Date: Sat, 1 Oct 2022 14:20:49 +0000
From: TCHASE MCPHEE <survivalgame@outlook.com>
Subject: 'OFfiCe JOckS FoR DOmiNaTiOn' o7

% This work of fiction is set in the format of real-world situations.
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% If sexual scenes involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then
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Give till it hurts...and if that's not enough, get with some s&m!


'OFfiCe JOckS FoR DOmiNaTiOn' o7

WriTten by T. Chase McPhee


%


At fifty-two years old, Frisco had seen much, done a lot, when it came to
kinky stuff. Actually, it wasn't until college was upon him and the funds
began to dry up, his father's business going bankrupt, Frisco found
himself in a predicament.


Applying for a loan, well after graduating he could see himself in debt.
Where he saw himself in four years was owning a lucrative business,
building a profitable empire. That dream began to fade.


A chance meet up with an older guy, at a bar, put all that anxiety aside.
Thoughts of difficult tuition-raising years went astray. A little younger
than Mario is now, 29, Frisco had met up with a forty-something year old
exec. Both frequented the same gay bar, but a few months passed before
their eyes locked onto each other.


The minute he stepped in the door, Frisco turned his back on his roommate
to check out the surroundings. He found himself alone, when turning back
to question something. "Figures," he chuckled to himself. His first gay
bar, Frisco found himself a little on the anxious side, getting his feet
wet, which at the moment his pits were wetter than his curiosity!


Frisco jumped when a hand touches his shoulder, a guy saying, "you look
lost."


Cooped up for years with his thoughts of how being gay could be, Frisco
was quite jumpy, given the blaring music, flow of alcohol and the touch
of a stranger, "uh, yeah, I guess I am. Who are you?"


"Sergei. And you?"


Taking a sip of his drink, Sergei waits.


A little abrasive in his manners, Frisco could attribute it to being
nervous, but repairs the situation with a small smile, offering a
handshake to greet the stranger, "my real name is Francisco, but they
call me Frisco."


Sergei could see this kid, 'raw', unuse to the gay scene, decides to help
change that. With a grab to the middle of Frisco's buttoned-down shirt,
he reels him in for a kiss, "welcome to the club, Frisco, which I'm
guessing is your first time?"


What choice could Frisco have, his extended hand being mushed against
Sergei's

bare belly and even though only his knuckles touched skin, it felt like a
longing was set free, "uh, thank you for asking, yes!"


Frisco was quite nervous, even though the stranger's kiss felt wonderful!


Sergei, being he was a high-ranking executive of a company, not his own,
but in the family, had risen through the ranks. Head of personnel and
hiring, he 'knew' people. Gay bars, he's been in hundreds of them. Fact
is, many of the men he hired came from the gay bar clientele. Whether
company business, or personal vacationing, there weren't many cities
throughout the world, which he didn't know the location of a gay bar or
club.


"I know just what you need to loosen you up," he takes Frisco under his
wing, literally corralling him in the pit of an extended arm.


Leading Frisco over to the bar, he goes along with it, "okay, thanks."


"Oh, what a shame. You seem to fit in so well, except..."


Frisco learned that exception. As they got to the bar he didn't have the
need to order a drink, Sergei doing that for him. Right after, hands were
on the buttons of his shirt, working their way from the collar, tugging
it from the belt around his waist.


"What are you doing?"


Mid chest, he caught Sergei's hands about to unbutton, ready to reveal
the mat of light brown hair.


Another distraction, this other dude approaches the bar. Like Sergei, was
shirtless and vocal in his approach, a young guy with beautiful hazel
eyes. Watching from a distance he was waiting for the opportune moment,
"really uncle? He's like half your age?!?!"


New to the scene, this other guy, who already exposed the truth he was
nephew to Sergei, seemed to wield more power, Frisco saying, "your
family?"


By the look on Sergei's face, Frisco could tell he didn't like the idea
that his nephew was wedging himself in between the two, making hands
separate from prying the shirt from his bod.


"Hello. I'm Petar. You will have to forgive my uncle. It doesn't take
much to make him feel frisky."


Frisco was certainly put in a forgiving nature, with Petar smoothing out
his shirt, like he was a valet tidying him up.


As with his roommate, after he lost focus, Frisco's attention is drawn
from the uncle to the nephew, "not a problem."


To break the ice, two drinks showed up in front of them, a strong tap to
the bar surface, the bartender letting them know, "your drinks, sir,
compliments of the house."


"The house?" Frisco questions. "You must be someone important around
here?"


Instead of taking the drinks, Petar says to the bartender, "we'll take
our drinks at the table in the corner, Luka."


Sergei was kind of annoyed, but he adored his nephew. Any other bloke,
they would not be dealing with the situation with such calm.


"Yes sir," Luka replies, reconnecting both hands with the two drinks.


