Date: Sat, 03 Dec 2005 20:02:30 +0000
From: Bill Drake <billdrake@hotmail.com>
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.