Part 17: Pleasures of the Program
I could see where this reward program was going. I was going to wind up sucking off, one-by-one, week-by-week, each of the guys I had been trying so hard to hide my behavior from. First Tim then Murphy were getting what they wanted precisely because they threatened to reveal what I was doing to my co-workers. Now, they were revealing it to them in the most effective way, one at a time. So, why didn't I stop? Given that we all knew where this was all going, what did they still have to threaten me with? I don't know. I suppose they could have told other people--maybe even Steph. But I didn't even test them. I didn't even try. It was as if I had accepted my role in the company now. It was humiliating and I knew people would feel contempt for me. I don't know why I didn't rebel. I guess I'd just adapted to it.
And it wasn't as if it was totally without benefit. As I said, I was having more orgasms now than I ever had in my life. Granted, a lot of them happened when I had a hard cock in my mouth, my ass or both. And lots more happened when I was stroking myself and imagining a hard cock in my mouth, my ass or both. At work, I still came from time to time without touching myself when I sucked Tim or Murphy or, as part of the "reward program," one of the other guys. (Interestingly, I often came the first time I sucked a guy off. I guess I found excitement in new meat. Maybe I liked learning that I could get a new guy off.) I was still Tim's bitch on most weekends and I almost always came when he fucked me hard. If I didn't, he would often order me to whack off until I came and then have me lick up my cum. And, when I was at home alone, I would beat off just because I seemed to be a walking urn of hormones all the time. About the only time I wasn't cumming was with Steph. Mostly I was licking her over and over when we were together. I guess it was my way of trying to hang on to her. I sure couldn't fuck her properly. If I got hard enough to enter her, I usually flagged before I shot my load and long before she came. Still, overall I was getting my rocks off very regularly.
And there were other attractions as I was to find out the week Tyrone was the high seller. Tyrone was a new guy, the one black guy in our office. It wasn't like he was some sort of affirmative action hire. He was a good salesman. Not at the top most weeks, but never far from it. He was well educated and well spoken, tall and muscular without looking like a gym rat. He was very good looking. He was a really nice guy, to boot. And, he had other attributes, as I was to find out.
It would be a lie to say that, once I saw where the "reward program" was going I hadn't thought a bit about the various guys in my department. And I guess I'd thought the most about Tyrone. You know, black guy fascination and all that. So I wasn't completely unhappy when I learned that Tyrone was the top man.
I didn't know if the rumor mill had finished working so that everyone in the office knew what these little Friday evening reward sessions were. Murphy had sworn everyone to secrecy but, you know how it is. I looked for some sign on Tyrone's face as he walked into Murphy's office. He looked at Tim, who was always present at these things and me on his way in, before looking at Murphy. I didn't see any indication that he knew what was going to happen--no smirk or smug glance.
Murphy congratulated him on his performance and worked the conversation around to the "special reward" that I, as assistant to the manager, was going to "bestow." That's the word he used and it stuck me as funny because I've never heard of someone bestowing a blow job. Oh, well. Murphy could call it what he wanted. Whatever you called it, it came to the same thing. I was the one on my knees doing it.
We'd been through this several times before and I wasn't so reluctant now. Waiting to be prodded had the advantage, I guess, of looking reluctant. But it allowed Murphy and Tim to appear to be even more in control and I didn't like hearing them describe what I had to do. Better, I thought, just to do it.
As I got up to do my duties, Tyrone looked a little confused for a second and Murphy told him, in a very reassuring tone, "Just relax. You're going to enjoy this. I garuntee it!" The last was said like the Cajun Chef. Very funny, I'm sure.
It's much easier to unzip another guy's pants if you're on you knees and, besides, if you're standing up in front of a guy and you try to unzip his pants, he's pretty sure not to know what you're up to. If you're on your knees, he's hip to what's going to happen. So I got on my knees in front of Tyrone. As I reached up to unzip his pants, I felt my dick rising. I felt my heart pounding and I could feel my face flush. I was pumped like the first time I got ready to suck Murphy off but it wasn't from shame, or fear, or humiliation, or self-loathing. I was over all of that. I was just fucking hot. I wanted to see this black cock. I wanted to hold it in my hand, and in my mouth. Did Tyrone fit the stereotypes? Would it feel different or taste different from a white guy's dick? I was ready to find out.
I reached into his fly and wrestled out a thick, hot sausage of a cock. It wasn't very hard, but it had a thickness and heaviness to it that made it exciting even in its present state. It was big, for a semi-flaccid cock. I knew that the bigger a dick is soft, the less it actually grows when hard, so I knew not to expect it to double in size like some cocks do when they get hard. But it didn't have to double in size to be impressive. It was already a good six-and-a-half inches long and as big around as a fat Kielbasa. As I worked my fingers up and down the shaft and my thumb along the sensitive underside, he began to harden and swell. It looked to me as if it would top out at an impressive, and kind of scary, eight-and-a-half to nine inches. And it was expanding my fist so that my thumb was an inch from my fingers.
I couldn't wait to get it, or as much of it as I could, in my mouth--so I didn't. It felt as if the head alone filled my mouth but with some effort I could get a few more inches in. The effort was worth it. It was an incredible feeling to have my mouth around this monster. It felt like riding a wild bull or wrestling an alligator. I sort of lost a sense of what I was doing; I forgot completely about Murphy and Tim--and, I guess, I even forgot about Tyrone. Only that cock was real to me at that moment. But, God, it was world enough for me.
Though I could have just wrapped both my hands around his shaft, bobbed my head on and off his pole and been content for a long time, once I thought about his balls, I couldn't get them out of my mind. I couldn't see them. I had fished just his cock out of his trousers. I couldn't see them; and that was a problem. So I let go of his hot cock and, maybe with too much enthusiasm, unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Then I pulled everything down to his ankles. The moment when I had to release his cock from my mouth was difficult. But Tyrone's cock knew its new home. The moment the waistband of his boxers had cleared it, his cock sprang back up and slapped me in the chin. I took him back in my mouth and moaned as I felt filled again.
Tyrone wasn't particularly hairy and his balls were practically bald--smooth and shiny black. They were the size of apricots. As I sucked on his fat shaft, I watched with fascination at how his balls moved in my hand. I gently rubbed on, and then the other, between my thumb and finger, feeling their firmness. Then I took my mouth from his cock and sucked his balls into my mouth, one at a time because I couldn't fit them both in. He moaned in frustration when my lips left his shaft so I was careful to continue stroking his cock with my free hand.
My own cock was hard and straining against my jockeys. I always wore both jockeys and boxers these days because I never knew if my cocksucking would lead to my cock spewing. At this point this time, though, I was pretty sure. I didn't care if I shot off. In fact, I was so horny that I yearned for it. Reluctantly taking my hand from Tyrone's balls for a moment, I rearranged myself so that my cock was sticking up. At the angle I was at, and as hard as I was, it was sticking all the way out the top of my underpants and even my pants.
I took Tyrone's ball sack in my hand again and put my mouth over the head of his cock. As I stroked and sucked him, I was rocking my hips, which rubbed the underside of my cockhead against the elastic in my underpants. I wasn't getting as much friction as Tyrone was from my hand and lips, but I was getting all I needed. My load was boiling in my balls and I was ready to explode.
So was Tyrone. I'd gotten really good at anticipating when a guy was going to shoot off in my mouth. Truth be told, most guys (in my growing experience) weren't too subtle about it. And I didn't have to have any special expertise to tell that Tyrone was getting ready to shoot. He wasn't the type to cum quietly.