"I'll see 'you' later," Sergei says to Frisco.


Half-joking, not too serious, Frisco says, "what did your uncle mean by
that?"


"You're okay with sharing, I hope?"


Frisco didn't know what to think about that, but because Petar was just
as hot as the uncle, he let it slide, "I guess. Maybe."


Luca didn't look to be any older than Petar.


Fresh out of bartending school, reason he did so well, Luca abstained
from socializing. While friends resorted to weekend sports, fall football
and the like, Luca tackled his books, memorizing drink recipes, spending
many lonely nights

doing solo jerk-offs.


Living at home, one night his father, Dave, comes over, as Luca is
hitting the books, places hands on his shoulders, saying, "y'know, Lucas,
no matter how much you put your nose to the books, the real experience is
in the field?"


It makes him smile, thinking his wise father having said the same about
understanding almost any aspect of life, in particular, coming out. When
he was in high school, on his 18th birthday, his dad's partner, Mark, had
broken it to him that they were having the party at a local leather bar.
Funny thing is, Luca had it in the bag, Dave not having to give a
long-winded explanation.


"Oh, I learned all about that stuff in bartending school," Luca said with
pride.


It got Frisco's balls churning, so he provokes, "oh?"


"Yeah. So y'see, one class this guy asks what drinks are served at a
leather bar and strangely it seemed, the prof got kind of giddy about
answering him. Even though it had him going off topic and giving a
dissertation the ins and outs of serving up drinks at a gay leather bar,
he even took questions, since the topic began to be addressed by several
students."


"I guess you had to be there?" Petar processes the thought.


Regardless of whether Petar was feeling frisky or not, he wondered how
Luca must've felt at class that day. They sat, chatted, by it was really
Luca on his mind.


By the third round of drinks, Frisco kind of had the impression Petar was
more interested in the waiter than himself, "y'know, I used to do quite a
few years ago an uncle taught me how to mix drinks and I've been the head
mixer at family parties ever since. Think could use an extra hand at the
bar?"


Like another sense, other the ones a person possesses already, sight,
sound, etc., Sergei's attention has been on the Latino ever since Petar
stole him away. Mixing with the crowd, he's slowly worked his way to
within earshot of his nephew and Frisco's conversation, enough to know
Petar was more attuned to Luca, each time he visited the table. He was
just in time to hear Frisco's question.


Petar was just about to say something, when his uncle steps in, "I think
that can be arranged."


Sergei seemed to have a lot of clout, which had Frisco behind the bar and
Luca grabbing two beer bottles to take over to Petar's table.


Being relatively new to the job, Luca says, "I didn't know your uncle had
the power to do that."


"Do what?" Petar says, looking up at Luca, standing there.


"He said for me to take the rest of the night off."


Petar smiles, saying, "then what are you standing there for? Sit!"


When Luca was applying for the bartending job, Petar just had to find out
more about the handsome applicant. His resume was all about work
background.


After chatting, Petar found out how lucky Luca was, having two dads,
instead of a traditional family.


"Yeah, I guess I was lucky at that."


"Um," Peter begins to deviate, "did you ever catch them doing anything?"


Luca knew what he meant, but played it cool, "anything? Like what?"


"Like," Petar searches for the right word, but then chooses to get to the
point, "running around the house naked?"


It sets Luca off laughing, "don't all guys get to see their dads naked at
one time or another. Sure, plenty of times I had to use the bathroom and
either one of them were in the shower. A couple of times they both had
little time to shower, so they did it together. No big deal, other than."


There was silence, Luca not wanting to say, but Petar provoking, "other
than what?"


"I think they forgot I was brushing my teeth and I heard all kinds of
moans and groans, until it felt like," Luca pauses, thinking, "like an
erotic symphony going on!"


"Oh man, you are a lucky guy. What did they say when they came out of the
shower and saw you?"


"Nothing. I mean, I had to get to school, so left before they turned the
water off."


Already stiff reliving the story, Luca thought he better change the
subject for the greater good, "what about you?"


"Not as lucky as you!"


Petar lived at home, with parents who were more wrapped up in their
business, rather than much of a family life. As a pre-teenager he
questioned his father why he couldn't take a day off and do stuff other
sons do with their fathers, like going fishing or hiking? That was the
first and last time Petar asked, his father taking it as wiseass-teen
outburst.


"You don't tell me what to do," he slapped Petar across the chops. "Do
you know it is your mother and I, working our fingers to the bone and it
is all for the household and your needs?"


He could have gone at this with more tact, but with the stinging of his
cheek, Petar barked back, "well, you don't have to have a cow!"


Petar wound up almost falling down the basement stairs, ahead of his
father who kept on heckling him about money and how things don't come
free in this world. He also sensed part of the motivation, a strong sense
of beer cast from every angry word.


Coming to a workbench, Petar's father demands, "strip the shirt!"


