Company Cocksucker Pt. 05-09

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Part 5: Home Again

You’re supposed to be able to find forgetfulness in a bottle. And I tried. I succeeded, too, but only temporarily. Drinking and zoning out in front of the TV worked okay until the late night news program came on and they started to discuss sexual harassment on the job, with a special focus on the “under-recognized problem of male victims.” As the guest was pointing out that men can be coerced into sexual acts, I was skeptical. I almost said out loud, “Yeah, like you have to force a guy to have sex.” And then I realized that, of course, I was a victim of the very thing they were talking about. And, that was the end of my blissful oblivion. I was once again very conscious of what I had done these last two Friday afternoons.

As I thought about what had happened, my mind flooded with images–images of the crucial moments: when I had made the decision to go through with it; when I made the first move toward Murphy; when I dropped to my knees in front of him; when I unzipped his pants; when I first touched his cock; when it first slipped past my lips; when he pumped his load in my mouth; and, most embarrassingly, when I’d come in my pants.

And then I was hard. Not *getting* hard. I *was* hard as I could be and I needed to cum. I unzipped my pants and took my cock in my hand. I could tell that I wouldn’t need to do anything fancy to shoot off tonight. A few quick strokes and I would be spurting all over my chest. But as I got close to an orgasm, I grabbed a beer bottle with my other hand and shoved the neck of it in my mouth. I thrust it in and out of my mouth in the same rhythm that I stroked my cock and, within a minute, I was spurting cum all over my shirt. It felt so good to shoot so hard.

I guess I whacked off five of six more times over the weekend. Some times were pretty perfunctory–a quick jack off to relieve the pressure. Other times, I was really creative–undressing in front of the mirror and caressing my body before a long, sensuous stroking session. Once, I took a cucumber out of the fridge, got on my knees in front of the full-length mirror on my bedroom door and sucked on the cucumber while I stroked myself. I shot my load onto a plate which I promptly licked clean. I had never masturbated like that before. I found the fact that I chose to do it worrisome but, even more, I found the experience intensely pleasurable.

Part 6: Week Three in the Office

The next week, I resolved to avoid the Friday summons to Murphy’s office no matter what. I busted my butt pushing clients to order that week. I promised things I was pretty sure I couldn’t deliver; I pressured potential buyers; I even overspent my expense account–thus committing myself to pay personally for the overcharges–in an attempt to seduce what larger buyers I still handled to order now. It was all to no avail. The cards seemed stacked against me. Murphy moved another of my big accounts to another guy in the office. His memo announcing this informed me, and every other guy in the office, that despite my couple of bad weeks recently I had “a proven ability to take a small account and, using a hands-on approach, turn it in to a large one, eventually bringing the relationship to a successful climax.” Murphy expressed his confidence that I “would soon work my magic on whatever he put in my hands.” This was all very embarrassing to me and I wondered if any of the other guys recognized the double meaning that was clearly intentional.

But, of course, no one could have avoided failure, at least in the short term, with the accounts Murphy left me with and it was no surprise to anyone in the office that I was the one getting the dreaded call that Friday afternoon. I went in there thinking I knew the drill. I was wrong–at least with respect to a crucial detail.

“I’m seeing you in here every week, Wilcox,” Murphy bellowed. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like this job?”

I started to explain why my numbers were so bad this week, forgetting for a moment that Murphy hated nothing more than excuses, or anything that sounds like excuses.

“Just shut up, Wilcox, before you really piss me off.” Murphy was getting up out of his chair now and moving to the front of his desk. I knew what was coming next (or maybe I should say who was coming next). I was resigned to it at this point. I got up and started to walk toward him.

“Wait,” he stopped me. “I want you to drop you pants.”

“What?” I was stupefied. What the hell was this all about?

“You heard me, Wilcox. Or don’t you care about your job anymore?”

“But…” I couldn’t get another word out and Murphy didn’t need to. I knew that there was no appeal from his decision–no reconsideration.

Before two weeks ago, I had never really thought about sex with a man and I’d certainly never touched another man’s penis. Now, I’d been on my knees in front of Murphy twice, with his hard cock shooting off in my mouth. Still, I think the most difficult thing I’d done up to this point was to unbuckle my belt and unbutton my pants. When I unzipped them, they slipped to my ankles Casibom by themselves. Now I was standing in front of him looking completely ridiculous, my pants down and my boxers showing under my shirt tails.

