Taming The Peckerhead

"Damn that peckerhead," Sharon Trent grumbled as she set her coffee down hard on her desk. "I've worked hard for ten years to get this law office together, get the right people in the right jobs, and that asshole Frank has to fuck things up."

"I don't know how we can keep him," Monica Smith responded. "He's hit on every secretary in the outer office, both our law clerks, Priscilla and even me. The only reason he doesn't go after you is you're his boss. After we all chase him off, it's a week or two before he's making the rounds again. You'd think his ego would submit after all this rejection, but he's clueless. I don't know how me manages to be that smart and that stupid at the same time."

Sharon sat back in her overstuffed chair and looked out the window. "Must some kind of savant syndrome, hell, I don't know. Men can be wonderful and smart one minute and have their fly open and their cock out the next if there's any stimulus whatsoever."

"Sometimes they bring that, too. The stimulus."

"Well, he's first on my hit parade today and this time the riot act sticks. If this doesn't work, I'm renting him an office downstairs and changing the locks. I can't afford to lose him, he's too damn good, but he needs to grow up."

"To dream, the impossible dream..."

"Thanks Aldonza. We just need to make a pact to start busting his balls when he pulls this shit, and keep doing it until he stops."

"Yes, boss. Anything else this morning?"

"No, you and I both have enough to do. We're in court next week and need to be ready. Follow up with your witness list, and get Jill and Jack busy in the library."

"Just as long as they don't go up a hill..."

"Shut up, wiseass. I'm not in the mood today. Save the humor for happy hour. Get out of here, I need to psych up for this."

"Yes, boss." Monica closed the door gently behind her and Sharon had a moment to think. Her office spoke of the success of her firm, and all her employees were talented and motivated. She took a sip of coffee and planned her strategy. It was 8:45, and he would be there at 9.

Sharon was a reasonably attractive woman in her early 40s, not too thick or too thin, reasonably attractive without being drop dead gorgeous, with light brown hair and warm brown eyes. Her eyes were the set up, getting people to trust her, even when she was biding her time, waiting to lower the boom. Monica was the former model, who'd used her fame to build up a nest egg so she could get her law degree and have a useful live once her young beauty was past. Everyone else who worked there had a tough past; Sharon was happy to find people who had been down on their luck but willing to work their way into a better future. Her practice was rated in the top 5 up and coming firms in the region.

Frank Sherman was a great litigator with a checkered past. A man in his late 50s, he was the grey eminence of the firm. His presence was commending when he entered a room: a man in his mid 50s, immaculately groomed, piercing eyes, in excellent shape. He worked for the Russian Mafia for a few years, and had to relocate in the witness protection plan when he turned state's evidence against them. This identity was secure, but he had to keep his head low. Two other firms had ridden him out on a rail for sexual harassment, and this was his last chance: his protectors weren't going to put up with any more. Sharon, Monica and the others in the office relied on him for advice and experience in preparing their cases: he always knew what had to happen next, and which strategy they needed to pursue in a case.

The man walked through her door promptly at 9, and stood in front of her desk without saying a word. He knew he was in trouble, but stood before her at attention, like a soldier at inspection, waiting for what was coming. Sharon looked at him for almost four minutes without speaking, waiting for him to blink, and let out a sigh of relief when he finally did. "Shit, Frank. You stupid motherfucker. This is the thanks you give me for being nice to you. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm a man, that's all. Tired of living like a monk."

"Shut up. If you weren't on the Russian Mob's hit list, you'd be out the door and looking for work, if not on the way to jail. No other firm will take you, and you can't work on your own, it's too dangerous. There's no way we can bring you up on charges, if you do go to jail, you'll be dead in 24 hours. Why the fuck can't you keep your pecker in your pants?"

"I don't know, Sharon. I want to, I really want to."

"Don't bullshit me, Frank, you don't want to. I know it and you know it. We need to try something else, something that will keep your ass in line. Do you have any ideas?"

"You could put me in a place by myself."

"Nice try. You're here because we can hide you, screen the people who talk to you. Nobody know you work here other than us, and only Monica and I know your full story. If you want to die..."

"No," he said quickly. "No. My kids need support and I can't risk it. I know I can't control myself, I'll admit that to you. Maybe I ought to work from home."

"We may need to do that, but I don't trust the security enough. Talking with you live and in person is the best security, no electronic trail, no records of your presence. I just have to get you to focus on your job."

Frank nodded and stood in front of her. She could see the bulge in his pants; shit, did the man have no boundaries? They stared at each other for another minute, and she reached into her drawer for a ruler.

"I have to teach you a lesson, make you think twice, at least, get you to think with your head instead of your cock. Whip it out."

"Huh?"

"I said, open your pants, whip it out. You know what I mean. I don't have all day, dammit." Sheepishly, he unzipped himself and pulled his cock out: it was already semi-erect. "Get the balls out here, too. You need to remember I'm the one who's got them in my pocket." He complied with her order, and his entire equipment was on display.

