The Pecker Order

He made Wilson stand in front of his desk at attention while he dressed him down for questioning his authority and then he came right up behind the trembling accountant and yelled in his ear, Marine sergeant style, “I was just talking with Bull Thorne today, and you know what he said about insubordination like yours?”

“No, Sir,” Wilson squeaked. “What did he say, Sir?”

“He said that anyone who fucked with authority around here would be fucked—literally. Now what do you think about that, Craig?”

“Well, I don’t know what to . . .” Wilson stammered. And then he squeaked again as Turner grabbed him on the ass and squeezed.

“Do you like your job and your generous paycheck, Craig?”

“Yes, Sir,” Wilson answered.

“And would you do anything to keep them, Craig?”

“Uhh . . . Yes, Sir,” Wilson answered again.

“Well, you have two choices then. You can walk out of that door and clean out your desk, or you can take a lesson in control and a good fuck. Which is it?”

Wilson smiled broadly and answered. “I thought you’d never ask, Keith.”

This didn’t please Turner all that much. This wasn’t asserting control over his subordinate.

“Come here,” Turner said gruffly, and he literally pulled Wilson around the desk to where he stood between the desk and Turner’s chair.

“Assume the position and strip,” Turner commanded, as his eyes darted around the room. They lit on the window blind cords. Turner went over and jerked a couple of them down, causing the blinds to accordion down to the floor with a crash. As soon as Wilson had stripped, Turner tied his wrists with one end of the cord, a cord for each wrist, pulled the cords through the kneehole of the desk, crossed them, and the tied the other end tight above Wilson’s knee, pulling the cords taunt so that Wilson was spread-eagled with his belly flat on the top of the desk and securely held in place. Turner ripped Wilson’s belt out of his pant loops then and fashioned it around Wilson’s neck like a dog leash.

Wilson was totally trussed up now. Turner had physical control. Total control. Wilson wasn’t laughing now. Wilson needed to be taught the same lesson Turner had endured under the attention of the Bull’s big cock earlier today. But Turner didn’t have the length and thickness of Thorne. Or didn’t he? Turner reached down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk and buried his hand under a pile of papers. He came up with a leather, studded penis sheath with a three-inch extension capped with an extra large stud-covered bulb he’d bought and had been building up the courage to use.

Turner did some lip and spit and finger work on Wilson’s ass as the accountant moaned softly for him. After he was satisfied that he’d opened Wilson up sufficiently, Turner sheathed his cock with the oversized studded harness and positioned himself behind the fully trussed figure. Turner palmed the rounded butt cheeks and pushed his sheathed cock up to the opening of the puckered, lubricant-slathered hole with its circle of curly blond hair. Wilson moaned and groaned.

“Oh, shit. Oh, God, no, nooooo!” he muttered, as Turner rotated the studded sheath head around his ass shunt, relentlessly working it farther into the hole.

“The only way you are going to continue working here under me is by submitting totally to me,” Turner said. “Do you submit?”

No answer. Perhaps Craig still seemed to think that since they were buddies on the football field, they somehow were on equal footing.

With a push, Turner had worked the sheath extension and two inches of his own cock into the ass hole. Thorne’s nearly ten incher had little length on Turner under these circumstances, and the extension made Turner’s tool, if anything, thicker than Thorne’s natural girth.

Wilson cried out. “Yes, OK, I submit!”

“That sounds good, but I don’t believe for a minute that you believe it yet.” Turner had no idea if this was true; he was just having too much fun skewering the young blond to end this yet.

Turner was in a good five, very thick inches now. The accountant was trembling under his boss and moaning for him to stop, that he was being split. Several more inches in and he was beginning to really feel those studs. Turner took the unburied part of his dick in his hand and rotated it around in Wilson’s canal, coaxing him to open more. He was crying and moaning now. The laughter was behind far behind him.

He kept screaming that he submitted, that Turner had won, and Turner kept creeping up his canal, trying to wipe out his own humiliation earlier in the day, until only about two inches of Turner’s cock root were outside the young blond. With the extension, Turner’s rod was in a good eight inches now.

“How? How can I convince you I submit?” he whimpered.

“I’ll feel it in your body,” Turner answered. “When you’ve totally submitted, all of the tension will go out of your body, and you’ll stop yelling at me. You’ll take it silently. You’ll be totally mine. And then I’ll encase your body with mine, and we’ll be one. The submissive you and the dominant me. Only then can you work here with me and be my accountant and an acceptable bottom to my top.”

“OK, OK, I’ll try,” he whimpered. “I want to be here. I want your cock inside me. I submit. Totally.”

