Taking Stock

I’m 38, but people tell me I look younger. Maybe it’s the shock of blonde hair that I wear in a cut that looks a little like a surfer dude. Maybe it’s my attitude. I never take things too seriously, and I guess I just don’t feel my age.
My job as assistant store manager at a big chain department store includes supervising a staff of young guys that move the stock around, and generally keep the store filled-in and shoppable. They usually come from a world that is very different than mine. Urban, street savvy, and carefree. Lots of testosterone. Sometimes hard to direct, because they can always get another entry-level job, so why should they worry about getting fired?

To fill an opening, I interviewed several guys and decided on one candidate that didn’t quite fit the regular profile. In his mid twenties, Franco was a little older than the teens I was used to working with. He had dark, wavy hair that he wore slicked back, that cascaded on his neck in black, shiny ringlets. About 5’ 11”, clean shaven, but with a faint blue shadow. His eyes were brown, almost black, and slanted down slightly on the outsides. The shape of his beautiful eyes made him look a little sleepy, just about to nod off. I could just see the edge of a tattoo under his right shirt sleeve. The curly hair that peeked out over the edge of his “wife-beater” undershirt helped to define his broad, muscular chest. I couldn’t help imagining the trail of hair continuing down, ending in lush, dark, soft rings around what must be a substantial cock, based on his pronounced features. You know what they say about big noses...

He was anxious to start, although he did warn me that he was waiting to hear from the Police Department, that he had applied and tested to enter the academy next month. I decided immediately that I wanted the opportunity to watch this guy sweat and flex his body as he unloaded my trucks, even if only for a month.

Franco had a lot of stamina. he worked many hours, and other than showing up with an occasional hangover, he proved to be a great stock associate. I watched him. His pale skin glistened as he lifted the boxes onto the pallets. The damp spots that formed under his armpits and down the small of his back were enticing. I often stood near to him, to smell the scent of this man. But what I really wanted is to be under this man, and feel his hot arms pushing my legs behind my head!
Franco showed up one day with a set of gashes on his cheek. I asked him what happened.

“Nuttin’ much. There’s this fuckin’ bar on Chester Boulevard that is nuttin’ but trouble. I ain’t goin’ there again. Damn bitch nearly scratched my eye out! I guess I came on a little too strong for the cunt.”

Funny thing. The only bar I could think of on Chester is a raunchy gay place called the Crow Bar. I don’t think the place has seen a bitch, let alone a cunt, in many years. I let the conversation go, but couldn’t help thinking about this for the rest of the day. 

A month went by. No word from the academy. One afternoon, I happened to go into a stock room to find something for a customer, and came upon Franco. He was sitting on a carton, his pants open and loose around his thighs, a can of beer on the floor next to him.
I saw his enormous cock for the first time, although because I had dreamed about it often enough it appeared familiar to me. It was darker than his creamy white thighs, and the uncut tip was bright red, almost angry looking. I’m not good with measurements, but it had to be nine inches at least. I couldn’t help thinking it was big, but not too big to fit nicely into my asshole. I watched for a minute, knowing I would have to stop him soon, and of course ultimately fire him for this indiscretion.

“What the hell do you think your up to? Are you out of your mind?”

Franco jumped off the box and pulled his pants up. His dick was engorged and hard, so it took a few seconds to pull it completely back into his fly. He jumped around and shook the bright red cock in my direction until it softened enough to put away. I was angry, but I was swooning, I couldn’t help instantly fantasizing that big, shiny piece of meat entering my mouth, feeling it push against the back of my throat. What would it taste like to have his cum, hot and thick, explode in my mouth and run down my chin onto the floor?

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I got this tension, y’know? I hadda get it out of my system. What are you gonna do about this now? Fuck! I need this job, man!”

He explained that the Police academy had not gotten back to him, and since the next group of rookies started in just ten days, he was getting panicky. 

“Too much pressure isn’t good for a man. I’m sorry you caught me, but if you fire me now, I’ll never get into the academy. That’s all they need to hear, that I was thrown outta here for jerkin’ off on the job!”

I guess my habit of not taking things too seriously won out, or maybe it was the plea I saw in those sleepy dark eyes, but I told him I would do nothing for now, and future action would be based upon his ongoing performance.

Franco didn’t take long to give me more cause for concern. The next day, he showed up late and very agitated. The rest of the day went downhill from there. He was wild, throwing boxes around that two men would have struggled to lift. As he worked, you could hear him muttering something to himself, peppered with “fuck”, “assholes”, and other colorful terms. Someone had pissed him off big time!

I tried to stay out of his way, but his coarse language was making me hot, and I was drawn to this sexy, dangerous animal pacing around in front of me. I imagined him mounting me doggy-style, his strong legs holding his hips directly over my aching ass. His cock plunging quickly and rudely into my hole. Intense pain at first, but stretching me out with every beastly thrust. All of that anger channeled into a mean-spirited rape of my butt. Riding me bareback, no time in his frenzied attack to find a condom, gallons of cum filling me until my eyes bugged out of my head.