“Unbutton your shirt.” And no sooner had he commanded than I obeyed.

“Now drop your shorts.” I paused and he repeated the order in a tone that left no room for disobedience, at least by anyone who expected to be employed here next week. I put my thumbs inside the waistband and pushed them down. It was clear the Murphy wasn’t satisfied with what I was doing until my shorts were around my ankles with my pants.

Thank God I wasn’t hard. I would have died from embarrassment. I think the demand that I undress in front of him really killed the tendency I had to get an erection during these Friday encounters.

“Good. Now get on you knees and get to work. I think you know the drill.”

I did, of course, at least from this point on. It turns out to be kind of hard to get on your knees when you’re hobbled by your pants and underpants. But I finally got down on my knees in front of Murphy and began my duties.

In a strange way, I was relieved to be doing this. My nakedness was largely hidden from him and I was back in “familiar territory.” I wrestled out his cock and got to work sucking him off. Like last week, I decided to try to get this over as quickly as possible. I had him fully hard really quickly. Maybe he got a jump start from today’s special preliminary activities. If so, I’m betting it had little to do with seeing me naked and a lot to do with the power for forcing me to drop my pants for him.

I pumped his cock with one hand and held his large, hairy balls with my other. As I was working my mouth over his cock I became aware of my growing hard-on. I wasn’t just slightly engorged, my cock was standing out ninety degrees from my body now. As I moved back and forth on Murphy’s cock I could feel my own bouncing up and down.

“Oh, God,” I thought, “Please, God, don’t let Murphy see.”

I looked up and saw that Murphy was caught up in his own reverie. I resolved to keep him in such a state that he didn’t even think about my feelings. He grabbed my head and began thrusting deep into my mouth, trying to open my throat. I was in no position to pull away. That would only cause him to look down and see my shame. So I let him fuck my mouth and, then, my throat. I struggled to control my gag reflex and eventually got it under control and simply opened my throat to his thrusting.

I could feel his pubic bone pounding against my lips. He was completely in me now and enjoying the way my throat convulsed around his throbbing cock.

It didn’t take much of this before he was erupting straight down my throat. And I was erupting all over his pants legs and shoes. “Oh my God,” I thought, “there is no hiding it now.” Murphy hadn’t looked down yet. But he would and then he would know. He’d know that I came just from sucking his cock and having him cum in my throat. This time I couldn’t even tell myself that it was the friction against my pants that had made me cum. My cock was thrusting against thin air.

The inevitable happened. Murphy recovered enough to look down and, when he did, he pushed me away from him. My dick was rapidly softening but the evidence of its arousal was all over Murphy’s pants, his shoes and the floor around his feet. He couldn’t miss it. And he didn’t.

“Jesus Christ, Wilcox! What the hell did you do?”

I had no answer so I said nothing.

“Jesus Christ! Clean that up.”

For a dreadful moment, I was afraid he was going to say, as people always do in the porn stories on the Internet, “with your tongue.” Fortunately, he wasn’t into that. Or he just didn’t think of it. I got up and shuffled a few feet to get some tissues from the holder on his desk. Then I fumbled getting down on my knees again to clean up my mess.

When I had done as good a job as I could, Murphy just told me to get out. The tone of disgust in his voice was unmistakable. I got up, pulled clothes together and left the office as quickly as I could. If you had told me either of the last two Fridays that today I would leave Murphy’s office without a cum stain rapidly spreading in my pants, I would have thought that this would be a good thing. As it turned out, I didn’t know if I could show my face at work next week.

Part 7: Confidential Information

To make matters worse, one of my co-workers, Tim, called to me as I was trying to leave. He wanted to ask me a favor, and that required me to stand there and listen. Maybe it was a good thing that Murphy had made me do him with my pants down. There was no way I could have hidden a huge cum stain from Tim while he talked with me.

It turned out that his car was in the shop and he needed a ride home. I lived in the same general direction and I wasn’t doing anything else for the night since Steph was out with the girls tonight. So there was no real reason not to give Tim a lift home even though I think I would have rather just been alone.

On Casibom Giriş the way to Tim’s house, he suggested stopping by a bar for a drink. I hesitated and he pressed the issue so I gave in and agreed. Maybe it would do me good, I thought, to do something normal like this and not go home to brood about the implications of my actions and responses.

