Date: Sat, 03 Dec 2005 20:02:30 +0000 From: Bill Drake Subject: White Collar Tales 8: Mentor Program White Collar Tales Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com) WARNING: The following is for adults only. It contains depiction of sexual acts between men. If this offends you or is inappropriate for you to read, go no further. Another in the series of full-blooded professional men getting their rocks off together. For more of my stories, check out the Authors page here at Nifty, or my Yahoo Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/ Send me your ideas and comments... billdrake@hotmail.com. White Collar Tales #8 Mentor Program My star was rising fast in the company and I knew it. It wasn't just my credentials, as solid as those were. Top honors at USAF Academy (while playing varsity football, no less), Masters in Economics at Johns Hopkins, three years experience at Scudder, Level One CFA. It was something more, something intangible. Competence to be sure, but cockiness too. Even at 29, I strutted around like I owned the place. I knew enough to be respectful to my boss and superiors, but I also took charge of things whenever there was no one stepping up to the place. My coworkers would sometimes scowl when I started barking orders when we were facing a deadline, but damned if they didn't know that I was right and started doing what I said. And part of it, to be frank, was sheer resentment of my physical stature. I'm tall, well-built, and in my prime. Even a few years of city living and after-work drinks had failed to put padding on my military-fit muscled machine. With fine sandy brown hair and sea-blue eyes, I had those dimpled, boy next door looks that undoubtedly seemed hayseed in a somber investment house. I got ribbing for them, but silent appreciative stares too. And then, too, there was my cock. Let's face facts, I'm a big boy. My extra-thick nine-and-a-half inch manrammer is hard to hide even in a pair of pleated suit slacks. When I saw the intimidating effect it had on others in the office (men and women) I stopped trying to hide it. Hell, I loved it. Reminded me of the power I felt posing for that USAF recruitment poster, the photographer pausing between shots to knead and rearrange the cock snaking down the snug leg of my uniform. And I overheard the water cooler talk, the gossip about me. The losers thought I had some relative pulling strings to get me ahead in the company. Others thought I'd kissed ass with our boss Ed Reilly to get nominated for the company's Mentor Program. Bullshit. Reilly resented me as much as the others; he'd have chucked my ass out on the street if my performance reviews weren't so good. The Mentor Program was a bone of contention in the ranks of up-and-coming analysts. It was seemingly harmless: it simply paired junior officers with upper management for occasional chats about the profession and the path the manager took to get to where he was - you know, career development sort of stuff. Officially, the Program implied no fast-track. Unofficially, we all saw how being with the right person miraculously opened up doors in a glacial-slow career culture. And that was the source of the anger and jealousy. I'd been paired with Rich Powell, the company's regional president. That's how I found myself once again at ten o'clock sharp entering the lush, mahogany furnished executive office. "Good morning, Mr. Raleigh." The "mister" was just in jest, as Richard Powell generally was on first name basis with all of the company's employees. "Good morning, Rich," I replied, sitting down in the seat in front of his desk. I think one reason I hit if off so well with Rich was that I treated him like a regular guy. A supersmart, accomplished one, but a regular guy nonetheless. I could see what others would find intimidating about him. He could flash his jocular smile when in a good mood, but was just as likely to be laser-focused and aggressive. Time was valuable to him, so he was usually curt and to the point. And he just had, well, an aura about him of a man doing well in his life and making his own success. He put in long hours at the office, maintained an active participation in his family life, was involved in the community and spent enough time at the gym to keep up his appearance. Hell, his body looked in fighting fit shape ready to play those intramural football matches that he played in his college fraternity days. His tailored suits only looked that much more impressive on him. "So John, what should we talk about today?" His green eyes were fixed on my blue ones as he leaned forward in his chair. I have to admit, he's a handsome man. In the mid-morning light streaming through the window, I could see the slightest hint of brown-gray stubble coming through on his cheek. "Well," I said, taking my time for effect, "last time you said you'd go over how you do your year-end financials." The poker face broke into a unbelieving grin. This wasn't what he expected. Slowly, he pushed out his chair and stood up. I can't believe that our star Senior VP would walk around with the hardons he throws sometimes. Nice thick wedge of a cock, meant for stretching some cunt out wide, rather than prodding deep. I'm sure whatever blonde trophy wife he was married to didn't mind in the least. But that wasn't the subject at hand. I just couldn't help but admire this man's firm imposing body as he went and pulled off the 2005 binder from the shelf and brought it back to his desk. I circled around the large block of furniture and went to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder as he described the line item of the company's budget, and his thinking behind the projections he was making for next year. It wasn't rocket science when he boiled it down for me - but it was also clear to me the process involved keeping your mind on several balls at once, and that a man like Powell got where he was by being sharp as a tack, able to play the game and cut through the bullshit