And Turner did, indeed, feel the tension slowly leaving Wilson’s body, and he went silent, except for a few grunts and groans he couldn’t suppress, while Turner pushed the last two inches of leather- and stud-augmented penis into the accountant's tightened asshole. He left it in there, all the way in, for several minutes, as he felt the tension and fight draining out of the young accountant—and then Turner rode his ass hard and long.

“Oh, God, yessss,” Wilson was whimpering. “Fuck me. Fuck me deep. Like that. Yessss. Don’t stop.” And Turner didn’t stop, at least for several minutes. A few minutes after Wilson had spilled his seed on the carpet behind his boss’s desk, Turner shot his load into him.

* * *

Craig Wilson had enjoyed the session in Keith Turner’s office, but he hadn’t much cared to have been shown so graphically where he stood in the pecking order in this office. It was just the misfortune of the file clerk, Alphonse Pointer, a saucy young black man of pretty Jamaican features, that he chose to give a flippant reply to one of Craig’s instructions later that afternoon. Wilson had just stood up from his desk, taken Alphonse by the scruff of his collar, and pushed him out a door onto the twelfth-floor landing of a disused stairwell shaft. Alphonse had been swinging his hips and tossing suggestive glances at Craig for weeks, so Craig had little question of what Alphonse would take from him. But he doubted Alphonse expected the mating dance to be ended so abruptly as this.

Listen you little queen, Wilson exploded once the two were out on the landing. You work for me, see. So, you don’t talk back to me.

“Uh, what’s . . .? Alphonse spouted, trying to wriggle out of Wilson’s powerful grip.

“Listen, you’ve worked here long enough to know the office motto, haven’t you?” Wilson continued.

“Uhh, I’m not . . .”

“It’s fuck with me and you get fucked.” Wilson blustered through gritted teeth. He was going to assert some of his own control in this corporation now. He had a certain amount of rank too. Wilson pushed the file clerk down two more flights of stairs, to the level of a floor that was waiting to be refitted and thus where no one worked now.

“Stop and face the banister,” Wilson barked.

Alphonse did so without question, fully cowed by this crazed—but delicious—blond stud from accounting.

Wilson came up close behind him, unzipped his fly and pulled out a respectably sized cock. The accountant then doubled the young file clerk over at the waist on the banister with one hand, so that he was facing down the well from the tenth floor, and worked up his unsheathed cock with the other hand, spitting a few times on his hand to lubricate his tool. When Wilson was satisfied he was at least half hard and able to penetrate the younger man, he pulled Alphonse’s pants and briefs down off his buttocks, pushed his legs out to open him up as much as possible under these circumstances, and pushed his dick into Alphonse’s gaping, well-used hole.

Alphonse grunted and gritted his teeth as the angry accountant entered him, but he grabbed down for the banister slats with white-knuckled fists and took the blond stud without squeal or objection.

Once in, Wilson tightened the young man up by getting his legs between his own. He draped his chest over the smaller man’s back so that they were both folded at the waist over the banister and facing down ten flights of stairwells. Wilson latched onto one of Alphonse’s ear lobes with his teeth and held on gently.

Wilson could feel the file clerk grunting and groaning, and then sighing and moaning in ecstasy as the accountant’s cock lengthened and thickened inside him and filled him to capacity.

“Who’s the boss?” Wilson breathed into the younger man’s ear.

“You’re the boss,” Alphonse answered.

“Who backtalks me?”

“Not me, Boss.”

As Wilson filled Alphonse to the end and started to pump, the accountant took one of his fists and pushed down the front of the file clerks pants and the two stroked Alphonse off together, the file clerk’s hand under the accountant’s, encasing his cock, while Wilson controlled the stroking. As Wilson sensed he was cuming, he let loose of Alphonse’s earlobe with his teeth and started tongue-fucking his ear. Alphonse held his head closer to Wilson’s tongue, loving the sensation. Once more the two managed to cum almost simultaneously, the accountant deep inside the file clerk and the file clerk down those ten floors of stair well.

“Wow,” was all the clerk said when it was over.

“Yes, wow,” Wilson responded. “Now, how do you feel about needing control?”

“I love being controlled by you, Boss. Yes, I certainly do, and you can control me anytime you want. But who can I control in this big corporation? Does the cum stop here?”

Wilson gave a low laugh. “There’s always someone you can control in the pecker order, Alphonse. You might try that Cuban body builder in the mail room. You outrank him here. But if you try him, you might need to make an appointment. If I hear correctly, he’s fucking Bull Thorne these days.”