We wound up staying at the bar a long time and drinking more than we should have. It was nice to have a respite from my dark thoughts. We talked about sports, women and work and it was all a great relief until the discussion or work turned to my recent “bad numbers.”

“So, Jason, you’ve been on the carpet in Murphy’s office three times in a row.” I could feel my face turn crimson. I didn’t know how to respond. But, of course, everyone else in the office had been called into Murphy’s office for bad numbers. So I didn’t really think I had to be secretive with Tim. And, the alcohol was loosening up my tongue a bit.

“Jesus, Tim,” I began. “You wouldn’t believe what the old man made me do today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He made me pull down my pants and underpants before I sucked him off?”


“You heard me,” I said as if it was a funny story to tell on Murphy. “He made me take my pants down before giving him a blow job.” And Tim just looked at me, aghast.

It was only then that I began to realize that something was very wrong. I was still trying to make sense of it–to figure out what I had been misunderstanding when Tim broke out laughing.

“You sucked him off?” he said incredulously. “I mean, you *really* sucked him off?”

“Well, yeah,” I stammered. “You know that.” He didn’t say anything. He just continued to look at me with disbelief, so I rambled on. “You know I was the low seller for the last three weeks. Well, the last two weren’t really my fault,” I was beginning to feel like I had something worth saying so I forged on. “I mean, Murphy took away Electronic Warehouse so I really couldn’t do much after that.”

I don’t think my explanations were even registering. Tim took a long draw on his beer and then began talking while he shook his head slowly.

“You stupid shit! For a relatively smart guy, you really don’t get it do you?” Tim paused but I didn’t know what to say so there was a long silence. “Did you think that people were really sucking Murphy off?” Okay, I’m slow about some things but then it was crystal clear what my mistake had been. I really didn’t need him to go on. But that didn’t stop Tim.

“‘Sucking Murphy’s dick’ was just slang for having to go in and smooth over his feathers. I mean, if we had said ‘smooth over his feathers’ would you have looked to see where his feathers were.” Tim thought that was funny. I didn’t. And I didn’t see what would have been gained by me pointing out that everyone knows that Murphy doesn’t have feathers but he most certainly does have a dick–a fact I was intimately familiar with.

“You really sucked him off?” Tim said *yet again*. Really! How many times did he need to hear this? Okay, I made a stupid mistake. Couldn’t we just let the topic drop and get back to talking about other things. The answer to that unasked question was, of course, ‘no’.

I really couldn’t talk too much after that. Tim asked me to tell him about what it was like but I couldn’t talk about it and I didn’t have the verve to say anything caustic like, “Why don’t you suck me off and find out for yourself?”

As the conversation had petered out, we decided to go home. That was a relief. The first part of the evening had been a welcome relief from my mental turmoil. But since my secret was out and my embarrassment was total, I just wanted to get home and drink myself into oblivion.

Tim didn’t say much as I drove him to his apartment complex. Every once in a while I caught him shaking his head or muttering something like, “Wow!” By the time we got to the parking lot behind his apartment, I was really ready for him to get out. I pulled into a space and waited for him to get out. To my surprise, he didn’t.

“I want you to do it now…to me,” he said and the words hung in the air.

“No!” I said emphatically. And in case that wasn’t emphatic enough, I said it again: “NO!”

“Don’t say ‘no’ to me Jason. You don’t want everyone in the office to know what you did, do you?” Tim looked as if he had me by the proverbial balls. “Do you want everyone saying you’re a cocksucker?”

Well, of course I didn’t. But I didn’t see how sucking a cock would make me less of a cocksucker.

It wouldn’t, of course. But it might help keep me from being *known* as a cocksucker. Tim was betting that I would think that it would and that I would care enough about that to suck him off. When I thought of what my life would be like if the other guys knew that I had sucked Murphy off, I realized that Tim was right. And my failure to say anything in response to his threat let him know that he had won.

“Come on,” he gloated as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. “Here it is Casibom Güncel Giriş and I know you know what to do with it.” I looked around the parking lot. There was no activity in sight and I knew better than to argue with Tim. That would only delay things and someone might come into the parking lot. Better to get it over with.

