Date: Wed, 6 Mar 2013 01:04:33 +0000
From: white collar <white_collar@hotmail.com>
Subject: Converted to cock-sucker -  Gay Authoritarian (oral, forced)

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Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental.  No real
people are depicted in this piece of fiction.  This story contains explicit
male to male sex, domination and bondage.  If you don't enjoy reading this
sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING.  If
you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don't
look back!  And be sure that you practice safer sex.  Don't become another
statistic in the rising HIV/STD rates.  Don't be barebacking: it's your
LIFE you're playing with.  This story is STRICTLY fantasy and I DO NOT
espouse or endorse unprotected anal sex!

Chapter 1

What's happened to me?  I can't wrap my head around it.  When what I've
become flits across my consciousness, tears come to my eyes and sometimes I
have to hurry to the restroom to avoid the questions that would naturally
come from my co-workers and subordinates.  I'm overcome with shame,
embarrassment and humiliation.  While I can't figure out how this all
happened, I can tell you what has happened: I've been converted into a
cock-sucker and I hate it.  I hate what I've become; I hate that I opened
myself up for it; I hate that I can't stop it.

Let me roll the calendar back about five months:

I'm an account exec for one of the mid-sized Wall Street Firms – Not one
of the giants ("too big to fail") but we're big enough to manage a lot of
revenue and get good tables at the best restaurants downtown.  Well, seeing
all this money flowing through our house got me to thinking that maybe I
could get a little extra for myself.  Don't get me wrong: it wasn't like I
needed it.  My salary and bonuses comes out to seven figures every year.
But the idea became a worm in my head: could I do it?  Could I find a way
to divert just a little off of some transactions to make myself a little
extra.  I could get my wife a nice bauble in the Diamond District and some
special toys for my kids at that high-end toy emporium.  So I started
looking at the programs and figured out what to do.  Well, I sort of
figured it out by actually doing it!  And after a few weeks, had a nice
little nest-egg in a new off-shore account I'd set up.  And the best part
was, no one was the wiser.  Who would miss $10,000 a week when total
transactions figured in the tens of millions?

Then, I got a phone call from our CFO.  He wanted to see me in his office
at 5:30.

"B-b-but Greg, I need to get home," I stammered.  "My family's expecting
me."

"Call your wife and tell her you've been called to a meeting.  I won't keep
you past 7:00.  Promise."  And he hung up.

Obviously, I had no choice.  Greg was an important man in the firm and
wielded a lot of power, so I phoned Elaine and told her I'd be home around
8:00.  Surprisingly, she wasn't too upset.

"That's fine Wayne," she said.  "You must not remember, but I have a
meeting to go to anyway.  I'll leave dinner in the fridge for you to throw
in the microwave when you get home.  I'll be home about 10:00"

"OK," I said and we ended the call.

Why did I have this anxious flutter in the pit of my stomach?  Surely Greg
couldn't have discovered what I was doing, could he?  The money I was
siphoning off was like postage stamps – it was nothing.  Could they have
missed it?

I was too nervous to focus on my work, so I made a couple of courtesy calls
to clients, just to "check in" and then sat at my desk gazing out the
window across the river to Brooklyn.  Finally, it was 5:25 and I headed
upstairs to the CFO's office.  His admin was gone for the day and his door
was ajar, so I knocked quietly.

"Come in Wayne," he said and got up and came around his desk.  "Have a
seat."

"Thanks Greg," I said, sitting down.  "What's this about, if I may ask?"

"Well Wayne, I've had some assistants monitoring e-transactions and we've
noticed a few, shall we say, 'irregularities'?"

"Wh-what do you mean 'irregularities'?" I stammered, quite taken aback.
The flutter in my stomach was growing more pronounced and I had a distinct
dread of what was coming next.

"We've noticed that small amounts on customer transactions are being
diverted to an off-shore account..."

"Really?"

"Yes.  Our security team has looked into it and were able to trace the
origination of the account.  All online transactions are, shall we say,
'stamped', you know.  They show the IP address of the computer that
performed the transaction."

"Really?" I said quietly, knowing in one stroke that I hadn't been as smart
as I'd thought and my career was over.  I sank back into the chair, wishing
that I could simply disappear.

"Really," Greg said.  "And you can guess where the trail leads."

"Yes sir," I whispered, my field of vision narrowing as my brain sought a
place to hide.

