Stuart thought dreamily of his days at the firm in Chicago, and the two male Masters he'd lived with...
One of them deaf.
The rich 26 year old Stuart had loved and feared the two men.
Now he watched BDSM porn...
The way that model has his cock whipped reminds me...
Of the day Master Pietro caught me with the Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue that I'd stolen from the neighbor's porch...
And Master John had taken my penis out of my pants and slashed it again and again with an old vacuum cleaner cord as I'd screamed...
Oh, but my cock was twice as hard when it was over...the whipping my Masters had given me...
Stuart was almost possessed by the young man wielding the scourge...
His head was shaved, and he was a sort of golden color with prominent features...
Lebanese?
Suddenly there was a tap at his office door.
Stu looked up hurriedly, pushing the magazine that had been occupying his attention into the bottom drawer of his desk.
Stu's erection had been nearly tearing the crotch of the elegant Armani Pinstripe Lurex dress slacks he was wearing...
Thinking of the scourge lashing whitish bare buttocks...
Stu put the Kelham Plastics account file in front of him.
This, to hide the bulge in his pants and the young lawyer stood up.
"What is it, Marissa, you're interrupting things, for Christ's sake.
"Imagine what Master John would have done if he'd heard Stu say that...
Forced to eat laundry soap, twenty lashes with a straightened coat hanger...
Stuart began breathing heavily.
It was a terrible habit, profanity.
Marissa, Stu's ever-patient office manager opened the door timidly.
"Mr. Ambrosio, I am so sorry to interrupt you—"
"But?" Stuart roared.
"I told you not to bother me until you found me a competent admin.
The last four secretaries have been completely incompetent." But was that really true?
Stu sighed.
Marissa's lip trembled.
She never had trouble with any of the other guys in the office.
From the mail clerks to the vice president, all were awed by her full lips and bouncing cleavage.
Ah but Mr. Ambrosio was not impressed.
"But I have someone for you, sir!" "
"Oh, God. Another pathetic bimbo?"
Stu was not happy. He'd been in glorious bliss a moment ago...
Marissa waved in a short, very light skinned black man with a hook nose, like his mom was the maid who got raped by the rabbi.
What the hell is wrong with Personnel?
Stu opened his eyes a little widely.
But the fellow looks familiar...
He's an old geezer, about sixty, but there's something about him...
"Who's this? Another slacker, I bet." Stu's voice deepened, in an attempt to awe the newcomer.
"The carelessness of the support staff here!
My Master Pietro once made me lick dust out of a corner that he swept shoddily..
He should be head of Personnel!"
Yeah, and Master Piet whacked Stuart's bare butt with a carpet sweeper.
Yes and made Stuart sleep naked in a dog kennel in July, he was so mad.
Hooknose peered at Stu through thick, mended granny spectacles.
Marissa smiled, trying to explain.
"Mr. Ambrosio, this is Fenton Weir...
He's a trainee from our Save the Streets program... he..."
Stuart laughed harshly.
"You mean the ex-con thing? "
Stu laughed improbably.
"I ask for a secretary and you bring me a half-breed midget ex-convict?
What the hell's wrong with you, Marissa?"
My God, he's not even wearing a suit...
That jacket is from the Army-Navy store.
"I need pie charts done, not to have the office raided."
But the little man wasn't bothered at all by this.
He put his hand on his belt casually, and for some reason this made Stu's throat dry.
Stu wondered why the jailbird needed a belt that thick.
It reminded him of Master Piet's thick strop from New Mexico...oh, how it hurt.
The little Negro Semitic dwarf laughed, and winked at Stu.
"Don't worry, I don't rip off printers, I steal cars...
But I also can type 120 words per minute, big boy, and that should be enough.
Why don't you settle down before someone gets hurt."
Marissa looked at Fenton in horror,.
Yes, but amazingly, when she turned to Stu Ambrosio, the executive was grinning back.
"I guess we can try you out, Fenton..."
"I'm Mr. Weir!" the little half-breed interrupted, and he wasn't smiling.
As Marissa told the typing pool later, "I just left them there... I hope Ambrosio won't fire the little creep until we can get a decent temp here."
Back in the office, Fenton the Felon was a little sickened by the way this yuppie twink was staring at him.
And Jesus, look at the bulge in his pants!
"I—I-before we start work, Mr. Weir...
You know you look quite familiar, sir."
The kid looked over Fenton's shoulder, and then went into his drawer, and pulled out a tattered 1981 copy of LEATHER CHERUBIM magazine.
The kid was laughing somewhat casually.
"I-I picked this old magazine up as-as a joke, you know at a f-flea market...
Yeah, and-and this-this guy, he looks like you, isn't that a laugh?"
The kid, whose crotch now looked as if it were housing an MX missile, shoved the magazine in front of Fenton...
Sure enough, a twenty-five year old shot of youthful Fenton laying it on Howie Kendricks, dead of AIDS now over a decade.
Fenton snorted.
"Ah yes...the Tawse Club...that was a long time ago."
Fenton the Felon looked sharply at Stu.
"You mean you bought this old jerk-book at a flea market because you don't have the nerve to go into a regular bookstore to get one...
Because you're chickenshit."
The kid blushed, and Fenton watched his crotch bulge once more.
Oh, thank God. What would I have done if he'd been normal...
I've never typed, or WORKED in my life.
"So, you horny little bastard...
Isn't this sexual harassment?
Showin' me this magazine. and leering at me like that!"
Fenton tried to look outraged, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as the kid burst into tears.
"Maybe I oughtta get you fired...and you have the nerve—"
Fenton pronounced it "noive- "
"-To scream at that poor office manager, just because you can! I think I have to punish you, young man.
Unzip your fly and show me that disgusting pecker of yours!"
Now comes the time?
Will he do it?
Either he calls Security and I go back inside the walls, or I'm in for a niiice little situation here...
Fenton breathed easily as Stuart stepped past him, locked the office door, and unzipped his trousers.
Stuart was nearly hyperventilating as he let his cock out in front of his new secretary.
Jesus Christ, what now?
"Hands behind your back, punk."
Stu put his hands behind his back and stood, horribly embarrassed, as his penis stuck out obscenely from his natty trousers.
"Step up to the desk here, you little faggot"
Fenton's voice was full and deep, and Stuart, his heart in his mouth stepped up to his desk.
Yes, and watched in silence as Fenton picked up an thirty six inch steel ruler that Stuart used for cutting spreadsheets.
Fenton gently pushed the ruler through his fingers.
"So you like to objectify your assistants?
And when you don't want to fuck 'em, you scream at them?
You abuse them?
That get you off?" Fenton's voice rose as he questioned his trembling boss.
WHACK! The steel ruler slammed Stuart's penis into the desk. Ooowww...
Stu hadn't even seen that COMING.
He thought that Fenton was just fucking with him a little bit, and had just taken up the ruler as something to toy with...
Fenton looked severely at Stu.
"You are a nasty little faggot...
A sodomizing little faggot aren't you?"
Stu's dick, despite the pain from the steel slashing, was harder than ever.
"N-no! I-I have a girlfriend...
I don't mess with...guys."
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Three times the steel ruler slammed Stu's cock into the desk.
"You're a liar, I bet you've sucked and been fucked, haven't you?"
Fenton asked, as he lit a cigarette.
"The firm has a non-smoking—" WHACK! WHACK!
"(sob) I suppose it's all right if you smoke just one in here."
