Date: Fri, 6 Jan 2006 04:47:45 -0800 (PST) From: T. Chase McPhee Subject: Muscle Jocks For Domination 03 The following story is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately depict, nor reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. This is fiction. Do not forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matter'; got condom? "Muscle Jocks For Domination" 03 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee % "Steve, where the hell have you been?" Rolling the cuff of his jacket up, Steve looks at his watch. "I'm on time. What's the problem Rick?" "The problem, Steve? No problem, other than... did you remember that yesterday you told your team leader that you would meet him, along with the rest of the players, an hour before work?" "Oh shit!" Steve suddenly recalls, putting his legs into overdrive. With Rick talking, each weighed down with their laptop briefcases, Steve hustles down the hallway. "I guess that's why you aren't at the meeting then, Rick?" "Verraros had me waiting for you, to impress upon you your tardiness." "Figures," Steve replied, in a less than energetic mode. Opting for the stairway, as opposed to the elevator, both do two steps with no hassle. Up a flight, they bolt through the door. "Wish me luck!" Steve says. Entering the board meeting room, Steve can see that he's interrupting Mr. Verraros' topic of discussion. "And where the fuck have you been?" Rick softly says to Steve, "Uh-oh. Sounds like he's out for blood!" `Tell me about it', Steve replies under his breath. "I guess I forgot to check my planner this morning." "Oh?" The twenty-eight year old exec replies, eyeing up what Steve is holding in his hands, the bag of one dozen muffins embraced under his arm, as the coffee is saddled in his right hand. "And what did you bring for all of us?" "Oh this?" Rick proceeds to his seat where his computerized notebook already sits open and readied to resume entry. "Hee hee.. just a little something I picked up on the way." "I see. You do realize that you're over an hour late, Steve?" He `had' to rub it in. "Um, yes sir." Noticing Max Verraros had something more on his mind than his topic of discussion, Steve waited, not moving from his original spot. His attention focused on the six foot executive, as did the trail of thoughts of the other seven members of the team. Memories of past offenses, committed from time to time, yet not lately, of other team members began to come to light. He remembers when Jake Watling first came on board, six months ago. The twenty-seven year old beefcake had shown up late, maybe not as late as Steve. For every minute tardy, Verraros mocked the man, having him stand there, walking in place, as the meeting carried on, for every minute late. He wondered, just knowing that his team leader was cooking up some kind of humiliation to bestow upon himself. "Well, I can't rectify your lateness without making an example out of you, Steve." `Here it comes', he thought. The group's response moved to Steve, then back to their fearless leader. One of the statutes addressed to each member of the team, as accepting their position within the ranks, had been to agree to any tactic that would solidify the efforts, turning them into a tight group of workers. After each of the team member's first day, via chatting with the others, a newcomer found that Max Verraros' tactics for offenses, seemed harmless. So, they went along with whatever was dictated as `punishment'. In reality, his penalty usually resulted in humiliating the guilty party and correcting the offensive nature. "Steve, why don't you hand out what's in the bag?" "The bag? Oh, the muffins." "Muffins? Damn, Steve couldn't you pick something else with higher carbs, calories and sugar?" Verraros sarcastically mocked. "They're fatfree?" he ventured to offer, with a wry smile. "Just get with it, Steve." "Yes, sir." Steve already had a tingling sensation below, replying in that manner to Max Verraros. It wasn't the first time that he looked upon the twenty-eight year old, six foot, hundred and sixty-nine pound, dark-haired boss with servitude on his mind. After setting his briefcase down on the table, the empty place between Bryan Faust and Emilio Vasquez, Steve went about handing out the muffins. "No Steve, skip yourself." "Yes, sir." Again, those pangs began, Steve already feeling the humble demeanor. Setting the muffin down on the glossy mahogany, he went around, divvying up the dozen. Making the rounds, he finished giving seven out, ending with Michael O'Hanlon. "Keep going," Max Verranos prodded Steve on, knowing five fat free blueberry muffins remained. "Yes, sir." With the rounds, Steve smiled when he discovered Raavi had rounded it out to a `baker's dozen', thirteen. "Hmm, now let's see," Max Verranos' brain went into overdrive, thinking up the perfect solution for Steve's ultimate punishment. "Let's start with Emilio, shall we?" All eyes looked to the twenty-seven year old Italian/Hispanic, neatly coifed in his Mario Batali suit. "Sir?" Emilio replied, questioning. "First, Steve, come over here." As Steve approached Verraros and Emilio, simultaneously, eyes following, he allowed his team boss to help him out of his jacket. "I suppose it wouldn't matter if your dress shirt suffered any `more stains', now would it?" Another jab at humiliation filled Steve, as he looked down. Sure enough, a coffee stain marred the white fabric. If that wasn't enough, Verraros badgered, "Fix yourself, Steve. You look like a slob!" `Oh shit!' Steve thought to himself. All that fuss over his unbuttoned shirt, with Raavi and he neglected to button it. Again pinning the tail of his necktie under his chin, Steve tugged at the white shirt, buttoning it up. Then he tucked the excess into the beltline. "No, Steve. Fix it `properly'?" Stopping, mouth rounded with an `o', Steve at first wondered what Verraros had in mind. Max Verraros then clued Steve in, "Like after you take a piss?" The room began to warm up, as more than one hand dropped into it's owner's lap. "You mean, like.....?" Steve insinuated. Taking the fake zipper in midair and pulling down on it with thumb and index finger, he simulated the preparation for taking a piss. "Really Steve, you're wasting our valuable time as it is?" One of the more lustful members dared to offer, "Yeah, Steve." He was quickly corrected with a nasty stare from Verraros. With reluctance and a sigh, Steve