play games and I don't do one night stands."
I don't know why I didn't tell him to get his hands off me. I wanted what he had but I sure as Hell wasn't going to get it that way. Nobody was going to say to me, 'you got where you are by screwing the boss.'
"I know what you're thinking, Michael." He was still way too close. "I don't play favorites."
He kissed me. Hell, it wasn't just a kiss. He worked his tongue in my mouth; he knew what to do to turn me on. And damn it all, he did. I couldn't say when I started to kiss him back, but then he was in complete control. He leaned his whole weight against me, solid muscle, and I got a flash of what he'd look like out of those sweats.
His hand found its way past the waistband of my sweats. It had been such a long time, and when he wrapped his hand around my dick I could only think, This feels too good. I didn't give a damn that he was a man. He was stroking me fast, violently, and I was making sounds like an animal.
He knew when he had me. He let me go right when I was about to come and stripped himself out of his sweats. I watched him with my eyes half closed. My dick throbbed. He yanked the sweats off me. I barely saw what he did next. He reached over and opened a drawer in the small table next to the sofa. A metal tube glinted a little in the light. He grabbed my hands and squeezed the lube into my palms. I stared and I couldn't quite comprehend what it was. Then he took both my hands and wrapped them around his own dick, making me spread the gel all over him, getting him hard at the same time.
What was wrong with me? Why was I stroking this old man's dick? Why was I here, hard and ready for him to...?
He covered my hands with his. I've heard people say there's a spark when you meet someone you want? Whatever it was it made me guide him into me.
I'm not sure I can describe what it felt like. I'd never had anal sex before. He started to work it around in me. There was pain, but soon I felt it all through me, like fire. It was like a high. Damn, I wish I had better words.
My head pressed into the sofa cushions and my back arched as he spread my legs wide and rammed into me. I pulled at the tank top, struggling to get it off of him. He obliged by raising his arms. I grabbed his shoulders, grunting and moaning. I couldn't believe the sounds of wanting that were coming from me.
"You feel this, don't you, boy? You want to get fucked hard?"
"Yeah, damn you!"
What he did next was animalistic. He pounded and worked and grunted. His eyes -- I can't describe the look, like a predator facing his prey. And damn it, I wanted to be eaten alive.
He knew when I was going to come. I begged him for more, pled with him to keep going. And he did, working his slick cock even further into me, lifting me off the sofa. I was closer. Closer. And so was he.
My orgasm had me screaming his name. I didn't want to. I sounded like some damn pansy! But it ripped through me and I couldn't stop it.
He growled like a dog in heat and I felt his come fill my ass.
When we were both spent, he collapsed against me. Both of us were panting, wordless. My head was too mixed up to think of anything except, Shit, I just fucked the boss. More accurately, the boss had just fucked me.
I think I slept, because next thing I knew I was waking up stretched on the couch with a blanket over me, my sore ass a vivid reminder of what we'd done.
He was standing by the fireplace with a drink in his hand. He turned when he heard me stir. "How are you feeling?"
I wanted to be pissed. But how could I? My feelings were way more mixed than that. "Fine," was all I said as I threw back the blanket and struggled to my feet.
"The tow truck is here," he said.
"So you're pissed at me now? There's no reason for you to be."
"No reason?" I demanded. "What the fuck are we supposed to do about this? You're my boss!"
"Is that a problem?" he asked mildly. "We both enjoyed it."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know what you mean," he crossed the room. "This isn't over Michael." He kissed me again and hell if I didn't fucking melt. "I told you I don't play games. Come see me when you make up your mind."
I couldn't think of anything else to say so I pulled on my clothes and turned away. As I strode from the room he said, "I'll be waiting."
The guy from the towing company was waiting for me outside of his truck. "Where's your car, kid?"
Kid? I realized I didn't give a shit what he'd called me, "Look, can we do this tomorrow? It's late and this weather's a bitch."
"Sure, whatever." He pitched his clipboard back into the truck, climbed in and was gone.
I blew out a long, unsteady breath as I watched the truck's lights fade.
Well, Michael, what does this do to your plans? I realized I'd said it out loud into the rain.
Then I turned and went back into the house. We'd both known I would.