all at once. Never let it be said I can't split my attention either. I took in every word my big boss was saying, but I was also standing inches from this magnificent, in-charge man. First it was just my eyes that swept up and down his suited form. Soon my hand clasped his shoulder as he talked. It was a familiar gesture, but I didn't care. He didn't seem to mind either. Even when my hand stroked up and down the dark pinstripe fabric, tracing the valley between his powerful shoulder blades and into the small of his back. The minute my palm cupped his meaty executive buttcheeks, I felt his own hand spring onto my hard cock, latching onto it through the layers of suit and underwear, and I knew my lesson in financials was over for the day. Fine by me. Gently, I slid my arms underneath his suit coat and ran my hands all over the fine starched cotton of his shirt. Our heating, suited bodies pressed together, bonding in unspoken anticipation for a mid-morning corporate fuck. His clothes were so soft, in such contrast to the sturdy muscle beneath and the masculine 41-year-old face of their wearer. I got a head rush smelling his still fresh clean, cologne-infused scent - that and just knowing I held one of the Fortune 500's most important men in my arms - and well, my boner strained hard in my suit trousers. Powell grunted when I thrust my trapped man-club against his left cheek. Or maybe it was because my left hand gripped his own erect poker and was toying with it through the fabric. "Nice, Mr. Powell, Nice," I whispered in his ear. "Yeah, Raleigh?" he laughed. I dug pinched my thumb and finger harder into the fleshy stalk of his cock. It throbbed in response, pushing out the slate-gray wool slacks. "Yessir, Powell. I love watching you queer out for your subordinates." Already I had lowered his zipper and was fumbling with the belt buckle and the catch of his fly. I almost hated to do it. I mean, Powell's got such a fantastic set of buttbrawn cheeks that his fitted suit did wonders for. Nice, meaty businessman rump. The material stretched tight over the hard, wide expanse, leading to the start of a deep crevice toward the space between his powerful runner legs. Yeah, I almost hated to lose sight of such a suited ass, but there was work to do. And it was already 10:25. Rich is pretty smooth for a guy his age. Dark hair clinging to the bottom curve of his assglobes and lining the man's crack. Otherwise, pale white muscle greeted me as the boss's pants fell down to mid-thigh, where his the bulging contour of his spread legs stopped them. His hamstrings twitched and his buttcheeks clenched as he felt the cool office air on his exposed lower half. I could only imagine what his fat dick was doing. "Bend forward," I ordered. Rich complied, and I flipped up the bottom of his suit coat, exposing white shirt tails and my ultimate target. I took a minute to knead that ass with my strong hands, getting off on feeling the resistance he was putting up, clenching tight, trying to keep me out. No doing. I approached with my head and watched as each breath of mine on this prized region made this six foot two manager-stallion wince and shuffle. And groan. But that was nothing compare to what happened when my lips raked up the length of the bare flesh of his backside. His torso bucked up off the desk and his head turned back just in time to see at his understudy bury his face deep into fresh, masculine mancrevice. The flap of his suitjacket flopped back, right on top of me, half-darkening out the light from the room. I didn't care. I was tongue deep into Mr. Powell's manchute and was loving the hell out of it. I made love to that executive butt. Nice, deep tongue strokes that drove the man wild. I kissed that hole, felt it kiss back. Administered long laves of intense lust, felt his resistance go - slowly. The tight, rubbery ring gave way to a wet, quaking hole. I sat up in Powell's plush leather chair and examined the spit slick ass in front of me. "How's that buddy?" I breathed in, pulling apart his meaty buttcheeks and eyeing the hairy sphincter twitching open and shut. I hocked a good wad of saliva and projectile-spit it right onto his man target. That hole just open up and sucked it in. Fuck, this was hot! The senior officer's voice was muted since his head was down in his day's paperwork, but I could hear the answer. "Fan-fucking-tastic, guy. Where did you learn to rim like that?" "The Air Force. Where did you learn to twitch your butthole like that? " Rich laughed. "B-school." I reached over the pulled the left hand top desk drawer open. I felt around, never taking my eyes of that luscious butt, the melons sticking up proudly out from below the hem of his suitcoat. It took me a minute to sort through four month's supply of pens and find what I was looking for. A new, near-full tube of the extra-viscous stuff. Premium shit. Made my hardon throb whenever I slathered it on, could only imagine what it did to Powell's ass. "Yeah?" I asked while I squeezed a mansized dollop onto my right index and middle fingers. "Actually, yeah. Had a Finance professor I'd play tennis with every Thursday afternoon. I'd beat him on the court, but afterwards we'd hit the gym sauna and he'd go to town on my butt. Awfhggnnh!" My index finger pierced the tight ring and pushed into the incredible warmth of his insides. "Like that?" I teased, my digit probing deeper and nudging the sides of his rectum. His body tensed up and involuntarily his legs tried to spread wider, being stopped only by the pinstripe trousers still bunched at his knees. At least I got to watch those gorgeous hairy hamstrings clinch and bray. I corkscrewed deeper and was rewarded by the deep, authoritative voice urging me on. It was just that and our increasingly labored breathing that was audible in the office. Though I swore I could hear the steady drip of the married man's precum onto the hard surface of the desk. I didn't give Powell much notice. Quickly, impulsively almost, I