This was a first in their rocky relationship, which had Petar thinking
out loud, "where is this coming from?"


"I've been too lenient on you. It's time you've learned your place before
it's too late!"


Then, realizing why his father was tearing the leather belt from pant
loops, "no way," he tried rushing past his father.


Grabbing the back of his shirt, Petar almost falls backwards. Had his dad
not been well-built from building a business which required much lifting,
he probably would not have been able to treat his son like a yo-yo, his
bod retracing steps.


Finally, the root of his father's aggression becomes apparent, "not so
fast, you little gay faggot!"


'Oh shit,' Petar immediately thought, but as a secondary reaction,
wondering who outed him. Hoping his father would accept the myth, "oh
that. Well, I can grow out of it. I mean, I've been looking to get some
therapy, so I can stop being gay."


He knew his parents were homophobic. The few times he attended church, he
heard people talk about gays, in a way which revealed the fact that it
was spreading like wildfire among youths of today. Out of curiosity Petar
went to one of the pastor's seminars. He was horrified to hear of some of
the cures, which included electrical shock therapy. Not daring to voice
opinion out loud, in his mind he thought, 'why not water-boarding?'
Truthfully, he thought this might be a coming out seminar, but after
hearing of the atrocities, he kept being gay, silent.


Petar's excuse with his father didn't fall on deaf ears, buying him time.
It certainly was intimidating, watching, the leather belt now dangling
from a hand, wondering if his fib worked.


While waiting for his father to make up his mind, Petar stalls, "by the
way, who's the one responsible for spreading lies about me?"


Perhaps it would've been better to keep silent.


Mentioning someone outing him only revived the anger in his father's
mind, renewing the hate, "from a trusted source. Now, you going to strip
that shirt, or else?"


He didn't have the brawn his father had, but for sure Petar wasn't going
to go down easy.


It was hot in the basement, his father, being tipsy and sweating, and
even thought only wearing a sleeveless shirt, took to removing it, which
had him draping the leather belt over a chair.


If he was going to react, Petar thought now is the time. Seeing a rubber
mallet, he launched himself to the side, grabbing it by the handle, and
as his shirtless father turns around, warns, "don't come any closer."


It was apparent, Petar still had love for his father, even though right
now it seemed camouflaged by the handle of the mallet.

On the other side, his father came at him without thinking.


Perhaps part of Petar's downfall had been thinking too long, which it
took only a small amount of hand-to-hand combat for his father to wrestle
it out of his hand.


Now, panicking rather than thinking, he faced a deranged man, fueled by
hate and alcohol, approach. Nothing more was at his side to do battle.
Even so, Petar steps forward in a calm state of mind, doing his best to
deliver an Academy Award performance, "perhaps we got off with a rough
start. Can we talk about this?"


"Sure,we can talk," his father says.


However, with all of his being, Petar, seeing the fire in his eyes, a
smile on his father's face, which wasn't the result of hearing a joke,
makes a last dash effort, going low under the swing of the mallet. He
made it to the first step of the basement stairs, before once again being
reeled back, his tee shirt now tearing till it was pulled free from his
bod.


Not the end of his ordeal, just the beginning, his father grabbed an arm
and flung him around. The rubber end of the mallet made contact with his
stomach!


"Ugh-h-oh-fuck!"


Petar caved in, falling to his knees, both arms cradling his abs.


Then, thinking his father had realized what he's done, Petar felt a pair
of hands under his pits, lifting him up off the floor. He was too winded
to respond, to voice his opinion of what was happening.


Then, he felt his bare stomach grazing up against the edge of the wooden
workbench. At about the same time, one arm is pulled from consoling his
sore stomach. With realization a rope was being fashioned around his
wrist, he retreats from his stomach, the other hand, fishing for anything
on the workbench surface to protect himself. He finds a Phillips
screwdriver.


"Oh no you don't, faggot-boy!"


All hope was lost, his father grabbing his wrist. So tightly, he couldn't
clutch hold of the screwdriver, dropping it.


Around the other wrist his father wound the rope and like Petar's
left-hand bondage, tied the right one off to a hefty workbench vise.


His father stood back and for a few seconds, marveled at how his
faggot-son was stretched out, with only a few stitches of shirt to
remove. He did have a flashback to when he was a teenager, his father
tying him out-stretched, but in the woods, between two trees and not a
basement work place. He couldn't deny he didn't have it coming to him,
but of the outcome, relates, "you'll learn how to behave boy!"


Feeling the last rag of shirt being torn from his back, Petar has a
moment of revelation of being in denial and thinking about other gay men
who have come out and have been punished for being who they are deep down
inside, "okay, I'm gay, but it doesn't mean it's the end of the world.
I'm still your son."


The logic didn't reckon with his father, his mind clouded by judgement
and liquor, "now we're getting someplace!"