"I'm sure you can," Greg said.  "The question is, what shall we do about
it?  I mean, news of one of our own account execs embezzling customer funds
would create a tremendous scandal and would probably lead to the loss of a
lot of customers.  And there's been enough scandal already about the
Street, so we don't need that, do we Wayne?"

"No sir," I whispered, not sure where he was going with this.

"Right now, the public is mad with blood-lust to see some high-level
executives strung up by their nuts in retribution for what they think Wall
Street did to Main Street.  And while we're pretty-well immune from any
real legal repercussions, it would certainly suit the DA to have someone
associated with the Street hung out to dry.  And you're just about the
right level for laundering, don't you agree Wayne?"

"Yes sir," I answered, not knowing what else to say.

"Good," he said, relaxing a little.  "I think the best thing would be to
come up with, shall we say 'an accommodation'?  Wouldn't you agree Wayne?
A way of, shall we say 'correcting the problem'?"

My spirits brightened.  Maybe my life wasn't over after all.

"Yes sir, that would be best, thanks.  An accommodation."

I should've asked him what that was, but I was drowning and was grasping at
straws.

"Good," he said, rising from his desk and crossing to the door, which he
closed and locked.  "Now, get up."

I did as instructed.

"When we're together from here on out, you will address me as sir.  Do you
understand?"

"Yes sir," I answered.

:"Stand up straight."

I did as he ordered, my mind bouncing around like a ping-pong ball.  What
was he doing?

"Now, your crime is rather serious, don't you agree Wayne?"

I hung my head.

"Yes sir," I answered.

"And as such, requires a proper and appropriate response.  Wouldn't you
agree Wayne?"

"Yes sir," I answered quietly, the dread returning to the pit of my
stomach.

"I didn't hear you Wayne.  I asked you if your crime requires a proper and
appropriate response?  What do you say?"

"Yes sir," I answered more loudly.

"Good.  I'm glad you see it my way.  And I'm glad you appreciate that I'm
not phoning the authorities, though I certainly could do so, don't you
agree?"

"Yes sir," I answered softly.

"What?  I didn't hear you."

"Yes sir," I barked.

"Good.  Don't make me ask you again or you'll regret it.  That I can
promise you."

"Yes sir, I'm sorry sir," I answered smartly, all my military training
suddenly snapping back into place.

"So here's our accommodation Wayne.  I spend a lot of time here in the
office and, as you may or may not know, I'm single.  So I build up a lot
of, shall we say, "excess energy"?  You're going to provide for my
release."

"Sir?" I asked, not understanding.

"You'll see.  Oh and, by the way, I will be calling you 'maggot' from now
on.  So get used to it."

"Yes sir," I answered, knowing now that I needed to respond to Greg as
though he were my drill sergeant in boot camp.

"Now maggot, I'm going to teach you how to release my excess energy.
Strip.  Now!"

"S-s-sir?"  I stammered, caught completely off-guard.

"You heard me maggot, strip!"

"Yes sir," I barked and did my best to remove my clothes as quickly as
possible, with the sense of dread reverberating in my stomach.  My god,
what had I gotten myself into?  What was he going to do to me?

I draped my suit jacket over the back of the chair, loosened my tie and
pulled it over my head, unbuttoned my shirt and draped it over the chair.
Then I undid my belt and removed my trousers, folded them and put them on
the seat of the chair and stood again at some semblance of attention,
Greg's dark, angry eyes upon me.

"I said strip maggot.  What part of 'strip' did you not understand?"

"Everything sir?" I said, my voice quavering.

"Of course everything.  Would you call this stripped?  Stripped is
stripped.  Get to it maggot!"

"Yes sir," I barked and pulled my undershirt off over my head.  Then I
removed my socks and placed them in my shoes.  I realized that when he said
'everything' he meant 'everything' but I hesitated to remove my boxers.

Faster than I could think, or maybe was thinking, since my thought
processes had begun to grind to a halt, Greg undid and whipped off his belt
and slashed my ass.  I cried out and tried to move away, but he kept after
me, slashing my butt ten times.

"Everything maggot.  Now!" he shouted.

I quickly hooked my thumbs to the waistband of my boxers and pushed them
over my flaming ass and let them fall to the floor.

"That's better," Greg said, breathing heavily.  "It's about time you showed
some intelligence here."