"You're not a porn star, that's for sure. Six inches is respectable, but nothing to write home about. No, don't tell me, I know it's how you wiggle your worm that matters. I have five brothers and a father who never wore bathrobes, I've seen floppy dicks of all sizes ever since I can remember. Not to mention my own twin boys whose dirty diapers I changed twenty years ago. So you're not special, Frank, not by a long shot. Nobody around here is desperate enough to pay attention to your pathetic dick. And it's not just what you're packing, buster, it's your shitty attitude. Well, we're going to change that."

She took a 12 inch ruler in her hand and swatted his package with it. "You will learn to keep this under control." The head was bobbing in front of her, reaching for her, and she spanked it hard twice with the plastic weapon. "You will learn to control yourself." Next came a shot on each testicle: he grunted as she hit him, but didn't move otherwise. "I will make you hurt so the next time you think of getting into Monica's, or Jill's, or Kristie's panties, you'll remember this." She hit this shaft several times in succession before returning to the balls. "Every time you get horny you'll feel this pain."

The skin was reddening, but her treatment seemed to be having the opposite effect. Harder and harder she hit his cock, and it kept getting harder. Spanking his balls had the same effect: she grabbed the head of his cock and squeezed it hard while she paddled them, and he seemed to enjoy it. She looked up at him quizzically: "What kind of pervert are you, Frank?"

"Really, Sharon, this has never happened to me before. I've only had tenderness..."

She smacked his cock hard with her bare hand, making it bounce back and forth a few times before stopping. "Shut up. I'm fed up with your games. It worked for the Russian Mob but it won't work with me. For all I care, they can kill you any way they want, but I have an agreement I'm going to live up to." She hit him again and kept hitting him. The sound of her spanking rang through the room in spite of the shag carpeting, overstuffed couches and plush chair she had for her own. He grunted and whined as she punished him, begging for mercy, but also got more and more excited with every stroke and squeeze.

Finally, Sharon got frustrated. She grabbed the head of his cock, squeezing it hard, and spanked the shaft as hard as she could 4, 8, 12 times. He gasped and began to shudder and to her surprised, a glob of moisture snuck out. More hard blows fell, and he started gasping; soon he screamed and a blast hit her right in the area of her mouth.

Sharon was wearing a ruffled silk blouse, black skirt and pantyhose, and she didn't want her clothing ruined since she was due in court that afternoon. Instinctively, she opened her mouth and took everything he spewed forth, taking the end in her mouth to milk it dry. She was afraid it would overflow, but she got enough down to keep it all in, where it didn't ruin her appearance.

The taste was nasty, and when he was done, she spat the load into her wastebasket, dabbing her mouth with a kleenex, and trying to get every drop that lingered on her lips blotted up. After that was done, she took a huge gulp of her coffee, hoping it would cut that awful flavor. "What the hell do you eat every day?"

Frank was stunned, watching the scene with his cock hanging out, red and marked by its recent abuse. "I'm a meat and potatoes, man. Maybe some eggs for breakfast."

"Shit. All right, you think you've got your wandering eye under control now? Think you can think without your dick?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure."

"Then get the hell out of here." He put himself back, and darted out the door. It was amazing: he'd never moved that fast in her sight before. Sharon gathered her thoughts, looked in a mirror to make sure no trace of semen lingered on her face or clothes, and took another sip of coffee to clear her mouth.

The rest of the day was quiet, no problems. Monica, Jill and Kristie all asked him for advice on their work and he answered them professionally, without a hint of improper attention.

Three days later, Sharon had Frank back in her office before the rest of the staff came in. "You've been a good boy, Frank. Congratulations. We may be able to keep you."

"Thanks, Sharon, for everything. I think my cock has almost healed from the beating you gave it. The things you find out about yourself as you get older. Can I ask you a favor?"

"Yes, Frank?"

"Would you mind doing that again sometime? That was the best..."

"Hush." She looked at him: he wasn't unattractive, and perhaps he could be controlled. Since she knew what he wanted, what made him happy... "All right, Frank. We'll try something out. How long did it take you to recover?"

"Oh, I'm feeling pretty good now, back to normal. In fact..."

"Yes, I know. If we didn't need you so damn much...can you follow my directions, do anything I ask you?"

"Sure, Sharon. I guess so."

"From now on, you need to cut back a little on the steak and potatoes and eat a few salads. Instead of lunch or dinner. And pineapple. Do you like fresh pineapple?"

"Yeah, it's all right."

"Well, it's got to be more than all right. You come in early Tuesday and Friday, and I'll make sure you're focused on your work. You do as you're told, and you'll get what you need. Call it a methadone program for perverts. You eat a bunch of fresh pineapple today, and I won't spit your wad into the wastebasket. Don't want to explain that to the cleaning staff, anyway. Understand?"

"Yes, Sharon. Looking forward to it."

"And no flowers, no candy, don't treat me like one of your bimbos. Don't call me 'Mistress', either, I'm not in this for the fun of it. This is business, this is motivation. I'm your boss and you will remember that. If you don't, I'll bite your damn balls off."

Frank looked at her a little strangely. "Well, if you put it that way. How can I say no?"

"How can you? Get the fuck out of here and be here tomorrow at 8AM. And don't forget the pineapple."

"Yes, boss. I can hardly wait."