Petar felt hopeful, until the strap landed across his back. Catching it
off guard, rather than prepared, he screams, "ak-k-k-k-oh-shit!"


Then it became apparent, as the strap made crisscrossed lines across
Petar's back, not only had it been a gay issue, but the way he covered it
up, lied about being a 'faggot', freely cursed, then turning it into a
personal vendetta, that he will never speak about a faggot-boy, ending
with, "and like my daddy did, if it takes beating it out of you, boy,
you'll learn to tote the line."


Of the incident, later Petar would recall his knees almost touching the
floor, both wrists in bondage, stretched to where he thought it would cut
off the circulation, hanging there until his pleading turned to screams,
then sobbing.


Petar didn't know how long he had been bound there to the workbench, but
when he came around, he could see a ray of sunshine through a chink in
the smoky glass window filter down until it shone over the top of the
workbench. He didn't feel the implications of at least twenty lashes
across his back. The rope around his right wrist had somehow gotten
gnawed through by thrashing back and forth, he remembers, an effort to
dodge the leather strap. With that happening, it had nearly torn him
free. His knees sat on the concrete floor. It felt cool, the cement, but
did little to alleviate the pain of his back.


Then, he heard a rustling of footsteps on the floor upstairs. Terror
filled his mind, thinking his father was back, bringing the reverend from
the church and who else knows who.


Petar was totally wrong. Instead, there descended the basement stairway
men in uniforms, swearing at the sight of Petar, hanging from the
workbench by one arm and the bloody condition of his back. One of the
officers, instead of dictating to the others, went to work, setting the
teen free.


"You should be lucky you have nosy neighbors."


Even though he was in horrible pain, Petar remembers the officer lifting
his chin, asking him if he was alright. He remembers smiling, the officer
smiling back, saying, 'you're going to be alright, kid,' then passed out.


"Wow," Luca says, "that's some story," but also feeling empathy, touches
Petar's arm, "I'm sorry it had to happen to you this way, coming out, I
mean."


"I'm still trying to process. Like the police officer told me afterwards,
it gets better."


"Did you stay in contact with him?"


In a sheepish manner, Petar says, "uh. Yeah."


Feeling a little tingle in his balls, Luca says, "well, someday you'll
have to explain it to me."


"Okay," Petar smiles.


"And," like a domineering figure, "you're not to leave out one single
detail, if you get what I mean?"


Petar did fill in one detail, "he's very sweet in bed!"


"Is he into three-somes?"


Playing along, Petar says, "well, first I think I should find out if
we're compatible in bed?"


Luca's phone jingles, "oh, I gotta take this."


"Oh wow, it's the job I applied for way before the bar."


Petar says, "well, don't you think you should answer it?"


"Nervous," Luca says.


However, the true factor in touching the green button, was Petar touching
his hand!


"Hello?"


"Yep, this is me."


"Uh, yeah I did, but it's temporary," Luca whispers, "I hope your uncle
can find a replacement bartender?"


And after the guy on the other end says something long-winded, Luca
replies, "uh yeah, I can come in today. What time?"


Petar whispers, "ask him if he's got a job for me!"


He was kidding, but in a cross between being nervous and excited, "uh, my
friend wants to know if you've got a job for him."


"Oh sure. You got it. Thanks."


After touching his phone off, Petar says, "that was lame of me."


"I know, but he says it wouldn't hurt if you came in and filled out an
application?"


"What kind of job is it you're applying for?"


"Not sure exactly my title, but it's office work. I think?"


Petar quizzes, "after you mentioned me, did he say where they have
openings?"


"Vaguely. He said they have openings in the field."


"They raise cows?"


Luca laughs, but seriously says, "not funny."


"I know," Petar replies, "but thanks for asking for me."


"The guy, I believe he said his name was Josh, asked me how old you are,
but I didn't know, so I didn't say."


"Twenty-eight. And you?"


"Twenty-six," Luca says, "but I'll be twenty-seven next month."


"Me too. I mean, twenty-nine, next month."


Luca kids, "almost over the hill."


"Well, you do like older men, don't you?"


Already liking Petar, "I sure do!"


There was a period of silence, both processing what was said.


"Well," they break their gazing, "what time do you have to be at your
'new' job?"


Jiggling his phone till it comes awake, Luca says, "like, in twenty
minutes, and I've got to shower and dress?"


"Fear not. I share my uncle's apartment upstairs and he's got plenty of
hot water!"


"Um," Luca cracks half a smile, "you wouldn't happen to be needing a
shower too, would you?"


%


% Copyright 2022 T. Chase McPhee

Developing segments of 'OFfiCe JOckS FoR DOmiNaTiOn' may not be amended,
distributed, sold, used, quoted, paraphrased, chopped, sliced, diced, nor
made part of any collection, electronic or otherwise, without prior
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