unbuckled his belt. He figured they are all men here and they wouldn't be seeing anything they haven't seen before. Especially since they have all witnessed each other, in some form of dress, in the company gym, at one time or other. With the belt unfastened, Steve unbuttoned the pivoting button of his dress slacks, then with an interesting pitch to the quick unzipping, parted his pants. It's then he heard one of the men, Bryan giggle. Breaking the silence, they heard Mr. Verraros scold, "I doubt he's the only one with a wet spot on his briefs?" Even more laughs evolved, as Steve pressed his tummy in, to look at his black lowrise briefs. "Oh shit, will you look at that!" He sang out loud, as the shiny liquid reflected off of the bulge. Looking up, Steve just grinned, face as red as a beet. "Um, can we get the shirt tucked in this hour, Steve?" "Oh! Yes. Right away Mr. Verranos!" Steve replied. With heaps of energy, Steve pressed the white shirt into each side, smoothing the fabric between the fold of the flap of his pants and bod. In no time, he zipped up, again with echoes of the first sound, buckled up the leather belt and fixed his tie. "I swear, Steve, you need to get somebody to dress you in the morning!" Hurling humiliation seemed to be a gift of Max Verraros, since he could do it as natural as speaking outright, without a thought of figuring out what to say. "Um, yes, sir. I'll look into it," Steve replied, not really thinking of resorting to something so absurd. "Now that you've wasted almost the entire meeting time, Steve..." `Me?' He thought to himself. If Verraros hadn't deviated to all this outlandish cockamamie, then maybe they'd be over and done with business. "On your knees." "Knees?" "What don't you understand, Steve?" "Like, kneeling?" Forcefully, his team leader put both hands on Steve's shoulder. Electric shocks pulsed through his body. He figured that spot on his brief just got bigger! Bringing his hands lower, Verraros says, "That's it, Steve. You've got the hang of it now." Eyes about the room followed Steve's descent, till his shoulders were on the same plane as the edge of the mahogany table. "Um, Emilio, can you close your laptop?" Jake asked politely. Mr. Verraros gave Jake a dirty look. "I can't see," Jake replied. Smirking, Verraros orders, "Close your laptop, Emilio." Steve rationalized that since this was for his benefit, to be totally humiliated, over and over, that his boss wanted everyone to benefit. "Now, peel open that muffin, Emilio and place it on your chair?" "On my chair, sir? Like on my chair here?" Emilio asked. With his mixed accent, Emilio Vasquez showed it on his face the surprise of Verraros wanting him to place the naked fat free blueberry muffin on the leather swivel chair, between his legs. "Yes. But don't worry, Emilio, Steve will make sure he eats every crumb!" Silence prevailed, as everyone of the guys at the long, rectangular mahogany board members table took in the directive. "Eat?" Steve asked. "Are you dumber than you look, Steve?" `Oh man, he's batting a thousand,' Steve said to himself, of the humiliation. None of the guys witnessed their boss' penalty for an offense, like this, since... since... they recollected this is the farthest Verraros has gone, ever. With each act or humiliation, it seemed like the team executive pushed them farther, yet none of the eight team members have been pressed into storming out of the room, nor quietly submitting a resignation. Some even looked on the scene as erotic in nature. They didn't mind wasting precious company time, taking in something that they could view on DVD, having to spend their own resources. They weren't so sure that Verraros terribly minded wasting precious company time, neither, as they witnessed an occasional hand-in-pocket, assumed to readjust the package. "Well?" The twenty-seven year old slowly lowered the muffin to the chair. Verraros smiled, rather than reprimanded, as eager eyes prompted their beholders to rise up out of their seats for a better view. "Any day now, Steve?" Gulping, Steve looked around. For sure it would be less humiliation if he didn't have to look at his fellow team members. After all, Steve knew that at one time or another, each of them have had to perform some outlandish endeavor in front or all. Stopping short in his thoughts, a glitch occurs as Steve realizes, all but his good buddy, Rick Rhodes. Going on his original thoughts, Steve slowly reaches out for the muffin. "No hands Steve!" The boss adds, "In fact, so you're not tempted, why don't you clasp your hands behind your back?" Steve knew that to be an ultimatum and not a suggestion. Slowly, he put his hands behind his back. The position necessitated perking up, upright himself into a rigid position of high up on his knees. It also did wonders for his sexual excitement, making his bulge even more prominent. As all eyes peered at him, he then bent over. Opening wide, he took the muffin in his mouth, chewing away. Crumbs from the breakup of the Texas sized mound, plus falling from Steve's mouth, fell to Emilio's lap. "Hey! He's getting my pants all dirty." "No, Emilio," Verraros replied. Placing his hand on Emilio's, the almighty Max Verraros kept him from brushing the crumbs on the floor. "Steve will handle that, wouldn't you Steve?" In a muffled tone, Steve replied, "Yeah," half comprehensively. After one round of the table, Max Verraros saw the time fly. Plus, lifting the now cold coffee to Steve's lips every now and then, had become depleted. "Well, gentlemen, I'm sure you have more to do than watch this unkempt team member," of course Verraros had to get his last stab in, regarding Steve's failure to shave this morning, "stuff himself with cholestral, so we will continue this meeting today, at three o'clock, sharp!" At first Steve heard dozens of moans, then woke up to the fact that he promised to pick Raavi up at three. "But, sir?" Steve was the first to contradict. "No excuses, Steve. Be there or else!" "Yes, sir," he responded, in a lowly manner. "You're all excused, `except' Steve!" `More humiliation,' Steve figured, as laptops became suited up for departure. "See ya later, in the gym, Steve," his best friend, Rick got a quick message in. "Yeah. Sure. Fine, Rick," Steve replied, still on his knees, as Michael O'Hanlon brushed a few crumbs from his pants. % Continued..... Copyright 2006 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.