I finally snapped back to reality, and decided I had to get involved. His attitude was effecting productivity, and he had to calm down, or go home. I called him into the stockroom, the same room where I had found him beating off, and asked him what was going on.

“The fuckin’ police don’t fuckin’ want me to join ‘em. I feel like I’ve been cheated. It’s all I ever wanted to do , and the fuckin’ assholes won’t give me a chance. Goddam sons-o-bitches can’t see how good I’d be as a cop? I should fuckin’ go down there and rip a few new assholes on the muthafuckkas!”

I began to see why the academy passed on Franco. This man should definitely not be carrying a gun! But as I watched, that shotgun slung firmly in his pants began to stiffen as he yelled. His excitement level increased with the volume of his tirade. I asked what I could do.

“Just don’t fire me now. I need this job now more than ever. I’ll be just the man you need. I can do whatever you ask me to, and you know that!”

Those thoughts came flooding back again, the flood of cum shooting from his monster dick, the beast picking me up in his hairy arms, strong calloused hands, carrying me to his lair, to lay me face-down on his bed and plugging my ass for many, many hours. The sun rises, and I awaken with my head on his leg, his soft, warm dick just a hair away from my lips. The scent of him, salty and sweet, filling my nostrils with every breath. Ah, a ride on the train of thought!

I told him not to worry. I wouldn’t fire him, not now, not for this. Truth is, I don’t think I could ever fire him, he had become such an obsession for me. I would miss the big goofball if he were gone! He asked me what I was doing after work. He really needed to talk, and I was the only one who seemed to care what he was going through. Franco made a suggestion.

“Let’s go over to Chester Boulevard to that bar I told you about. It’s called the Crow Bar.”

I hadn’t been there in a while, but I knew it was still the same sleazy gay place it used to be. I was getting my hopes up. I had some of my most delicious encounters in that bar when I was Franco’s age. The cocks that have gone through that bar... and gone through that puckery-pink hole in my butt! It used to have a fabulous back room, upholstered in vinyl, wooden deck flooring for easy cleaning the day-after. I wondered if it was still there. Maybe I would find out, if I took a chance and went out with this madman.

We left the store around 9:30 that night. I left my car in the lot, but as soon as I climbed into his f150 pickup, I began to regret my choices. What the fuck was I doing? I’m too old for this nonsense, aren’t I? He had one of those license plate surrounds with two chrome naked ladies on either side. His playboy bunny air freshener hung from his rear-view mirror. As I sat next to him, he poured his heart out to me.
How he had grown up mostly on his own, renting a room with a bath from an uncle in a part of town I know not to travel through. His body smelled strong in the small cabin of the truck, but it was far from unpleasant. It was making me hot again to imagine this guy taking me away into the unknown. Only this time, it was not my imagination. His leg was almost touching mine on the bench seat, the floor mounted shift brought his hand almost on top of my knee. He shifted his broad hips just slightly, bringing his right leg tight up against mine. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t move an inch. I felt like I was playing one of those coy kid’s games, like it was our first date!

I began to notice places along our route where Franco could possibly pull over, and be completely out of sight from the road. I imagined how he could then take his shirt off, show me how his muscular frame fills out the white, clinging undershirt he always wears. His pants would come off next, the belt removed from the loops. A nice soft leather belt wrapped several times around my wrists, tight enough to cause a little discomfort... but still playful enough to enjoy. The seams in my Fendi suit were not sewn to withstand any great pressure, so his beefy hands pulling on my back pockets split the pants right up the butt. What possessed me to wear a thong that day? Could I have known? Franco has no trouble putting his middle finger into my hole, then another. The thong moves obediently to one side. I get a little panicked, as he inserts yet another finger, then the thumb. It hurts, a familiar burn that subsides in a few seconds to a dull throb. I’m OK if he doesn’t go any further. My private fantasy continues to play out as we drive in silence.

“How much fuckin’ pain can you take, man? I take pain every day. My life is a fuckin’ pain in the ass. I want you to feel how much I hurt. My goddam life is a fist up the ass!”

With that, Franco pushes his hand into my soft insides with one firm thrust. I feel like blacking out, but I will myself to stay awake. This incredible man has his amazingly rough and blistered hand far up inside my body. How often does that happen? The leather belt tightens on my wrists as I squirm and scream, like a demented puppet on his hand.

“We’re here!”

Franco’s voice snaps me out of my delirium, and we get out of the truck and head for the door on the side of the little shack with the poorly lit sign, reading Crow Bar. My wrists are free, my suit is not ripped in shreds, because the fantasy was not real. What happens next is a different story.