Some clients thought the "Bull" in the Bull Thorne Financial Services name related to Wall Street symbols, but those who had known Jim "Bull" Thorne the longest knew he had that nickname because he had the longest, thickest dick in Texas. Of course, it could just as well have been an acknowledgment that he also had the biggest pair of balls in Houston, based on the dictatorial and ruthless way he ran his highly successful corporation. Jim Thorne was still ruggedly handsome at fifty, and he surrounded himself with those who were equally ruthless, handsome, and on the make for financial success—at any cost or personal sacrifice. It was all about control, and who controlled who, Thorne always told his subordinates. So the gasp that went around the twenty-sixth floor boardroom when the newest vice president, Keith Turner, challenged Thorne's decision on the Mason account, was audible down in the ground-floor lobby. It meant nothing that everyone in the room knew Turner had a good point.
Thorne had closed down the meeting immediately and told Turner he wanted to see him in his office—now.
When Turner arrived at the large, corner office of the corporation president, with its floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, providing an eagle's view of Texas, Thorne made him stand in front of the mile-wide mahogany desk, while the angry president prowled around him, working himself into a frenzy. Thorne locked the door, came around in front of his desk, and addressed his subordinate through clinched teeth.
"When I made you a vice president, you said you clearly understood who made the decisions around here—who was in control. Right?"
"Right, Bull. But the Mason account . . ."
"And do you remember what, exactly, I said at the time that you were to do in terms of loyalty?"
"Umm, no, not exactly. But the Mason . . ."
"Let me refresh your memory, then. I said, in these exact words, 'Don't fuck with me or I'll fuck you.' Now do you remember?"
"Yes, sir," Turner answered weakly.
"And I've made no secret that I fuck men, have I?"
"No, sir." Turner was turning pale now. He knew what the original of "Bull" in Jim Thorne's name meant.
"And I also said at the time that my statement was a literal one. Do you remember that part too?"
"Yes, sir, but . . ." Turner was speaking in almost a whisper now.
"Well, you have two choices, Turner. I have to have control and total submission in this office. I've made no secret of that. You can either turn and leave—walk out of your job and this office without so much as a letter of recommendation—or you can give me total control and submission. Which is it?"
A slight pause, and then Turner whispered, "Submission. I will totally submit."
"And you will do so in a way you'll never forget," Thorne said with a sneer.
The Bull was suddenly on the move. "Strip," he commanded.
"But, sir . . ."
"Strip all the way down, move to the center of the room, and throw your clothes over there." While Turner was complying with a sigh of resignation, Thorne was searching around in his drawer for that tube of lubricant he always kept there. Then, with Turner watching him, his lips trembling and letting out a low moan at the sight of what was between the Bull's thighs, Thorne stripped down as well. He walked over to the pile of Turner's clothes and pulled out the younger man's expensive silk tie, and then he walked back to Turner, tie and lubricant in hand.
"Down on your knees and open your mouth to me," Thorne said.
With a sigh, Turner did so, and reached for that gigantic cock, already mesmerized by it.
"No," Thorne said. "I just said to open to me, not to show any signs of control. Hold perfectly still. And raise your wrists to me."
Thorne used that expensive tie to bind the younger man's wrists behind his back. Thorne then pushed his cock into Turner's mouth with one hand and took his head with both of hands.
"A lesson of control," the company president said. "I control everything. You control nothing. All you are is a warm, wet chamber for my cock. Just be warm and wet and open to me. Leave the rest of the control to me."
And although Turner couldn't help gagging a bit, he tried to comply fully with his boss.
"Now go tighter. Touch me closely on all sides." That wasn't at all hard to do, because Thorne was so thick and long, even though he hadn't hardened out yet. Thorne pumped Turner's head back and forth on his cock for a few minutes, trying to demonstrate his obedience, which was total, and getting Thorne's cock real hard.
Then, pulling out of Turner's mouth, the Bull said, "Go down on your back right here." Turner rolled back onto his butt and then on his back without comment or objection. The athletic Thorne went down on his knees between Turner's thighs and pulled the younger man's butt up on his thighs. He also brought Turner's hands over his head and back to his front.
"Now, I'm going to fuck you—unless you've decided you don't want to work for me anymore."
Silence, filled only by the sound of lubricant slapping against tender asshole.
"Good. Now, as I work my way in, I want you to jerk yourself off. And I want you to cum when I'm in to the hilt—and not before. Understand?"
Turner nodded, a serious look on his face. Thorne slathered his dick with lube, guided it to Turner's asshole, and rotated it around, working it in, while Turner began to stroke himself and pulling at his balls with his bound hands. Turner was concentrating hard on how he was going to ejaculate on cue. Thorne was pleased. Turner hadn't questioned the instruction. Turner had been a prime pick for vice president—and, truth be known, Thorne had been planning to pork his young associated for some time—so it was good that Turner was going to submit and be staying with the firm.
