Date: Sun, 26 Jun 2011 11:48:19 -0400
From: tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Don't Sleep With Your Boss! story

			DON'T SLEEP WITH YOUR BOSS!
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     I picked it up on my lunch hour and when I got back, I went to his
office. He was on the phone, but I stuck around, bag in hand, hoping it
would be brief, so I could give it to him.
     "But we had plans tonight!" my boss protested. "We were going to
Marcon's, remember?"
     He was talking to his wife. I recognized the tone, that of a man who
was trying to be reasonable but finding himself stalled. Besides, who else
would he be going out with, tonight of all nights?
     "I don't want to go to Marcon's when you get back from Chicago!" the
boss went on. "And two weeks!" A pause. "I don't care if you'll call me
from the airport. I wouldn't care if you call me from the plane! You were
supposed to be with me tonight!" Another pause. "Well, hell, then, forget
about it. I'll go have my own birthday tonight! Without you!" And he
slammed down the receiver.
     I realized that this was the wrong moment, as I'm sure you'll agree. I
started to back out, but his door was open and he saw me. "What is it,
Stuart?'
     Nothing for it, I never went to his door unless I needed to talk with
him. So I went on in, holding my bag from Barnes & Noble in front of me
like a shield. His eyes opened when he saw it and he looked up, smiled. He
knew, not a huge surprise, I'd bought him a present for his birthday every
year for the past seven years. Ever since I'd started working for him.
     Not that it was easy to buy for him. A legal assistant shopping for an
attorney is in the literal position of buying for the man who had
everything. And you have to be careful what you buy for a boss, you can't
pick him up sexy underwear, for example. Not that I didn't dream about that
from time to time.
     Attorneys who are physically attractive are at an advantage in
court. Victor was that and more. Dark brown hair that was practically
black, and weekly sessions at the stylist kept every hair in place and
well-sculpted. His dentist had cured every defect in his smile and regular
cleanings kept them white and gleaming. His eyes were an adorable blue, his
cheeks long and with small bump-like ridges at what would be the lower part
of his eye sockets, this gave him a friendly, open-to-confidences
expression when he smiled. His body he kept in shape by working out in a
gym and playing tennis and such, no body-builder, but nice, what I could
see of him in his always-fastened shirt, I bet he had that body which is
nicely defined but not bulging unduly anywhere. I'd seen him in a t-shirt
once, briefly, enough to know that he had more a little body hair.
     Okay, I had a bit of the hots for my boss. A lot of people do; I'd
never acted on it, not once, I assure you. You don't sleep with your boss
if you're smart. But I remembered his birthday without any problems. Every
ninth day of June, I would buy him a small present, and he would buy me one
in my birthday of August twenty-fifth (of course, I had to write my
birthday in the calendar for him on that--his idea and my job to remind him
of the things he wanted to remember including my own birthday). But this
was his birthday, and to get back to it....
     "Happy birthday, Victor." I said. You have to use first names in
Southern California, that took some getting used to for me.
     He smiled more broadly. "Yeah, thank you."
     "I should have wrapped it." I went on as I handed it to him. "Uh, and
the receipt is still in there, I should have taken that out, don't look at
it."
     "You didn't spend too much, I hope." And he reached into the bag,
pulled it out. One of them. A pair of bookends, of Rodin's "Thinker."
     "I thought you could use one of them at the end of the top shelf," I
gestured at the bookcase; every attorney has too many books for any
bookcase, "and take the other home with you or something."
     "Sure, thanks." Victor (my boss) took the bookends and, shoving the
books in half (the bookcase went from wall to wall) and placed them facing
each other in the space between against the books. Both of them, like that,
their heads nearly touched, the edges of the bottoms were chock-a-block
against each other. "That'll do." he declared.
     "Yeah." I smiled myself. The two Rodins like that looked less like one
guy in contemplation and more like two guys in a deep consultation. Two
naked guys in a deep, intimate consultation, that is, and what else are two
naked guys going to talk about? "So I'm sorry your dinner plans fell
through."
     "Yeah."
     "Dinner at Marcon's, wow." I went on. "And your wife can't make it?"
     "That's what she says." Victor scowled. "Has to go to Chicago. Again."
His wife went there on a regular basis, friends of hers lived there.
     I'd spoken to the friends, mind you, I didn't disbelieve that part of
it. But... "On your birthday?" I was disbelieving about this part of it,
all right. "She can't wait one day?"
     "Not according to her." This was the part that stuck in his craw,
too. "Her friend is sick and needs her to go right now. She'll be gone for
two weeks! Two weeks!"