"Yes sir, I'm sorry sir," I said, hesitating, but wanting in the worst way
to rub my butt.

"Alright maggot.  Let's get started.  I need to train you to accommodate me
and now we'll start.  Lean over my desk."

Oh god, I thought, please not that.  Please don't fuck me!  Please!  I'm a
straight man; I have a wife and kids.  Please don't rape me.  But I obeyed,
knowing that whatever was to come in terms of my accommodation, it would be
far better than possibly going to jail and certainly losing my job and
having to pay a very large fine.

Greg moved behind me and I heard the clink of a small chain.  Then he
pulled my arms behind my back and I heard and felt the ratchetting of hand
cuffs.  I didn't need to pull to know that my hands were now cuffed behind
my back and I was quite helpless.

"Good," Greg said, almost cooing.  "Good maggot.  Now let's get started
with your training.  Stand up."

I straightened up and he turned me around and backed me up to the desk.
Then he pushed me back across it, so I was lying on my back.  He pulled me
into position, such that my head was about in the middle of the wide
expanse of his desk.

"Good," he said again.  "Just one more little detail."

He moved across the room and, turning my head to the side, I saw he
retrieved a camcorder on a tripod from his closet.  He brought it back and
set it up parallel to the desk.  I knew that I was in full-view of the
lens.  He clicked the button and then commenced removing his clothes.

Greg was a powerful man, but not huge.  Wiry is the term I'd use; full of
coiled energy that seems ready to explode at any time, but with a sense
about him of full control.  He knows how and when to use his power and
that's why he is where he is today.  With his clothes off, I saw his power:
strong, tight muscles, caps on his shoulders that looked as if they were
armor, a scattering of fur across his chest and a trail leading down to his
pubes.  His thick bush did nothing to hide his cock.  It must be three
fingers wide and 7 inches long and I could tell it wasn't even fully erect
yet.

He hoisted himself onto the desk and straddled my body.

"Now," he said.  "One of the things I like to do to expend energy and build
my strength is push- ups.  Open your mouth maggot!"

"No!" I cried.  "Please no!"

"Do you want me to call the DA maggot?  I can."

"Please, please," I begged.  "Please don't do this to me."

He got off of the desk, picked up his phone and dialed.

"Hello.  This is Greg Standfield.  Let me have the district attorney.  I
have a crime I need to discuss with him..."

"Alright, alright.  Please, anything.  I'll do it.  I'll do it.  Please,
just don't turn me in," I cried.

He hung up the phone.

"Beg me," he said coldly.

"Please," I begged.  "Please don't."

"What will you do for me?"

"Anything," I said, tears springing to my eyes.  "Anything."  The last was
the sound of surrender.  I knew there was nothing I could do.

"Beg me then.  Beg for my cock."

"Please sir, please.  Let me have your cock," I choked.

"What do you want with it maggot?"

"I want to suck it sir."

"Give me a complete sentence maggot."

"Please sir, I want to suck your cock sir.  Please let me have it."

We both knew I was defeated.  And I knew that he had my plea on video.  My
life, as I'd known it, was over.

He climbed back onto the desk, straddling my head.

"Open," was all he said.

I obeyed.

He braced himself on his arms over my head and then began a slow descent.
I couldn't help but stare at his hard, heavy cock as it descended toward my
mouth.  I opened as wide as I could and still, when the head began to pass
my lips, I felt its throbbing heat.  It slid over my tongue and touched my
soft palate and I gagged.  I felt heat flooding my body as I flushed in
humiliation and embarrassment.

"Swallow maggot.  That will help."

I swallowed and it did help.  But soon his cock was filling my mouth and
throat.  I gagged almost uncontrollably and I tasted the bile rising in my
throat.

"Keep swallowing maggot.  I'm only half-way in."

Tears were streaming down the sides of my face as I fought the urge to
vomit.  It was hard to breathe and I began to thrash, frantic for air.
Then he pulled back, allowing me to pull in a huge breath of air.  As soon
as I had, he plunged in again.

"You will learn maggot," he said, a thrust accompanying each phrase, "how
to be a good cock- sucker.  As long as you continue to provide me with what
I need, I will protect you.  You need more training, which I will provide
you and you need to become more accepting of your fate.  But you're now my
cock-sucker and will be until I say otherwise."

The end.