Date: Thu, 12 Dec 2002 09:17:25 +0000 (GMT)
From: hugh masters <questorius@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Stripped 4

STRIPPED
by Questorius@ yahoo.com.uk

Chapter 4.  WILL POWER

The odd thing was that Will had always quite liked Ian - thought him a good
boss and rather respected him. But leaning there against the door jamb,
watching his boss slowly wanking himself while poring over porno pictures,
well, it was hard to respect such a man! The way he peered at each picture
in turn, wholly engrossed and oblivious to anything going on around him
filled Will with amused contempt.  Then Ian looked up and for a second
their eyes locked.

Will noted how he went deathly white and seemed locked in a rictus of blind
panic. Pathetic!  He walked across and round behind the desk to lean over
Ian, one hand on his shoulder.  There was no hurried sweeping away of the
shameful evidence this time - what was the point? - but Will noted how the
right hand was brought up from beneath the desk with a studiedly slow
casualness, except that it was visibly shaking which made the effort to
hide its dirty purpose quite ridiculous.

Will scanned the photos laid out in the open file, deliberately pressing
himself against Ian as he did so.  Ian felt the pressure and the warmth
seeping from Will's body, could hear his breath close to his ear and, still
frozen into immobility, watched with fascinated horror as the young man
reached down to touch one of the pictures.  It was the close-up of the
beaten buttocks, livid with red weals, and Ian saw the middle finger stroke
gently across the striped cheeks as if feeling the raised welts with
lascivious pleasure.

It was too much! With a sudden awkward jerkiness, Ian got to his feet and
turned to face his young employee. Somehow Will's hand remained resting on
his shoulder.  That is all it was doing, just resting there, but to Ian
it's weight seemed crushing.  His convulsively shaking knees began to
buckle and he was sinking down, down, down.  How long did it take him to
fall to his knees?  Half a second maybe?  But to Ian it took an age,
seemingly in extreme slow motion.  And as he went down a voice inside his
head was screaming "No! no! this isn't right!  I am the senior one here.  I
am his boss.  I am 10 years older. I am a husband and a father.  I should
not be kneeling to him!"  But he could not stop himself and found himself
on his knees with the young giant towering over him.

Will cupped his hand behind his boss's neck and drew him in. There was no
resistance - it all seemed so natural and inevitable - and scrubbed the
face in his burgeoning crotch, scrubbed it hard!  And Ian was lost. Totally
lost. He just felt so at home down there having his face rubbed in this
man's crotch, smelling the man-smell of him, breathing the sweet scent of
submission. It was something he had never even imagined himself doing, yet
it felt so right!

By the same token Will had never had a man kneeling at his feet before and
he decided he liked it.  He felt a surge of power.  He'd certainly never
had a man hungering for his cock, gnawing at the harsh denim of his jeans
as if impatient to get inside to gobble raw cock. That prostitute he'd
hired in Birmingham when he'd gone to the NEC for the big Antique Furniture
Show, she had given him a blow job and so had that red-headed barmaid from
The Crown, but on both occasions he had been sprawled naked on the
bed. Both had been very exciting, very satisfying, but neither carried
quite the charge of heady power he got from having his boss kneeling
between his legs, paying homage to the him as the Dominant Male!

Will unzipped and hoisted out his rampant penis.  Ian looked up at him in
wide eyed amazement at the size of the ugly, brute thing in front of his
face and he gaped his mouth wide to engulf it. Will noted the eagerness,
like a baby bird gaping to be fed, and felt disgusted that another man
should be so depraved as to do this.  He put his hand flat on his lower
belly with one finger down either side of his cock and with this leverage,
synchronised with a swing of his hips, he used his dick like a hard rubber
truncheon to cosh Ian about the face.  He grinned happily to see the look
of outraged shock on his employer's face as the thick erection smashed
across his face. So he did it again ... and again ... and again.  It felt
good to cock-whip the grovelling bastard!  He felt strong.  He felt
powerful.  He felt in control.  Show the bastard who was really the boss
now!

Shocked by this crude brutality, Ian looked up at his tormentor and in a
hoarse whisper asked "Why, Will, why?" to which the young man replied with
a cruel and unanswerable logic "Because I can."

It didn't really hurt Ian's face much to have it cock-thrashed, but it hurt
his pride and damaged his sense of manhood.  There was his life before, as
a man, a husband, a father.  And then there was his life after, as a -
what?  As a submissive, cock sucking, degraded pervert, that's what!