unzipped my suit trousers, freed my big kahuna, stood up and lined the bad boy up with its target. "Fuck yeah, Jeff!" he called out as his arms shot forth and grabbed on to the far end of the mahogany desk. "Ah, that's it." My dick was bone dry, so it was just the remaining saliva from my brown-nose session and the digitally-applied lubricant that was slicking the way for me. For us. Rich grunted as I broke through, and God knows I wanted to scream out as I felt the smooth friction of his buns and warm, wet sphincter against my double-wide prod. Just as the flared corona popped in, I reached down and grabbed as much executive man muscle as I could in my grip. His hips bucked and resisted, but that just made my boner that much more fierce and drove a couple of centimeters of certified USAF cock into my big boss. "Aw, sweet. That's it, guy. Nice and easy. Drill me man." Rich was enjoying this. I know I was getting off on the whole scene: the Regional President bent face down, butt hiked up and taking my mammoth cock. Below me was the most powerful and effortlessly masculine man I'd ever met. I pushed in, charting my territory, stretching him wide. "Yeah, boss, you're taking it. All man. Getting boned right." "Damn straight, Raleigh. OW! Fuck!" I pushed against another resistance, so eased up and pulled back gently, changing my frontal assault into a gentle messaging motion. That seemed to do the trick, as Rich sweated it out, his palms turning white as they held onto dear life at the desk edge, then the color slowly returning when his rectum stopped seizing up on my firehose-sized cockshaft. "How much more ya got, Jeff?" There was horniness in his voice, but anxiety too. "Dunno," I said coyly. "Five, maybe six inches to go." "Fuck!" he exhaled. "You sure work me over, dontcha Raleigh?" "That's why I'm here, boss," I grinned speared even more dickflesh into him. "Get in there, big guy. Take that ass." "I'm in there... going deeper." "Man, Jeff, I can feel your fat balls smacking against my thighs. How the hell am I taking all that?" "You want it, that's why," I barked. Now that I'd fully broken his ass in, I began a steady back and forth drilling motion. I'd sampled my share of man butt, but Rich Powell ranked up with the best. "Fuck me, Jeff, aw yeah, nice and deep." I pulled Rich's torso up til our suited bods met in lockstep. We moved in smooth unison, me drilling in, him humping his hips in perfect counterpoint to ensure deep penetration. This man may have been full-blooded man, but he liked dick. And I delivered. The next ten minutes were one intense fuck session where each of us pushed each other higher on our near-orgasmic plateaus. I'd thought I was going to shoot the second I was buried full-staff into Rich's bowels, but miraculously we both held off while keeping the heat and hunger boiling. One by one, I unbuttoned his oxford shirt and was taken aback by how hot and dry and scratchy his chest felt against my businessjock hands. Roughly, I teased and kneaded his abs, then up to his perfectly round pectoral muscle. By the time the nubs of my fingertips reached his left nipple, we were both cocked and loaded. Without warning, I shot first. My prick surged and pumped and my hips pounded with a fury. I pulled his body tight against mine as I creamed his insides good. It didn't take long to hear the telltale grunts coming from Rich, projecting out just seconds before the first volley of his musk-scented cum. Six or seven audible splats told me the 2005 binder was going to be glued shut the next time he needed it. Later that afternoon, Reilly called me into his office. Sometimes I hated the bastard for the view from his corner office, while I was shunted away in the corner near the elevator. It didn't help that my manager had a habit of staring out the window when he talked, like he did know that I was seated at a chair several feet away. "Well, Jeff," he said. "Looks like the mentoring program is working out well for you. Rich tells me I'm to keep you in mind for all the opportunities we have here." I grinned and reflected upon the morning's round of sex, but said nothing. "So I'm offering you a new position as senior analyst. Eventually you'll get a VP title and an official promotion, but for the next couple months, you'd be an understudy to what I do, learning the ropes and transitioning into more management responsibility. How does that sound?" "Pretty good, sir," I replied deferentially. Both of us knew that I wouldn't be long satisfied with being Ed's understudy. But the career track was working as I anticipated. I was going to say something else, something about how I looked forward to working more closely with him, learning form his experience and knowledge. Only I looked up at his stocky-built Irish frame, standing there in his shirt sleeves. And I noticed it. The twitch. First right, then left, then right again, his buttcheeks were tensing then relaxing. A nervous tic, maybe, only he kept doing it. Like he was trying to draw my attention to his beefy butt. It was working. I looked up into his reflection in the window and got all the confirmation I needed. He was looking at me, his eyes boring through the room, trying to gauge my reaction. I swelled with my characteristic cockiness, stood up and walked with a broad, confident gait over to my manager. The minute I cupped his twin melons in my hands, I knew Reilly wasn't as taut or toned as Rich Powell, but he almost made up for it in sheer mass. Ed had the biggest, roundest butt I'd seen. I hunkered down and examined it. He wore a jockstrap underneath his trousers, so I wasted no time and went right ahead and began licking and gnawing and sucking on that butthole right through the material of his suit. Damned if I wasn't gonna make Reilly cream in his pants. And if not, the man wasn't so dumb, he couldn't shuck them and be treated with an old-fashioned, raw butt-worshiping session. Maybe my petty coworkers were right: I am just one big asskisser.