So, I leaned slowly over into the passenger seat and took his cock in my hand, first, and then into my mouth. It would be a cruel lie to suggest that I was any kind of cock connoisseur. Until this moment, Murphy’s was the only other man’s cock I’d touched. But I could immediately tell the difference between Tim’s cock in my mouth and Murphy’s. Tim’s was smooth and Murphy’s was heavily veined. Murphy’s was a bit longer and thicker. And the head of Murphy’s dick was more pronounced. I could really feel the helmet as it pressed back and forth between my lips. And then there was the ineffable difference in the scent.

But there were similarities, too. Tim’s cock was hardening in my mouth just like Murphy’s did. Tim was soon thrusting up to get deeper into my mouth. And, like Murphy, he put his hands on the back of my head and pushed me more deeply on to his cock.

Tim was turned on and moving quickly toward an orgasm. “Good,” I thought. “We’ll get this over and be done with it.” Then I could go into my apartment and drink myself into oblivion. I put my hand around his rigid shaft and pumped him hard into my mouth.

Then Tim went rigid and began to grunt loudly. I could feel his load shooting past my hand, up his cock and then my mouth filled with his thick salty cum. It tasted different from Murphy in ways I couldn’t describe. But there was one difference that was easy to describe. He came a lot more than Murphy. With Murphy, it was really a couple of swallows and my mouth was cleared of his spunk. But Tim seemed to fill my mouth over and over again. I swallowed and swallowed till he finally was spent.

When I pulled my mouth off of his shrinking cock, he muttered, “Oh Jesus!”

I sat back up and Tim just slumped there in his seat, his head thrown back and his slick cock a visible reminder of what I had just done. Not that I needed a reminder; the taste of cum still filled my mouth and my lips tingled with the memory of his cock.

“Get out,” I told him forcefully. He didn’t move; he just sat there panting, recovering.

“Get out!” Then he started to stir so I reinforced it. “Get out. I mean it. Get out now.” He started putting his now limp dick back in his pants. “And you’d better not tell anyone what happened.”

I felt somehow redeemed as he got out of my car. It was as if my demand, and the fact that he had followed it, had recovered some of, if not my manhood, at least my dignity.

I was out of the parking lot within a second of his slamming the door. I didn’t look back. I just wanted to get home. On the way home, I had some time to think. Maybe this wasn’t all bad. At least now I knew that on Monday morning I was going to march into Murphy’s office and put an end to this Friday afternoon blow job crap. Maybe things could get back to normal.

Part 8: Screwing Up My Courage

The weekend was another waste and my Saturday night date with Steph was a disaster. The movie was okay but the sex afterwards–or, more honestly, the *attempt* at sex afterwards–was a flop. Literally.

Through Sunday, I was trying to forget about both Friday evening and Saturday night. And I was trying to screw up my courage to confront Murphy the next morning. Monday morning, I was ready. Or so I thought. But Monday morning didn’t go exactly as I’d planned.

It started out according to my plan. I was in early, knowing that Murphy would be, too. No one else was in the office yet. That was great. Somehow I felt like it would be more possible for me to confront Murphy if I didn’t think of the other guys being just outside the door.

I knocked. Murphy called, “Come in.” And I went in, closing the door tightly behind me.

“Well, Wilcox, what do you want?” Murphy said gruffly.

“I want to talk,” I began.

“You’re already talking. But you’re not saying anything. What do you want to say?”

“I want to talk about the last three Fridays,” I began.

“Well, what about ’em?” His harshness was putting me off my script and I began to get flustered.

“Well, for one thing, they’re not going to happen any more,” I said defiantly feeling that I had regained some ground.

“Why? You think your sales are going to go up?”

“I don’t know. Probably not if you keep stacking the deck against me.” I saw a flicker of a smile as if he appreciated the fact that I realized what he had been doing. “But what happened before isn’t going to happen again anyway.”

“No one else does that,” I continued. “I mean, when they talk about ‘sucking old man Murphy’s dick’, they aren’t being literal.” Now why had I said that? Was I rehearsing it for my own benefit?

“Well, Wilcox. Aren’t you the bright boy?” Murphy said, getting up from his chair. “I didn’t know that they said that but you’re right. The other guys just come in and act like little boys getting called into the principal’s office. They tell me they’re going to do better and I pretend that I believe them. Frankly, it’s all too predictable and boring.”

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