     "I'm sorry." I said. "You can eat at Marcon's by yourself, they make
nice meals. Or call a friend to go with you."
     "Yeah." Victor said, then, with sudden determination. "Would you like
to have dinner with me?"
     "Me?"
     "The reservations are for two." Victor went on. "Any of my friends I
invited, I'd have to invite them as a couple. Marcon's won't let you add a
third person, you know."
     "I know." I agreed. "An exclusive place." I glanced down at myself,
our office was informal as you can only get away with in Southern
California, I wore a dress shirt and slacks, and dress shoes, but no tie
and no jacket. I had a sweater at my desk, but it was getting ratty....
     "So you go home and get ready and meet me there." he
shrugged. "Reservations aren't until seven-thirty; you'll have time. Won't
you?"
     "If I hurry."
     "Good." he said. "Now, about the Wermer case...."
     And it was back to work. By cutting a few traffic lights going home
(you know, you keep driving even though the light has turned to red, a lot
of people in Los Angeles do that), I made it home with a half-hour to get
ready. I squeezed in a quickie shower, jumped into my interview suit,
couldn't fasten the buttons on it, and said to hell with it. Working at a
computer would put some pounds on you whether you liked it or not, and that
suit had been tight when I'd gotten the job seven years ago. I was thirty
now and looking it, I decided as I shaved. Not bad looking, hair a very
light brown (not blond, worse luck, just light, light brown) and deep brown
eyes that had charmed men when younger. Now, I was beginning to wonder if
I'd ever find Mr. Right. Not that work gave me a hell of a lot of time to
look for love. I made it to Marcon's right on the dot, and went in with all
the panache I could drag together.
     The waiter was smilingly polite to me. I'd never been to Marcon's, and
this place was really, really nice. I felt out of place, tried not to show
it. Victor stood and treated me like an honored client, and I settled in
for a truly magnificent dinner. Everything was perfect, the courses already
chosen, the waiters were helpful without being ingratiating. And something
more, I couldn't put my finger on it.
     Until it came time for desert. A cake came out, a small one for two
people to enjoy, but with candles lit and everything on it. "For you,
courtesy of the chef." the maitre d' explained to Victor's quizzical
look. "For the birthday guest and his...companion." This last word came
with a hesitation that told me everything that had puzzled me.
     I looked at Victor and saw him struggling not to grin. I waited for
him to correct the waiter, but he didn't, though after they left, he burst
out laughing and I followed suit. "I told them when I made the reservation
that it was for me and my wife. Told them it was my birthday, so I could
get this one evening without a lot of arguing or fear of being bumped
off. So they were expecting a couple and assume we're it."
     "Hey, this is Southern California." I said. "Just be glad they only
think we're gay and not Satanists or something."
     Victor lifted his drink to his face for a time as I kept
chuckling. "They're right about you, though." he informed me.
     "Huh?"
     "About you being gay?"
     I'd never come out at the office. No reason not to, but if you do, you
find yourself with a lot of questions and assumptions and funny looks, I
didn't want to deal with that on a job that was damned demanding even
without that on top of it. But now, it had been seven years, and I was
pretty indispensable to the office, so.... "Yeah, I am. Is that a problem?"
     "Not at all." Victor said. "But how come you haven't found someone
yet. I know you're still single."
     I shrugged, made a half-grimace. "Just never worked out. Everyone I
meet seems to only want to play around. Or maybe I'm too quick to ring the
wedding bells on a promising someone. Haven't even been trying,
recently. Maybe it's too late."
     "You shouldn't give up." Victor put a hand on mine on the table. The
waiter nearby snickered knowingly, gave me a clever wink. I felt cocky
enough with that touch to wink back.
     We walked outside after the dinner and I said to Victor, "Thanks,
Victor. That was a wonderful dinner. Makes me feel like I'm the one who had
the birthday. I parked down the street in the lot."
     "So leave it there." Victor said. "I want to show you the rest of the
evening I had planned for my birthday."
     "Uh...sure." I said. Why not? Though I wondered what else he had in
mind. Tickets to a movie or play, I figured. The evening was still young,
not even nine o'clock yet. So I got in and went with him. A large building,
I wasn't paying attention until we got inside. It wasn't until we checked
in that I realized where we were. "A hotel?" I asked when we got on the
elevator.
     "Wait until you see the room." Victor assured me. "Sheer luxury."
     I figured a jacuzzi and wide-screen television and such. But the room
was just a regular room and I was about to say that when I got inside, so I
turned around.