Having cock-whipped him, Will looked down and seeing the moist, warm, pink
fuck-hole in the face, he slammed his dick into it. Ian gagged and heaved
and pushed agaist the hard thighs to distance himself but Will simply
grabbed his ears and, using them like fuck handles, continued to pleasure
himself, gaining added satisfaction from his victm's struggles and
strangled complaints.  Unfortunately, when he shot, the spasm was so
violent his cock jerked right out of the mouth and the first bolt of cum
fired directly up the face's left nostril.  Will quickly poked himself back
in and all the following spurts went properly to the back of the throat.
Only then did he let go of the ears and Ian sank into a heap on the floor,
coughing and gasping.  Will looked down on the untidy sprawl of the
cast-off fuck with considerable disgust and was about to turn and leave
when Ian turned his ravaged face up to his user and noisily snorted the
semen up his nose into his throat and ostentatiously swallowed it.  That
was nauseating enough but what really sickened Will was the smug "what a
good boy am I" look on his silly face as if expecting praise. Will kicked
him in the guts to show his contempt, turned on his heel and strode down
the length of the workshop to the door and escaped into the street,
slamming the door behind him.

Ian lay there on the floor, gasping for air and clutching his belly - God
but that kick HURT! - and listening to the sound of Will's heavy boots
clomping down the length of the workshop and the the door slamming shut.
Alone, he rolled onto his back and as he recovered he began to do something
that shocked even himself - he began to masturbate.  But it was not the
thought of Will's huge cock fucking his face or the taste of the semen in
his mouth which excited him.  It was the power and brutality of the man
that turned him on.  Above all the look of contempt on Will's face just
before he kicked him in the guts.  He knew he had been USED by a genuinely
dominant male and the concept excited him to orgasm.

That night two men on opposite sides of the town lay awake and unable to
sleep.  Ian in his comfortable home in a leafy suburb, lay sleepless in his
pyjamas beside his wife, worrying about tomorrow.  How could he face Will?
One thing was clear, what had happened tonight was an aberration, never to
be repeated.  It had to be put from his mind.  Wiped clean.  The only
possible strategy was to act as if nothing whatever had happened.  In time
it would be forgotten and Will would be again what he had always been, a
skilled craftsman, a pleasant and easy-going employee.  And Ian would not
think of the surprising hardness of those strapping thighs as he pressed
his hands against them, trying to push himself away.  Nor of the ease with
which Will had imposed himself on him.  Nor ...  NO!  In desperation he
reached out for his sleeping wife and pulled her close.  "I am a man, a
husband, a father!" he told himself as he fondled her breasts and pressed
his erection against her.

Lying naked in his bed in his flat over a grocer's shop, Will was also
wondering how things would be tomorrow morning.  Perhaps Ian would fire
him!  He smiled to himself, no, he wouldn't be that stupid.  That would be
asking for trouble! But it would be a bit tricky finding a way to relate to
a man last seen on his knees chewing on your spunk!  Will, like Ian, came
to the conclusion that the best strategy would be to act during working
hours as if nothing had happened.  In that they were as one but where they
differed was on what would happen once the others had left.  Will had
enjoyed the heady sense of power and control far too much to give it up
now. He thought of those extraordinary photographs and realised he had only
scratched the surface of the possibilities open to him in putting Ian's
submissiveness to the test.  Perhaps he might try the slow stripping
technique, transforming his boss into a naked, snivelling fuck-slave.
Alternatively he might just saunter into his office at five o'clock and say
"Strip!"  And what if Ian refused, or blustered?  Will was confidant that a
swift slap across the mouth with the hard-knuckled back of his hand would
quickly re-establish a proper state of affairs!  Not that he would impose
his will on the unfortunate man every evening.  Sometimes he would leave
with the others, other times he would work late but make no move to use his
sex-toy.  The point was that Ian would never know and would be kept in an
agony of doubt.  Was this a night when he would have un-natural uses made
of him or not?  He realised with a sense of glee that there were subtle
psychological ways in which he could show his power which in their
different way could be as pleasing as more overt cruelties.

Will stroked one hand over his naked torso while the other massaged his
hefty cock which dribbled fuck-juice at the thought of those "overt
cruelties".  He had never in his life tortured someone's nipples as the man
in the photographs had been tortured, nor tied up someone's balls with
straps and cords and weights but he had every intention of exploring these
interesting activities in future.  And he had most certainly never flogged
or thrashed a man, but as he remembered those pictures of savagely welted
flesh his sexual excitement grew.  He imagined what it would be like to
raise a leather strap and crack it across a naked back, to see the target
flinch, to hear it gasp with pain, or to wield a long, whippy cane and
swish it across bared buttocks.  Yes!  Oh yes!  And then to mount the
beaten body and penetrate it and punish-fuck it till it whimpered and
moaned...

His sweat-drenched body jerked and spasmed and the wet, white fuck
fountained from his body for the second time that night.  Afterwards he
slid into contented slumber musing on the ways in which his boss would be
made to submit to his rampant maleness in ever more degrading ways, simply
because he had the power to do so - simply because he could.

Ian too slept after pleasuring his wife.  He felt much easier in his mind
now that he had re-affirmed his manhood and, resolving never to wallow in
the mire of shame ever again, and he slept peacefully.

Two men.  One sure that the normality of a boss / employee relationship
could be re-established, the other devising fresh humiliations for his
sex-victim. One of them had it wrong.  Disastrously wrong.

                 THE END - unless it contiues in your mind!