     And that's when Victor grabbed me. I was surprised, but having those
arms around me and those lips on mine and that crotch grinding against me,
my conscience didn't feel the need to say a single word to me. I was
surprised for a second, that was all, then I was kissing him right back and
it felt good, so damned good! You don't sleep with your boss, not if you're
smart, but right then, my smarts had taken an unplanned vacation.
     When I moved down to nibble at his neck, Victor said, "Don't you want
to see what I had planned for this evening?"
     "I already have a pretty good idea." I panted.
     "You just get your clothes off and get on the bed." he assured
me. "I'll go into the bathroom and come out in about five minutes. Okay?"
     "Okay." I was mystified but willing. After all, the guy you've had a
thing for for over seven years finally comes on to you (saving you the
indignity of trying to come on to him and being turned down), you'll give
him five minutes in the bathroom to make himself ready.
     So I got undressed and lay down on the bed as instructed. Debated
about my briefs, decided to shuck them. I would be naked, available and
ready when he got out of the bathroom.
     The bathroom door opened just a crack. "Are you ready?"
     "I'm ready."
     Close your eyes, count to fifteen and then open them, okay?"
     "Okay."
     I did and when I opened my eyes, my jaw dropped. "You're Superman?" I
said.
     For Victor was wearing the Superman costume. Honest, with built-in
muscles in the suit! Even arranged his hair into Superman's hair style. Not
a bad likeness, really. "This was Sylvia's fantasy, and I was going to give
it to her tonight. A date with Superman."
     "Well, then." I said, my cock rising. "Just how super are you?"
     "Why don't I show you." Victor said, coming over to the bed. His first
act as Superman was to grab my cock and (rather to my surprise) bend over
and start sucking on it. Surprised the heck out of me, and turned out to be
pretty good at it! You know, a straight guy doesn't strike you as the one
who can work up a load of spit in his mouth, steer your dong over his lips
without scraping it against his teeth, then shove the entire eight inches
down his throat in one smooth, even motion, leaving you breathless and
gasping at the sheer, raw delight of it. And damn it, yes, the costume
helped, helped a lot! I was getting super-sucked by Superman! When Victor
began to bob his head up and down, and I was moaning with the joy of it.
     Victor was busy in other areas than his head, it turned out, for he
turned loose after a moment (a good thing, I was on the verge, about
fifteen seconds into sex!), and sticking out of a well-concealed fly in
those red shorts on that blue-clad form. And with the fake muscles on it,
that just made it better when they landed on either side of my head and I
slurped down my own private super-cock and it fit into my mouth and throat
wonderfully well. Of course, I'd always known it would.
     Victor went back to sucking my pud, and brought me again to the brink
of ejaculation, I was moaning helplessly and pretty much resigned to
blowing my wad too early in and performing an act of contrition after by
giving him the ride of his life, when he let go and said, panting heavily,
"Okay, Stuart, I think I'm ready."
     "Ready?" I gasped back at him. Christ, I needed to come, I needed to
come so bad!
     "Ready to get a superfuck, that is?"
     "Yeah, yeah, oh, God, yeah!" I heaved. It was what I'd been expecting
as soon as Victor came on to me, you expect a straight guy to mount you and
get his jollies and if you can do the same, you pretty much are ahead of
the game. His marvelous talent at sucking cock was an extra, you have to
agree.
     So when Victor lifted my legs and spread them wide, and guided his
firm, spit-slicked prong toward my anus, all I did was feast my eyes upon
my boss' face, and upon the fantasy he was playing for me, and then closed
my eyes and concentrated on the feel of that wonderful dong as it slid into
me.
     My hands clamped on the biceps, the foam-muscles were surprisingly
firm (they'd been sewn into place, and maybe weren't foam-rubber, I'm not
up on such things), and I looked at that big "S" on his chest, and I just
let myself get fucked by Superman. Nothing wrong with a fantasy is there,
and the fantasy of Superman was easier than the fantasy of my boss, because
when you fuck your boss, you're opening yourself up to a whole world of
events that can ruin your career or at least complicate your life. You
don't sleep with your boss if you're smart! But you can sleep with
Superman!
     "Yeah, come on, Superman, fuck me harder, give me that superdick and
give it to me hard, harder, yeah, come on, harder!"
     Victor grinned at me, the grin that meant he could go into politics
any time he want, and he began to hump me harder. I fondled the fake
muscles and told myself this was real, this was all real. I was being
fucked by Superman, why not ride him and ride him hard?
     I clamped my legs about Victor's waist, the cape tickling my leg hairs
as his hips bucked and rammed my ass, brushing it back and forth.
     Muscle-clad or not, Victor was getting tired pretty quick. When his
pace slowed down, I said, "How about if I'm the one doing the moving for a
change, Superman?"
     Victor grinned again and let me roll him over. I looked at him, now
looking very much like my boss and not like Superman, and I began to rock
my hips back and forth, making that love-muscle of his hum along nicely,
and Victor reached up and grabbed my cock and began to pump me hard.
     Given the terrific suck and the wonderful fuck I'd been having, my
prick was more than ready and after a minute of that, I groaned out, "Oh,
God, Victor, I'm going to come, I'm going to come!
     "I'm not Victor, I'm Superman!" he reminded me.
     "I'm coming, Superman, I'm coming, oh, oh, OH-OH-OH, AH-GAHHH,
HUHHHH!"
     And my cock spurted onto Victor's blue-covered chest and my spunk
splattered the big red S with a hot white load of my love-goo! Victor just
laughed as I creamed all over him, and when I was done, groaning, he rolled
us back and put me under him once again. Now his body was business-like in
its attentions, he was finishing himself up, having diligently provided me
with the fuck of a lifetime and I stroked his back as he humped me, felt
his hot breath on my neck as he moaned, grunted, groaned, and then, with no
more warning than that, his breath caught, held, and expelled a heavy,
shuddering sigh as he filled my ass with his jizz. Just that gentle, just
that warm, he flooded my ass with a creamy froth of male joy, and then he
relaxed and pressed that sticky chest of his against mine as he slumped
down in completion.
     "You know you're not going to get your cleaning deposit back." I said.
     He laughed. "When you rent a costume in June, they know you aren't
attending a Halloween party. And Sylvia did like to play fantasies. I've
been dressed up for sex more ways than I can count."
     "Costumes can be fun." I agreed. "But you would have been great
without it." I heard something, a sound, I wasn't sure what.
     "Thanks."
     I cocked my ear at the sound as it repeated. "Isn't that your cell
phone?"
     "Yeah. Hell. I'd better get it, it might be Sylvia telling me she's
arrived in Chicago and wishing me a happy birthday."
     "Go ahead." I said and I watched Superman stride into the bathroom. He
closed the door to talk to her, which was fine with me. You don't want to
hear a man say words of love to someone else after he just fucked your ass,
you know?
     But when Victor came out, he said, "That was my next-door
neighbor. Said there's a problem at my house, and I had to get home right
away. Hung up before I could find out what it was, though."
     "Oh." I said. "I can take a cab back to the parking lot and get my
car."
     "Better yet." Victor said. "How'd you like to spend the night at my
place. Or longer. With Sylvia in Chicago, we can fuck in every room in the
house before she gets back."
     "Sure." I agreed. This was a fling, then. I could deal with that. Boss
has some fun with his assistant and then returns to his loving wife. As for
me, I had more than a repressed fantasy to remember. My boss dressed up
like Superman, that's quite a vision to have, you know?
     So we got dressed and went to his house. I was wondering if there'd be
sirens or fire blazing or what, but everything seemed normal. I looked my
query at Victor, but he just shrugged. "Guess we'll get inside and I'll
call the neighbor after we've looked around."
     "Sure." I agreed.
     He unlocked the door and I sniffed as I got inside. "No smell of gas,
anyhow. And I don't hear water running."
     Victor's hands came to my waist and spun me around. "Before we go one
step further, I want another taste of you."
     I started to make a joking answer, when his lips caught mine and he
pushed me back against what felt like a loaded coat-rack and I was
semi-buried in coats and being kissed really hard.
     And that's when the lights came on, with me kissing Victor suddenly
all too clearly visible.
     "Surprise!" shouted the assembled guests. A lone voice after that
said, "Happy birthday!"
     I learned all this later: It turned out Sylvia hadn't gone to Chicago
after all. And when her birthday-partyless hubby hadn't come home after
leaving Marcon's (she'd called to see if he'd kept the dinner engagement
and the discreet personnel at Marcon's hadn't blabbed that he had done so
with a guest), she had arranged for the neighbor to call to get him
home. The guests had been waiting since nine o'clock, and it was now past
ten and they had been waiting for over an hour to surprise Victor.
     Only they were the ones who got the surprise. I darted out the door,
walked nearly a mile to a convenience store and called a cab to get
home. And had to find new employment on top of that.
     Like I said before--Don't sleep with your boss! Even if he's Superman!

				  THE END
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM